Then there were the privateers, the pirates and smugglers (operating under the guise of ordinary business), the smaller packets that plied the coastal trade, the courier ships taking messages to Osterling, Klee, Pommersien, and beyond. With all this wealth of seagoing traffic, Gerek expected to find at least one ship fit for deep-water sailing.
No, finding a ship to hire was not difficult. What made the matter complicated was Kosenmark’s need for secrecy. Do not link my name to this ship, the man had said, more than once, in the hours before he rode off to find Ilse Zhalina. Markus Khandarr will have set a watch on this city and this house.
So Gerek worked through a chain of several agents. Within a week, he had located a vessel that matched Kosenmark’s needs—a ship built for deep-water sailing, with only minor repairs needed. His heart thumped, remembering the terrifying moment when he signed the paperwork, authorizing payment of six thousand denier to the old owner, also the captain. At least the ship came with its own crew.
Back to provisions. The captain recommended salted fish, which he could obtain for a good price from certain suppliers. Gerek signed the request, glanced at a second stack of papers. He had spent the past three days buried in paperwork for licenses, bills for provisions, more bills to finish the ship’s repairs, the hire of new men to replace those who had left when the ship changed owners, and a mountain of other minutiae.
A rapping at his door interrupted him. “Maester Hessler? You have visitors.”
It was one of the house runners, with news that two of Kosenmark’s guards had arrived from distant parts. Immediately all Gerek’s weariness dropped away. “Send them to me at once.”
He gathered his papers into an untidy stack and brushed away the crumbs from his last hasty snack. Just in time, because the runner returned within moments with a woman and man. Katje and Theo, he recalled. Both of them trusted guards of several years’ service. He waved for them to be seated, but Katje laid two envelopes on his desk with some ceremony before she took a chair.
Gerek regarded the envelopes with caution. Two messages. Both sealed with magic. He took up the one addressed to The Captain and hissed with surprise. Layers upon layers of complicated spells protected it. He recalled his earlier studies of the man, how Dedrick spoke of Kosenmark’s skill with locks and other spells used by couriers to ensure that spies could not intercept their messages.
The second one was wrapped in the usual, ordinary spell set to Gerek Hessler’s touch. He brushed his fingers over the edge of the paper, and the letter folded. His personal instructions, then.
“Wait,” he told the two guards. “Let me know what our lord wishes.”
The first part contained a summary of what they had discussed before. Ship. Six-month voyage. Possibly longer. But then Kosenmark went on to say that its first destination was … Here came a particular longitude and latitude that meant nothing to Gerek, followed by two names that were distinctly Károvín.
Gerek stopped and reread the location. Tuř on Osek. Osek was an island settled by Károví and much disputed during the civil wars, if he recalled his history. Tuř must be a village on the coast. Very odd, he thought, but then, trust was not an absolute. Kosenmark trusted Gerek enough to handle the ship and the money. If he wanted to keep certain details a secret, it was his privilege.
The rest of the instructions were clear enough. Send two senior guards from the household to join the crew. They would need some experience with ships. Equally important, they must have at least two years in Kosenmark’s service. Besides observing any suspicious activities, their most important task was to deliver the second letter to the captain with a message.
Tell him to read the instructions only after he has left port. And he must read them alone, in his cabin, from beginning to end, without omitting anything.
There were more instructions about their guest from Fortezzien and for providing money and horses to the two guards. The letter ended abruptly, without a signature or even an initial. Gerek stared at the page, though his mind was on the writer and not the contents. For all the painstaking detail, there were deliberate gaps in the information. He does not trust me, Gerek thought. And then, No, that is not true. He trusts me, but not the situation.