A return to the main protagonist and the
semi-comical thriller style which 'graced' my first two books. Not the wisest of ideas and I think I
finished this one solely out of obstinancy.
The three central characters are quite strong too, but that's the best
you can say. The full work can be
bought from lulu.comNothing is ever quite as it is imagined.
The small harbour was still and serene. Human life had not quite deserted it but had made a temporary retreat. Lights were slowly materialising in the windows of the tall buildings which arced around the bay. Their gradual, almost apologetic emergence was mirrored by the yellow pin-pricks dotting the dark blocks of houses squatting on the cliffs sloping up to the west. They emanated a slight aura of watchfulness, though one which felt perfunctory and rather idle. The occasional figures which appeared on the road were merely passing through the harbour and seemed aware of their irrelevance to the scene. Several fishing boats were moored in a small marina a little way to the south. At times their gentle, restless collisions with the quayside were the only sounds competing with the hiss of the waves. The black shadow of a cormorant perched on a rock in the middle of the bay, keeping an inscrutable eye on a land it saw as its domain. The twilight air was delicately balanced between the searing heat of the day and the sudden plunge it made at night. Inhaling it did not, as widely advertised, 'bring a whiff of treason and sedition, danger and death.' It smelt of brine and seaweed, laced with the faint musk of wood smoke. The sun was on the very edge of the horizon and its parting rays turned the sea into a shimmering, glistening sheet of glass. The entire scene was, on the whole, quite beautiful.
Malek Adrano smiled slightly. If this really would be the visitor's first view of the famed harbour of East Zabrial, he was going to wonder if he had landed in the right city.
Malek was an apparently inconsequential part of the surroundings. Stood in the doorway of an abandoned warehouse, most passers-by did not notice him and the rest did not bother considering him. There was little reason to. Tall, slight and nondescript, he had a plain face, tired eyes and a body locked into a slight stoop. He was clearly a native of the city. His dark brown skin stated as much, as did his low-crowned and widely brimmed hat, his brightly striped sleeveless tunic, his felt gloves and his baggy trousers. His black hair was abundant but thinly spread, running down to his shoulders in limp strands and elsewhere forming a rather irresolute moustache. Anybody offering him a glance would assume he was – what? Merchant, clerk, schoolteacher? Gigolo? Did it honestly matter?
Anybody studying him with greater care, however, might notice that he had not moved for at least an hour and that he in turn was watching the ocean very closely. Eventually he focused on an indistinct shape some way out to sea. As it grew nearer it sharpened into a single-sailed ship. Its lanterns already lit, it glided southwards past Malek. Shortly afterwards it began a gradual curve west towards the shore. The arc took it beyond a short headland tumbling impertinently into the bay and out of Malek's sight. Still he did not move. The last splashes of light drained out of the sky. A squat man bustled up and began pushing a stick-mounted taper into the tall lanterns which stretched along the harbour front. After a certain amount of rummaging and cursing in each case, they flared into a dim white light. The man spotted Malek, gave him a courteous and curious good evening and hurried off. Malek pulled a crumpled cloak from his bag and fastened it around his neck as the chill of the night started to intensify.
Not long afterwards, firm footsteps echoed up the road. Another bulky man emerged from the south, albeit one much taller than the first. He paused underneath a lantern, appeared to think for a moment and then headed towards the marina. Malek peeled himself from the doorway and followed him. The newcomer stopped by the tall, locked iron gates of the marina. Malek slowly approached, studying the man as he did. He looked to be about thirty with a wide neck, a heavy and unshaven chin and a generally unkempt appearance. Though his skin was also brown it was much paler than Malek's. A black bandanna failed to wholly conceal a scalp which was gradually growing barren. He wore dark, loosely fitting clothes and carried a large bag and a heavy coat, both of which were indescribably filthy. If he looked slightly intimidating at first, something about him suggested amiability and candour. He also did not seem especially attentive and was paying no attention to his immediate surroundings. Instead he was staring back down the coastline, apparently hypnotised by the outlying rays of a lighthouse which stood in the docks proper, concealed by the headland.
Nothing is ever quite as it is imagined, Malek reminded himself.
"Tomas Kenner?" he asked quietly. The other man turned without surprise and studied him for a second.
"Aye. Malek Adrano?" Malek nodded. "Good to meet you. An' glad to see we're not bothering with all that 'my llama has a yellow eye' bollocks. I'm me an' you're you so let's get on with it."
"Quite. Shall we go?"
"Bitter night tonight," Kenner remarked as they walked along the harbour. They spoke the same language but with very different accents. Malek's voice swooped and fell, full of unexpected cadences and stresses. Meanwhile Kenner's was as flat and heavy as his tread.
"The usual. It'll get more bitter. We might be on the coast here but we've still got a desert climate. You came through Port Crabal, I gather? I didn't think they'd send you that way."
"Me neither, I can tell you. I were all girding up for a hike across the Campbell Hills and through the Zabrial Desert. Then they says, actually we've booked you on a ride down the Mellertang Way an' then a bloody hundred mile boat trip across the Green Sea. Did not make me a very happy bloke. Still, if they're paying me expenses an' giving the nod to the right blokes along the route, what can you do?"
"And how was your crossing?"
Kenner turned and vaguely indicated across the bay. "You see… naw, it's gone now. But you know that little island about half-way across with some sort of shrine on it? I reckon I was puking up from there till the moment we landed."
"Strange," Malek said with a faint smile. "It's usually very smooth across the Green Sea. And the weather's been especially tranquil this-"
"Don't you start. I've already had the whole crew laughing their bloody heads off at me. An' I'll probably get an earful of the same in this bloody city."
"Amongst other things."
"How far's your place anyway?"
"We were told to meet at the northernmost harbour. My inn's by the south-west gate."
Kenner gave a brief bark of laughter. "Looks like this bloody job's started as it means to go on. Oh, in case you really are interested… I've seen the Elves dancing in springtime."
"And I have bought a crate full of limes."
"Damn glad to hear it."
