definitely taking their attitude as the latter. She practically sneered at them. Kip thought she might spit at their feet.
“I am the assistant portmaster,” the man said. “Where’s your vessel? The tax is levied according to size and term of stay.”
“I’m afraid the size of our vessel is negligible at the moment,” Gavin said.
“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you. Where’d you dock?”
“Right about there,” Gavin said, pointing.
The assistant portmaster looked, then glanced up and down the wall, squinting. There were no ships within fifty paces. He folded his arms, his jaw setting as if Gavin were making fun of him. “The tax isn’t heavy, but let me assure you, the penalty for attempting to evade taxation is.”
One of the guards tapped the assistant portmaster’s shoulder, but the man ignored him.
“As it should be,” Gavin said, still polite. He handed over a letter.
The man held the letter low, so he was looking through his spectacles, like he was going to draft the letters right into words. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Oh, oh!”
The man’s head snapped up, and he peered at Gavin’s eyes through his spectacles. “Oh! My Lord Prism! A thousand pardons! Please, my lord, let us accompany you to the fortress. It would be a great honor to us.”
Gavin inclined his head.
“I sort of thought you’d pick them all up with magic and shake them or something,” Kip said, once they all fell in behind the guards and the assistant portmaster.
“There’s a time to toss idiots around,” Gavin said. “But this man’s just doing his job.” They walked into the shadow of the fortress, whose northern wall nearly overhung the harbor. Both of them looked up. There were archers walking along the top of the wall, looking down at them. “Besides,” Gavin said, “you start throwing luxin around, you never know who’s going to answer with gunfire.”
The assistant talked to the men guarding the gate. Lots of furtive glances at Gavin followed. Kip was busy looking at the fortress. The gate, and the entire fortress, was carved travertine. Mellow green, incised with a crosshatched pattern to make the stone look woven rather than carved. There were a number of murder holes cut in the gate. As the soldiers opened the gate, Kip saw that it led to a short killing ground, entirely enclosed, with murder holes everywhere, then another gate. The guards at the second gate, which was open, carried muskets with almost bell-shaped muzzles. These guns were also shorter than the muskets the guards at the Chromeria carried.
Kip was next to Ironfist now, so he asked, “Why are their muskets so short?”
“Blunderbusses,” Ironfist said. “Instead of a ball, they load them with cobblers’ nails or chain. At short range you can hit four or five men. Or blow a good hole in one. Good for rioters. A man cut in half isn’t any less dead than one with a small hole in his heart, but he’s a much greater deterrent to everyone else in the crowd.”
“Nice,” Kip said, swallowing.
After a few more checkpoints, at which they accrued a few more senior guards, they climbed several floors. When they were on the third floor, they passed an open door to chambers overlooking the sea. Gavin stopped abruptly. Their escorts didn’t notice immediately. Ignoring them, Gavin walked into the room.
Ironfist, Kip, and Liv followed him. The room was a suite of apartments, filled with paintings, pillows, screens with ornate paintings of hunts, fireplaces, several chandeliers, and great long-handled fans for room slaves to waft their masters. Everywhere Kip looked, things sparkled, shined, and gleamed.
“This,” Gavin announced as his escorts hurried in, “will be sufficient…”
“Yes, Lord Prism, of course, this is the guest of honor’s suite. We’ll get—”
“For my servants,” Gavin finished. “Kip, Liv, I trust you can stay out of trouble while I get our accommodations arranged?”
“Yes, of course, my Lord Prism,” Liv said, a formality and maturity in her voice that Kip wasn’t familiar with.
“Start Kip’s drafting lessons. I’ll check up on you after I’m finished with a few things.”
“Of course,” Liv said, curtseying. Kip half-bowed, and instantly felt deeply foolish. He didn’t know how to bow. No one bowed where he grew up.
“Ironfist?” Gavin said.
Ironfist raised an eyebrow—oh, now you want me to go with you?
“Best chance you’ll have to see a pompous Ruthgari governor get kicked out of his rooms. More if you’re lucky. Might even be someone you know.”
The corner of Ironfist’s mouth twitched. “It’s the simple pleasures that make life beautiful, isn’t it?”