Read Well of Sorrows for Free Online Page B
Authors: Joshua Palmatier
this area of Lean-to, where the craftsmen are!”
Colin sighed in exasperation, but he took the bucket. Because of the warning in his mother’s voice and the look he got from his father.
But he didn’t intend to stay out of Portstown.
The next day, Colin told his mother he was going hunting, but as soon as he left the outskirts of Lean-to, he cut around the edge of the shacks and tents and headed toward the town. He carried his satchel, hung over one shoulder, and his sling was tied to his forearm, the straps and pouch for the stone bundled up in his hand. He’d worn a long-sleeve shirt, so that the crisscrossed ties of the sling would be hidden, the cuff rolled back slightly so that it wouldn’t interfere with his throw. He wanted to be ready.
He entered the town from the north, a flutter of nervousness tightening in his gut as he passed through the outermost houses. Low stone fences surrounded the town now, separating the ramshackle Lean-to on the rise above from the land Sartori had given to some of the more influential members of the port. The stone walls—fieldstone mostly, although some had used the water-worn stone from the shore—marked the boundaries of the different estates. As Colin came upon a dirt lane, he peered over the low walls, curious, and tried not to scowl. These were the houses of the nobility, the tradesmen and lesser nobles, or those that fancied themselves nobles here in New Andover. The stone walls were broken by iron gates, and carriage houses and stables hid behind the main houses, even though there were only two carriages in all of Portstown. Ornamental gardens had been planted inside the walls, the trees young, barely twice Colin’s height, the hedges trimmed, the rose bushes pruned. Colin saw stable hands cleaning out the stables, a servant’s face appearing briefly in one window before vanishing, but no one else. Not here. Most of the regular people in Portstown would be down at the docks, or in the market in the center of town.
The lanes between the estates ended at the beginning of Water Street and the docks. Colin slowed as soon as he stepped onto the new planking of the wharf, his eyes immediately drawn to the Armory guardsmen that stood at the end of the first dock. Dressed in leather armor, white shirts with the Carrente Family crest, breeches, and a metal helm with points to the front and back, they stood out from the rest of the men that lined the wharf. Two of them carried swords, sheathed; the third carried a pike. One of the swordsmen grimaced as Colin moved forward onto the wharf, pointing with his pipe before puffing on it and blowing smoke in Colin’s direction. Colin frowned, and the guardsman snickered before turning away.
The docks weren’t empty, but they weren’t crowded either. A few men were toting crates from a stack at the end of the wharf, a boy younger than Colin sitting watch. Another group moved barrels marked with the Carrente Family sigil onto the back of a wagon, grunting and cursing. On the second dock, workers were readying for the arrival of another ship, although when Colin shaded his eyes and stared out at the dark waves of the ocean he couldn’t see anything on the horizon. No ships were berthed in Portstown, but numerous boats were out in the channel between Portstown and the outer banks of the Strand, the stretch of sand that protected the coast from the worst of the storms that came from the sea.
Colin hesitated at the end of the dock, watching the preparations long enough that the Armory guardsmen finally shifted and began drifting in his direction. Before they’d made it halfway to his position, he stepped off the wooden planks of the wharf back onto the dirt road and headed deeper into town.
The buildings closest to the docks were taverns and the mercantiles of the trading companies, with stables or small warehouses in back for storing supplies over short periods of time. Behind these lay the wide town square, the Proprietor’s
Colin sighed in exasperation, but he took the bucket. Because of the warning in his mother’s voice and the look he got from his father.
But he didn’t intend to stay out of Portstown.
The next day, Colin told his mother he was going hunting, but as soon as he left the outskirts of Lean-to, he cut around the edge of the shacks and tents and headed toward the town. He carried his satchel, hung over one shoulder, and his sling was tied to his forearm, the straps and pouch for the stone bundled up in his hand. He’d worn a long-sleeve shirt, so that the crisscrossed ties of the sling would be hidden, the cuff rolled back slightly so that it wouldn’t interfere with his throw. He wanted to be ready.
He entered the town from the north, a flutter of nervousness tightening in his gut as he passed through the outermost houses. Low stone fences surrounded the town now, separating the ramshackle Lean-to on the rise above from the land Sartori had given to some of the more influential members of the port. The stone walls—fieldstone mostly, although some had used the water-worn stone from the shore—marked the boundaries of the different estates. As Colin came upon a dirt lane, he peered over the low walls, curious, and tried not to scowl. These were the houses of the nobility, the tradesmen and lesser nobles, or those that fancied themselves nobles here in New Andover. The stone walls were broken by iron gates, and carriage houses and stables hid behind the main houses, even though there were only two carriages in all of Portstown. Ornamental gardens had been planted inside the walls, the trees young, barely twice Colin’s height, the hedges trimmed, the rose bushes pruned. Colin saw stable hands cleaning out the stables, a servant’s face appearing briefly in one window before vanishing, but no one else. Not here. Most of the regular people in Portstown would be down at the docks, or in the market in the center of town.
The lanes between the estates ended at the beginning of Water Street and the docks. Colin slowed as soon as he stepped onto the new planking of the wharf, his eyes immediately drawn to the Armory guardsmen that stood at the end of the first dock. Dressed in leather armor, white shirts with the Carrente Family crest, breeches, and a metal helm with points to the front and back, they stood out from the rest of the men that lined the wharf. Two of them carried swords, sheathed; the third carried a pike. One of the swordsmen grimaced as Colin moved forward onto the wharf, pointing with his pipe before puffing on it and blowing smoke in Colin’s direction. Colin frowned, and the guardsman snickered before turning away.
The docks weren’t empty, but they weren’t crowded either. A few men were toting crates from a stack at the end of the wharf, a boy younger than Colin sitting watch. Another group moved barrels marked with the Carrente Family sigil onto the back of a wagon, grunting and cursing. On the second dock, workers were readying for the arrival of another ship, although when Colin shaded his eyes and stared out at the dark waves of the ocean he couldn’t see anything on the horizon. No ships were berthed in Portstown, but numerous boats were out in the channel between Portstown and the outer banks of the Strand, the stretch of sand that protected the coast from the worst of the storms that came from the sea.
Colin hesitated at the end of the dock, watching the preparations long enough that the Armory guardsmen finally shifted and began drifting in his direction. Before they’d made it halfway to his position, he stepped off the wooden planks of the wharf back onto the dirt road and headed deeper into town.
The buildings closest to the docks were taverns and the mercantiles of the trading companies, with stables or small warehouses in back for storing supplies over short periods of time. Behind these lay the wide town square, the Proprietor’s