Chapter 9: Landing and Libations

  For two and a half weeks, they battled the River Maeve's current. The mile-wide artery became a half-mile, then less; the current quickened, demanding more effort from the crew and expert navigation from Captain Vorlag. Merging tributaries shrank from wide rivers to hill streams. The landscape shifted too; low banks gave way to rolling hills, then dense forests crowded the water's edge, broken by rocky bluffs. The change in scenery was slow and not enough to free the passengers from the boredom that grew inevitably from long confinement on the barge’s decks.

  On the 19th day of the voyage, as the pre-dawn sky bled from black to bruised purple, a change came over the water abruptly. Adon, needing only 4 hours of rest each night, was already up and watching the view at the advice of Captain Vorlag. The confining riverbanks fell away. Maeve’s current slackened, and the channel spilled into a breathtaking expanse of water. It was vast, gray, utterly still. The lake stretched long and wide under a new scattering of stars. They had reached the great lake, the Maeve's source. Mist danced like spirits on the water's surface. The air felt fresh—cleaner, colder, carrying the sharp tang of deep water and pine from unseen mountains. In the stillness, Adon took a quiet breath, careful not to disturb the sacred moment. This was all here for her. She would rule it one day.

  Across the immense stillness, several miles distant, lights twinkled. Laketown. As the River Maiden adjusted course onto the flat lake water, the sky lightened, revealing the town nestled against a wide bay. Dark timber formed most buildings, clustered tightly along the shore and climbing a gentle slope. Wooden docks, already busy, jutted like gnarled fingers into the lake. From a distance, they saw sails hoisted on fishing boats spreading out for a day of work. Smoke curled from chimneys in the town, promising a warm reprieve from the cold deck of the barge.

  Captain Vorlag, in his signature high-pitched voice, issued commands, guiding the barge to a merchant dock amidst the departing fishing vessels. Dockhands caught ropes tossed through the air. With a bump and creak of timbers, the River Maiden settled into place. The long river journey was over.

  “We’re here!” Adon squealed, hopping from one foot to the next. The adventuring party had woken up one by one as the barge crossed the lake. They gathered their things and made their way down the gangplank. Stepping off the dock onto solid ground brought a stability they hadn’t felt after such a long float. Marik dropped his things at his feet, immediately scanning their surroundings. He took in weathered fishermen mending nets, sturdy warehouses, the pier layout. No immediate danger. There were two dwarves in pressed uniforms talking to a dock official. Their dress made them stand out from the tradesmen, fishermen, and merchants crowding the docks.

  “Who are they?” Willow whispered to Adon.

  “The Jurat officers?” Adon asked. “How have you never seen them? They are spread all over the continent!”

  “I guess they never made it inside the walls of my cloister, so they can’t be all over the continent,” Willow said.

  “Willow, they are the keepers of the law and justice. In fact, my father played a big part in making sure they were deployed along Resha shipping lanes. The added security used to give us the ability to charge a premium for our shipments, back when… well, never mind.” Adon felt her cheeks grow hot at the mention of her family’s failing business.

  Seeing her discomfort, Willow changed the subject quickly. "Oh, smell that air!" Willow inhaled deeply, fascinated by the smells of fish, woodsmoke, and pine, the cries of lake gulls overhead, her rainbow hair a startling contrast to the muted dockside colors. "So much cleaner than downriver! Look at the size of those lake trout! I wonder what local herbs they use to cook them with."

  Adon shrugged, unable to answer.

  Since stepping off the docks, Jimothy had been examining their construction. He grunted, running a calloused finger over the wood grain. "Hmmph. Sturdy timber, likely local pine. I wonder how they treat it.” Looking out at the large body of water, he said, “Big lakes breed big surprises. Do you think they have to contend with any lake monsters?”

  Marik nodded curtly, his gaze sweeping from the lake towards the town watch patrol starting their rounds. "Organized. Disciplined patrols. Good sign. I wonder if the Jurat have been training them. Although I’m not sure what there is to guard around here.”

  Cedric blew a delicate smoke ring. "Predominantly fishing vessels and timber barges." He gestured slightly with his pipe. "A simpler, stable economy than Fischholme's intricate web. Less opportunity for creative accounting." A subtle smile touched his lips but not his eyes.

  "Okay team." Adon drew their attention, adjusting her cloak. Her voice was bright. "Plan time! Hang tight here, soak in the lovely... fish smells?" She winked. "I need to pop over to the local Resha Shipping office – thankfully Father still has a branch here. I'll check for word on caravans heading towards Siscrix through the Veil and see if we have any decent rooms we can use.”

  She turned and strode purposefully away, weaving through the bustle towards the heart of town. Her companions watched her go, then turned back to their new surroundings on the busy Laketown docks, the vast lake stretching before them under the growing dawn light.

  The Resha Shipping office in Laketown was a far cry from the bustling, multi-story headquarters Adon knew in Fischholme. It occupied a modest, sturdy, timber-framed building off the main market square. A weathered wooden sign bearing the faded Resha family crest (a stylized river barge navigating between two peaks) was its sole identifier. Inside, a single, cramped room served as both reception and workspace. Tall shelves lined one wall, stacked with ledgers and rolled charts. A large map depicting the great lake and its connecting river systems dominated another wall. Behind a solid wooden counter-desk sat a man Adon didn't recognize.

  He was stout, balding slightly, with ink stains on his fingers and spectacles perched low on his nose. He looked up from the ledger he meticulously annotated as Adon entered, a small bell above the door announcing her arrival. His eyes widened behind his spectacles—first in surprise, then dawning recognition, and finally, nervous energy. He scrambled to his feet and tugged his waistcoat smooth.

  "Lady... Lady Adon?" he stammered and managed a bulky bow behind the counter. "Goodness! We... we weren't expecting you! A pleasure, a distinct pleasure!"

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Adon offered him a bright smile, tilting her head. "And you are...?" she prompted, feigning polite inquiry while her mind raced, trying to place his face. Had she met him during one of Altin's rare visits here years ago? Probably. He looked vaguely familiar in the way of countless functionaries she'd barely noticed.

  "Franklin, My Lady," he volunteered, flushing. "Franklin Potts. Manager of the Laketown branch. We met once, briefly, several years ago when Lord Altin visited..."

  "Franklin! Right! Of course!" Adon exclaimed, snapping her fingers as if the name had just come to her, though it hadn't. She lounged against the counter. "So, Franklin, I need some info. We just arrived on the River Maiden, ugh, longest trip ever! And we're heading east. Overland, through the Veil to Siscrix eventually. Are any Resha-secured caravans heading that way soon? Perhaps tomorrow?"

  Franklin nodded slowly. He consulted a large schedule board hanging behind him, running a finger down a list of departures. "Ah, Siscrix, My Lady. A popular route, yes, but... I'm afraid the next secured caravan doesn't depart Laketown for another week. We're waiting on a large timber shipment coming down from the northern logging camps to fill out the manifest." He wrung his hands. "I apologize for the delay, My Lady. If we'd known..."

  "A week?" Adon pouted dramatically. "Ugh, seriously? We can't sit around here for a whole week! This is very important business for my father.”

  “Well, if you proceed on foot, it may take you longer without the carts, horses, and protection a caravan would provide. While you wait, please make use of the Resha townhouse here in Laketown. It's small, but comfortable, fully provisioned. Just up the hill from the market square. And supplies! Anything you need for your onward journey—rations, camping gear, specialized equipment—just provide me with a list. I’ll be sure to send someone to procure everything immediately using the company accounts. Consider it done!" Franklin grabbed his handkerchief and wiped away a small bead of sweat from his balding head.

  "Okay, well, the townhouse sounds nice," Adon conceded. "Better than smelling fish all week." She mused, tapping a finger against her chin. "So, the caravan leaves next week. I guess we’ll have to wait then. Do you know exactly what day… Fred?”

  Franklin stiffened slightly. His shoulders tightened. His gaze flickered to his ledger for a second before returning to Adon, his smile now strained. "Franklin, My Lady," he repeated quietly. "Potts. The caravan leaves next Thursday, weather permitting."

  "Right, Franklin," Adon said, oblivious to his reaction. "Okay, so while we're stuck here... any recommendations? Are there any truly amazing foodie places? After weeks of boat food, I am dying for something decent."

  Franklin studied her face, looking for a hint of remorse but found nothing. "Foodie places, My Lady?" He thought for a moment. "Well, Laketown is known for its fish, naturally. For the best fish chowder, creamy, full of lake trout and herbs, try the Inn of the Terrified Hare. Just down by the eastern docks. Old Man Hemlock guards his recipe fiercely, but it's legendary."

  "Ooh, fish chowder! Sounds yummy!" Adon beamed. "Okay, awesome." She pushed away from the counter, gathering her cloak. "Well, thank you so much for all your help! This has been super productive." She paused at the door, turning back to face him directly. She met his eyes, her expression flickering from bubbly heiress to something sharper, more knowing, for a fraction of a second. "Franklin," she said, emphasizing his name correctly this time, "I'll send one of my associates by later with that supply list." She gave him a deliberate, conspiratorial wink and blew a tiny kiss toward him, then slipped out the door, leaving the stout, studious man bewildered in her wake.

  Following Franklin Potts's food recommendation, Adon led her companions through the bustling market square of Laketown towards the eastern docks. Disappointed at the news of a week-long wait, their spirits lifted at the sight of the Inn of the Terrified Hare. It was a squat, sturdy building of dark, weathered timber that looked like it had withstood a thousand lake storms. A crudely painted sign creaked overhead in the morning breeze, depicting a wide-eyed hare leaping frantically away from an unseen pursuer.

  Inside, the inn was dim, the air thick with the smells of woodsmoke from a large stone hearth, brewing ale, frying fish, and the rich aroma of a simmering chowder. Rough-hewn wooden tables and benches filled most of the common room. Fishing nets, glass floats, and a few impressively large (if dusty) mounted lake trout adorned the walls, alongside chipped ceramic mugs hanging from hooks above a long, scarred bar.

  Behind this bar stood the proprietor, Old Man Hemlock. He was a gnarled, craggy-faced man with a permanent scowl etched into his features. His giant hands looked like weathered oak roots as he wiped down the counter with a rag. Walking toward the party, his movement had a pronounced limp, favoring his left knee. He grunted a curt acknowledgment as Adon’s group found a large table near a window overlooking the misty lake.

  A harried-looking serving girl eventually took their orders. Marik and Cedric opted for a traditional breakfast of fried eggs, thick-sliced bacon, and griddled potatoes. But Adon, remembering Franklin’s words, advised Jimothy and Willow to join her in ordering the fish chowder. Willow’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of it. She seemed eager to try new dishes.

  When the food arrived, the chowder was, indeed, incredible. Served in deep earthenware bowls, it was thick, creamy, and generously filled with chunks of tender lake trout, potatoes, and an assortment of herbs Adon couldn't quite identify but which lent it a unique, delicious flavor. Even Marik and Cedric, after Adon insisted they try a spoonful of hers, admitted it was some of the finest they’d ever tasted.

  Willow was in ecstasy. "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed after her third spoonful, her rainbow curls quivering with her delight. "This is… this is divine! Truly a gift from the goddess!" She looked towards the bar where Old Man Hemlock was grumpily refilling a fisherman’s tankard. "I simply must try to get the recipe!"

  Before Adon could caution her, Willow had hopped up and approached the innkeeper, her expression earnest and hopeful. "Excuse me, Master Hemlock?" she began brightly. "Your fish chowder is just exceedingly wonderful. I was wondering if you might possibly consider sharing just a tiny part of your recipe? Or perhaps some advice for a fellow enthusiast of the culinary arts?"

  Old Man Hemlock stopped polishing a mug and fixed Willow with a glare that could curdle milk. "Recipe's mine," he growled. "Been in my family for generations. Not for sharin' with every wide-eyed wanderer who comes through." He slammed the mug down on the counter. "Now, are you orderin' somethin' else, or just blockin' the view?"

  Willow visibly wilted, her hopeful expression crumbling. "Oh. Oh, I see. My apologies, Master Hemlock," she mumbled, looking crestfallen as she retreated to the table.

  Adon patted her arm comfortingly, though she had to hide a smirk. "Don't worry, Willow! He's probably just, like, super protective of his secret. All the best chefs are, right?” Turning to Cedric, Adon continued, “Ceddy, since you have so much experience, would you be able to calculate what supplies we need for the journey to Siscrix and run the list over to Franklin at the Resha office? He’ll take care of procurement for us.”

  Sucking a long pull on his pipe, Cedric nodded imperiously. “Of course I can. That will be …. no… no problem..." His eyes glazed over briefly, and then he returned to his potatoes.

  “Ceddy?” Adon asked.

  Ceddy looked up, startled. “Yes my dear?”

  “The supplies list? Are you able to provide one for Franklin at the Resha office?”

  Cedric paused, looking around the table and finding all eyes turned toward him. “Yes, I’m sure I can. I’ll go immediately.” He clambered down from his chair and left behind an awkward pause at the table. Nobody wanted to point out his frequent lapses.

  Conversation eventually picked up as the 4 adventurers discussed their plans for their week-long stay in Laketown. “I’m going to figure out this Chowder recipe before the week's out!” Willow said. “I must know its secrets before we leave.” A determined look crossed Willow’s face as she glanced over at Old Man Hemlock. “I’ve dealt with grumpy people before. I’m sure I’ll find a way.”

  Hope filled the table as dreams of coming adventure and future treasures filled the conversation. This journey would take them all far from home, and who knew what wonders awaited.