The Archivist by Tom D Wright Page B

riverbank and turn toward the docks. We start moving more cautiously when we reach the town waterfront, listening carefully and looking for any movement on the empty thoroughfares. By the time we are on Dock Street, we are moving from shadow to shadow.
    Aside from the small fleet of fishing boats, I count four sea-going merchant vessels tied up along the wharves. Two of them are immaculately maintained, and clearly mastered by captains who run a tight ship. At any other time one of those would be my first choice, but not now. I need a captain who bends the rules.
    Of the other two, one of them doesn’t look robust enough to make it down the river and out of the harbor, let alone venture out into coastal waters, so I decide to approach Lady of the Mist first.
    I check one more time that the street is empty, pass my staff over to Danae, and tell her to stay where she is, in the shadows. Then I walk up the gangway. The crewman on watch sits slumped next to the foremast, dozing.
    An Archivist retrieval is fifty percent social engineering, and this is my element. I stomp heavily near the top of the plank so that my footsteps rouse the watchman, and the sailor scrambles to meet me at the gunwale.
    “What’re ya wantin’?” the man growls, and examines me suspiciously while he rubs sleep from his eyes.
    “I would speak with your captain, immediately.”
    The man laughs. “You’ll have to come back during the forenoon watch. If I were to wake him now, he’d run me through, less’n the ship was on fire.”
    I slip a handful of coins out of my pocket. “I’d wager he’ll run you through when he finds out how much you cost him by not waking him right this minute.” The man stares at the glinting discs, and I hand him a silver one. “This is for just listening to me. Bring him back in five minutes and I’ll slip you this gold one when he’s not looking.”
    The man snatches the silver coin and shifts from foot to foot, eyeing the gold piece I am holding out, and weighing whether to take his chances. Avarice wins out, and he hurries off. Stepping aboard, I lean against the rail and reflect on the eternal value of shiny metal. I never leave home without a pocketful.
    Sure enough, not four minutes later, the sailor returns with a tall, gaunt, scowling man who I could swear is the reincarnation of Abraham Lincoln—without the hat, of course. Not that most people would know or care anymore who Lincoln was.
    The ship’s master glares at me as he growls, “Just who the devil are you? And give me one reason why I shouldn’t throw you off my ship right now!”
    I look the captain in the eye for several long moments. When I sense that I have kept him waiting just long enough to reach parity—and not a moment longer—I respond. “You can call me K’Marr, and I have a vested interest in leaving port before the sun rises. And I have quite a few reasons here in my pocket why you want to keep me aboard your ship.”
    The captain narrows his eyes at me, and I can tell he is hooked.
    “I’m Captain Hanford. Where would your interests be taking you? And why should I care to take you there?”
    “If it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’d rather clarify our mutual interests in a less conspicuous spot.”
    As I turn the ship’s master in the direction of the shadows behind the foredeck, I lay a gold coin on the rail behind me and step forward. In the event we do manage to book passage, the last thing I need is a crew member seeking retribution. We move into the shadows. From where we stand, I can keep an eye on the dark nook where Danae waits.
    “I have an urgent matter to attend to in Entiak. The nature of my business is my own counsel and of no concern to any authority, either here or there. But I assure you that I have no design against any person or government, and my purpose is strictly personal.”
    The captain weighs my words, then responds, “I care not why you need passage, just why I should give it to you. You