Page 88 of Traitor Son

“Over there, you nagging auntie,” said Sir Tounot, eyeing him with some amusement. “Though it’s ducked back under cover now. Wish I had a bow.”

“I expect you’ll have another shot at it tonight,” Sir Miche said grimly. “With all that water in the ditch, the devils are just going to have to paddle across. I think we’ve discovered where all the water from the stream at the north wall went. You’re going to have a busy night on this side of town if we don’t get it emptied.”

“Stars and ancestors. You’ve got them bailing it out?”

“Like bailing out the Brede,” Sir Miche said acidly, and Ophele trotted after them to the opposite end of the wall, glancing back at the churning mechanisms on the river behind her. Would something like that work to drain the ditch? Like a water wheel and a sluice down to the river? In her mind, she could see how the pieces would fit together, but she had no notion how hard it would be to build such a thing.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but they were already discussing the matter, their voices clipped and urgent, and Ophele’s hands moved anxiously together. She couldn’t interrupt them with her nonsense. If it was a good idea, surely they would have thought of it already.

Near the end of the wall, they came to a halt at the sight of the low trench, now a muddy moat where muck-covered men were scrambling about with torches, jamming them into the sides of the dirt piles.

It appeared they had filled one pond only to excavate another.

“Please excuse me, Your Grace,” Sir Tounot said, turning to offer a polite bow. “It was a very pleasant promenade. I will hope for another, once we have sufficient safeguards for yonder nursemaid.”

His humorous glance at Sir Miche made his intended target clear.

“I would like to watch them building the bridge again,” Ophele replied. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“As long as you warn your nursemaid beforehand,” Sir Miche said as Sir Tounot departed, drawing her back toward the stairs. “I promised Rem I’d keep an eye out for you, my lady. Not because of anything you might do, but to make sure no misfortune befalls you. There are many varieties available.”

“I know. Like that devil.”

“That is one virtue of placing you atop a mighty wall,” he conceded. “They would have some trouble reaching you here, barring the—careful,” he said quickly, grabbing for her as Ophele suddenly swayed, sagging toward the wall and for an instant, supported only by his arm. “Are you all right? Miss a step?”

“Yes. I guess,” Ophele said woozily, shaking her head. She felt very peculiar, with a strange buzzing in her ears like a swarm of bees at night. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s been a long day,” he said, but his tawny eyes narrowed as he examined her, and he boosted her directly into the cart when they reached Eugene. “No, stay in the cart. You need a little feeding, my lady.”

“Oh, no, I just missed my footing, and Eugene has already worked so hard—”

“If he can pull six barrels of water, he can haul one Duchess of Andelin,” Sir Miche replied, light and implacable. “I wonder what Wen’s making for supper. Another few minutes and I might settle for a haunch of donkey.”

“He said mutton and parsnips,” Ophele replied, her nose wrinkling.

“I’ll trade my bread for your parsnips, Your Highness.” Sir Miche whistled and made her laugh as they set off east, the rickety cart swaying.

* * *

Remin was the first to step upon the completed footing of the bridge.

“Not a wobble,” he said, marveling as he watched the dark water of the Brede streaming around the new stone island, an oblong diamond that cut straight and true through that turbulent tide. “You’ll be starting the docks next week?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Master Guisse, examining the sides of the footing with a critical eye. “So long as we have sufficient hands, I do not anticipate any further delay.”

“I do not anticipate borrowing any more workers from you,” said Remin, who had stolen a dozen laborers to sort out the flooding by the wall. That had been a very long couple of days for everyone.

But even with devils and floods, the work of the valley continued, and he and the master went on to the proposed site of the port, where the first piles had already been driven into the river, outlining its curving form. The machines required to build a bridge were much the same as those that would build the port and its network of docks, and the need for transport across the river was urgent. The long summer days allowed plenty of time to shuttle men and supplies back and forth from the Gellege Bridge, but soon enough the days would begin to shorten, and they could not afford to have wagons racing the devils to the gates. Remin already had another work crew building a fortification halfway between Tresingale and the bridge, just in case.

This port would solve the problems of overland travel. Like everything else, it would grow with time; Master Didion and Master Guisse had put their heads together on the final design, a marvel of engineering where even the cranes would be works of art. The port of Tresingale must be efficient, for all the trade of the Brede would flow through it, up into the valley or onto the bridge, for further transport overland. But it was important to Remin that it should be beautiful. One day, the faces of the stars would look down on visitors from the hillside: Zeraf, the governor of trade, or Nahvet, the star of sailors, a weathered old man with keen eyes, and his lamp ever lifted.

Remin wanted people toknowwhen they had arrived in Tresingale.

“We have been considering your competitors, my lord,” said one of Edemir’s secretaries later that afternoon, a former merchant named Bendir who had charge of the river trade. They were meeting in the new offices above the storehouse, to accommodate their expanding number of experts, and Bendir produced a map of the river, pointing to the duchy furthest east. “Leinbruke charges a passage tariff, a single fee to any merchant that wants to move through the duchy without stopping to trade. It’s cheap, but if a merchant sells so much as a hair ribbon, it’s considered smuggling. Firkane charges by the mile, but there is no tariff on trade. Norgrede is the worst; they have both a passage tariff and fees at the ports, so they’re essentially double-dipping. A merchant who wantsto move goods from Leinbruke to the port at Alenre will pay around twenty gold sen. That’s why Lein cashmere is so expensive. It costs the earth just to get it out of Leinbruke.”

All of this was far outside Remin’s experience. But from the excited glances the secretaries were exchanging, he suspected it was good news.

“We can do better?” he guessed.

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