The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,62
addition to the ships unloading various cargo—large crates of produce and heavy sacks filled with spices and olives or ornate trunks stuffed with Pelagan aurums ready to be exchanged for krogers—there were now hastily erected tents promising maps to Braxos, infallible compasses, and manuals for discerning gemstones. Signs were posted in front of most ships, announcing exorbitant prices for berths and schedules of departures. Agnes knew it would only get worse in the coming days, as more and more treasure seekers swelled into Old Port in search of passage to Pelago.
Fishermen sold skewers of grilled cod and scallops while fresh octopus tentacles cooked under their watchful gaze; prostitutes leaned out of the windows of brothels, wearing wisps of clothes and calling down to the sailors below. The wide main walkway was spattered with blood, cigarette butts, fish guts, and other fluids whose origins Agnes did not wish to think about.
She had told Eneas to wait by the car, that she was only going to buy some bracelets that the fishermen’s wives sold, but she wasn’t sure he believed her. She made certain to pick up a few at the first stall she passed as evidence; she bought him a bag of his favorite candied walnuts as well, hoping that might placate him.
Agnes kept her eye out for the Pelagan flag, green with the silver crest of Pelago emblazoned on it, two horses rearing on either side of an olive tree. But the only flags she saw bore the red stripes and golden sun of Kaolin. Then she noticed two women wearing the traditional lace gowns and ornate shell headdresses of the Pelagan upper class, weaving through the crowds arm in arm. She fell into step behind them, hoping they might be searching for a ship as well.
They spoke in Pelagan, and Agnes’s grasp of the language was not strong enough to understand them. But they led her to a ship and her spirits leaped. It was a large but graceful galleon with a horse’s head carved into the bow. The captain, a middle-aged Pelagan woman, called out to the ladies on the dock. She strode down the gangplank and welcomed them in their native tongue, kissing their hands and fawning over them. Agnes loitered around, waiting for the women to finish their dealings so she could approach the captain herself. She felt in her pocket for the bag of jewelry and worried that this ship might be too grand for her meager payment. If only she could access her account at the bank herself! She had a trust with enough krogers to buy her passage on this ship, she was sure. But her father would never give her permission to take out so much money.
Suddenly, a sign by the gangplank caught her eye.
PELAGAN PAISIVATIS MONACH
And underneath, in Kaolish, was written:
PELAGAN PASSENGERS ONLY
Agnes’s heart sank. This ship wouldn’t take her no matter how many krogers she offered. She left the women and wandered down the docks, seeing similar signs on other ships flying the Pelagan flag. She reached the end of the docks and was about to turn around and head back to the car, in shame and defeat, when she saw the schooner. It was unimpressive and ramshackle, a tattered flag hanging from its prow, faded to nearly colorless, but Agnes could make out the shape of a horse and part of a tree.
The ship appeared to be deserted except for a single girl, maybe a year or two older than Agnes herself, sitting on a wooden bollard at the foot of the gangplank, smoking a clove cigarette and whittling away at a chunk of driftwood. Agnes stood for a moment, unsure of what to do, if this girl was even part of the crew of this schooner or if she’d just found a convenient spot to sit and smoke. Finally, she decided she had to try.
“Hello,” she said. “I would like to book passage on your ship.”
“This is not a passenger ship,” the girl said in heavily accented Kaolish without looking up from her whittling. Her skin was freckled and sunburned, her thick auburn hair tied back in a loose braid. Agnes cursed herself for not saying hello in Pelagan.
“Se parakhair maitorese mi,” she said, and the girl looked up at the formal Pelagan apology. “It is of great importance that I get to Pelago as soon as possible.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. They were a gray as soft as a mourning dove’s wing but keen and full of suspicion.