1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of ... (#6)

Pardyam, Pardys Isles

The dockman spits, splattering the wood paneling by their feet and a bit on Wight's skirts—heavy, woolen, and entirely Salles-appropriate by the standards of the most conservative matron. The baccy is slimy, unpleasant, and will be a pain to wash out, but she doesn't let herself wince. One more reason to get rid of the accursed dress after their trip South.

"You two don't look Sallesan," the dockman counters with a sneer, as if that's proof they're lying about their desired destination despite the mountaineer they're all using.

Laughter spills from the montai woman beside Wight.

Wight eyes her warily and sidles away from the two of them.

Brineli snorts, eyes sparkling, and grins with her teeth showing—a warning and a threat, here, because of the Shifters. Unlike in nearby Salles, where elementals are few and often hide for fear of lynching, elementals are quite common in the Pardys Isles.

This montai woman is not a Shifter, but there's no way for the dockman to know that.

His eyes narrow. "The clobbers can help you with that attitude."

"Brineli," Wight murmurs, reminding the montai she has a traveling companion, then lets her volume increase as she sighs and switches to seafarthen, which she'd been avoiding for Brineli's sake but is far more comfortable with. "If you don't know when the next ship leaves for Salles, could you at least give us directions to the portmaster?"

His scowl turns on her. "I could." But I won't, his tone says.

She wonders what he thinks he's looking at. Wight's traveled without her lord before, but usually with at least one of her boys, and never without her collar. Even the bigots pause before attacking a slave alone, for fear of who that slave belongs to or who the master's allied with. Does using mountaineer instead of seafarthen affect travel that much?

Humor continues to sparkle in Brineli's eyes as she casts a toothless smile Wight's way. "Fine, then," she answers in her oddly cadenced mountaineer—guessing at the man's words, or does she actually understand enough seafarthen to follow? "Thank you for your time."

The montai catches Wight's arm, draws her along back off that dock and angles them towards another one, surefooted as if this isn't her first time in a heavy wool overdress-underdress ensemble that's classic Sallesan. Maybe it's that she keeps her boots—but wasn't she barefoot, first time Wight met her? She can't remember.

Wight tenses, letting that tell the woman to stop. "Travelers aren't allowed in the cargo areas. It's unsafe."

Brineli heeds the unspoken request. "Ah." She taps her chin. "So how do we get through the areas we need to cross?"

Entering Pardyam, the capital of the Isles, is always so much easier than leaving. "The port is designed expecting Pardyam to be a destination, not a waypoint in a longer trip." Guests are expected to go in-city, at least for a night, before returning to continue their journeys.

"Circle out and return by the proper path, then? Maybe grab a meal while out."

Wight blinks at her. "How can you be hungry? You ate more at breakfast than all my children combined."

"Magic takes energy." Brineli breaks out into laughter again.

"What is so funny?"

Still grinning, Brineli grabs Wight by the arm and starts  them along the route off the dock so they can return through the exit line. It's a painfully long walk, and Wight can usually get a token from a dockman. Why not this time? Why is she treated worse without her collar than she is with it?