Antiagon Fire

8

Well before seventh glass on Lundi morning, Quaeryt, Vaelora, and first company left the hold house where Quaeryt had spent more than a month, and began the short ride of a half mille south of the hold-and two milles or so north of the Chateau Regis-to the piers serving both the River Aluse and the Great Canal.

The sky held high thin gray clouds, and the road was muddy, but not excessively so. Quaeryt could only hope that all the mounts and marchers of the regiments would not turn the canal towpath into slop, although it appeared well packed and graveled. The two kit bags containing Vaelora’s garments were bulging, and Quaeryt avoided even looking close to where they were strapped behind Vaelora’s saddle.

“What can you tell me about the canal boat?” asked Vaelora as they turned on to what passed for a main road.

“Well … the squad leader who’s been caring for it said that it was fancy and clean. It’s not leaking, and all the fittings look to be sound.”

“Dearest…”

“It’s some twenty yards long, and barely five wide, and there is a small galley, a salon, and a small sleeping cabin. The crew quarters are cramped.”

“You’re not saying much, dearest. How is it furnished? How large is the bed? Is there a wash chamber?”

“The furnishings are adequate, and the bed is wide enough for two. There is a small space barely a yard square in the corner of the bedchamber for bathing.”

Had Vaelora’s glance at Quaeryt been a quarrel, he would have perished on the spot. Instead, he grinned. “My dear … it matters little, since the accommodations are what we have and are far better than most we have endured in past travels.” He paused just slightly before adding, “But they look to be quite comfortable. I did make sure that there were enough quilts and blankets.”

“I’m sure you will need them.” Vaelora sniffed.

Two quints later, Quaeryt and Vaelora rode past the squad serving as the vanguard and reined up at the lower pier where the canal boat was tied up.

“It’s gorgeous.” Vaelora looked at Quaeryt accusingly.

The canal boat was indeed striking, with a well-oiled and glistening oak hull and superstructure. The main cabin structure occupied fifteen yards, perhaps slightly more, with the flat roof of the cabin rising less than two yards above what would have been the main deck, if the forward deck had extended from stem to stern. The short front crew deck extended less than three yards from the rounded bow to where the main cabin began, and the steering deck aft of the cabin was closer to a yard and a half in length.

Quaeryt dismounted, handing the mare’s reins to one of the rankers, and then stepped back to Vaelora’s mount, holding out a hand for her to dismount. “Lord Bhayar’s orders,” he said solemnly, before grinning.

Vaelora shook her head in a short gesture, but she did take Quaeryt’s hand as she dismounted.

Quaeryt escorted her to their transportation and quarters for the next weeks. On the starboard side of the canal boat, some seven yards aft of the stem, was a set of narrow doors, swung open to reveal a set of steps down into the main cabin. At the bottom of the steps, to the right, or forward, was another narrow pocket door, leading into the cabin that was the bedchamber.

Vaelora moved carefully down the narrow steps and into the sleeping cabin, taking in the paneled walls and the built-in bed, with the headboard against the bulkhead set between the two narrow and angled windows. Beneath the windows were built-in cabinets.

“For travel, this is well appointed,” Vaelora said. “There’s little space for clothing, though.”

“There are large drawers under the bed,” replied Quaeryt. They likely won’t hold everything you brought, though. “Let’s move into the salon, so the rankers can carry our gear into the sleeping cabin.” He stepped back out of the smaller cabin, almost tripping as the boot heel of his bad left leg caught the edge of the bottom step. He caught himself smoothly and pivoted into the salon.

The salon was paneled in goldenwood, and had wide windows that could be blocked by folding shutters, but those windows only began at what would have been the deck level. A small writing desk stood in the starboard aft corner, with a lamp on a brass mount above it. A space slightly starboard of the middle of the salon was occupied by a narrow oblong goldenwood table with chairs for eight, clearly more for officials or officers to meet than for regular dining. In the forward port corner was a comfortable armchair, with a pair of lamps above it. A second armchair was set next to and aft of the first.

“Everything’s aboard, sir,” announced the squad leader from the salon entry.

“If you’d tell Major Zhelan to give the word to the boatman to get under way.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the squad leader vaulted up the steps, Vaelora turned to Quaeryt. “What will you do now?”

“Sit with you and watch the canal go by for half a glass-until we join up with Skarpa and the regiments.”