At the inner gates to the docks of Pelargir, wagons moved swiftly in and out day and night stocked with produce and equipment and travelers. Faron watched them with a lazy eye, yawning. He had pulled this duty, guarding the Pelargir civilian docks, some six months ago and had really found it pretty cushy. Better than the front, certainly. However, some weeks were better than others. This week, so he would have three full, glorious days off next week to propose to Prella, he was doing the worst shifts. Now that she had finally finished with her studies, his moment had arrived. Just thinking about her made him smile like an idiot (or so his squadmates said) and his palms sweat, and thinking of her refusing his proposal made him feel sick.
Just another few days, and all this suspense would be over and hopefully he would never have to hear his mother ask him when he was going to find a nice girl and marry her ever again. However he had to get there first, which meant taking the worst duties for a couple more days and smiling about it. Tonight was looking to be the worst yet.
The late shift was always murder.
As he tried to stifle another yawn, he noticed a wagon pulled to the side in an unloading area, a fair distance from the gate. An old woman had pulled a battered old carpetbag out of the back of the wagon with effort and was making her way towards him. Sweet looking old granny, he thought. Typical Gondorian country matron. Neatly but simply dressed, kerchief protecting snowy white locks from the breeze. Pink cheeks, bright eyes and a ready smile. Reminded him of her own grandmothers, off in the country, far from war and soldiers. He missed them.
He rushed over to the woman. A welcoming smile was on his face but for a moment she looked suspicious. Of course she did, what did a pleasant old goose like this know of soldiers with spears. He tossed his spear to the side so as not to startle her more. “Good evening to you Ma’am, welcome to Pelargir…may I help you?”
The woman smiled softly, recovering herself. “Oh such a dear boy…you remind me of my grandson, off to war the poor lad. Such a worry, but you boys here are still such a comfort to my weary soul.” She patted his shoulder, her silver ring flashing in the torch light and Faron smiled more broadly. This was just what he needed during this long shift, like a hug from home.
He reached for her carpet bag but she shook her head. “No I can manage it, I am stronger then I look…these are all just gifts for my friends and relations and they do my heart good to bear them. All I could use from you, young man, is some information.”
As the woman continued towards the gate, Faron walked beside her. “Oh course Ma’am…whatever I can do.”
The old woman nodded. “I am looking for the ship I booked passage on. The Nightbreed it’s called I think. A smallish ship, but I was told the sails were charcoal grey and that’s how I would know her.”
The boy frowned and paused. “The Nightbreed? Aye she made port two days past, taking on supplies and water. Are you sure that is the ship you mean, Ma’am…she has an evil air about her, and the sailors on board seem to be of a foreign cast, rough and speaking odd languages.”
The old woman chuckled. “Where I must sail, young man, it is best to have a ship and crew that know what’s what, if you understand me. I trust the authorities found no fault with them?”
Faron shook his head, guiding the woman towards the stairs down to the piers “No…but they took some time about it, checked twice due to well...appearances, but all their papers and permits were in order…at first there were some questions,….But her captain met with the dockmaster, sorted it out or so I heard.”
The woman nodded. “Yes, her captain is a capable sort, very…resourceful. He has my full trust. However I fear I have been keeping him waiting.” She looked out towards the horizon, the way she had come, and her expression grew dark suddenly, as if realizing an unfortunate fact.
“Forget something back home?” Faron asked.
The woman shook her head, her voice now almost a whisper. “No…it just seems that…well…something I had been hoping for didn’t come to pass after all. Ah well….another day, I am sure. There is ALWAYS another day for me…an endless amount.”
Faron knew what his own grannies would want to hear after saying that. “Oh come now, you aren’t as old as all that, Miss…?”
“You may call me Mother Ynnabeth, my boy…and as for how old I am, trust me, you have NO idea.” She patted his cheek. “Now, where is the Nightbreed?”
He pointed down towards the piers. “Berth 14, you can’t miss it. You can just see the sails from here. She is all rigged to depart it seems, you just made it.”
Ynnabeth laughed softly. “Oh no…I knew they would wait…however long I took, they would wait. However I really must be on my way. I have lingered too long as it is and it would not due for me to be delayed until…old friends arrive. I hate sad goodbyes.”
Faron looked back, confused. “But what shall I do with your wagon and horses ma’am? Is someone coming to collect them for you?”
Ynnabeth was already about to walk into the bustling crowd, but turned. “No, no…I have no more use of them, my good man. Consider the whole rig a wedding gift, my boy, I am sure the lassie will say yes. Such happy news and such a lovely girl. I am sure you can sell the wagon, and its contents, for a fair price if you know where. And here….” She reached out and tucked a noxious looking pink flower in the strap of his hauberk, her eyes bright. “And here, a pretty posey to give to your young lady. It was a gift to me from one of my oldest friends, named Lara. A bit of a Harpy, but her hearts are in the right places.”
Before Faron could object again, the woman had disappeared into the crowd towards the ships. He shrugged, and slowly went back the way he had come, taking his time. Such a sweet old woman. He retrieved his spear casually, and patted the two horses hitched to the wagon…strange, their eyes were wide and they were both shaking, right on the edge of spooking. He had never seen that before...if they were so afraid, why didn’t they bolt…and what could they be afraid OF?
He went around to inspect the wagon, and his eyes fell on the bodies. Four of them, an entire family, neatly laid out in the bed of the wagon and half covered by an old blanket. Each one, their throats were slit ear to ear. The two children’s eyes were wide open, and they were smiling.
Smiling.
Faron screamed and staggered back…he tried to call for the other guards but somehow couldn’t. His voice failed him as his entire body was suddenly trembling. He was coughing too hard to call out, hacking in fact…coughing blood…the stench of the flower was making his head swim. He was falling…why couldn’t he stand up?
As the Nightwatch set sail and slowly drew out of Pelargir docks, Mother Ynnabeth safely aboard below deck, young Faron lay in the dirt of the road and thought of Prella. He wondered what her answer would have been. He heard shouting…someone calling his name.
As he went into seizure, Guardsman Faron of Pelargir had his last living thought.
“How had she known he was hoping to be married?”
When his squadmates finally reached him, Faron’s eyes were already filled with blood and staring up at the starry sky.
The late shift was always murder.
