It was a hot morning. It was always a hot morning, no matter how cool the night or how fresh the breeze. The sun would rise, and it would bake Rhytheport, and damn near boil everyone living there. Thirty-something years passed since Talyreina had been dropped off in a bag and left for dead in this godsforsaken town, yet she still held the title of the most recent arrival, the last one. No one wanted to live there, or to even visit for that matter, only… they could not leave. Traders would not risk such a perilous journey were it not for the salt, and even then, few would risk stepping off their ship.
Talyreina finished her cup of lukewarm tea. Imported from Helen’s Bay on the west coast, she could only afford the luxury once or twice a week, but still it always tasted like a cup of salt with some slight exotic flavour to make it marginally more interesting. It didn’t matter how long tea was left to brew, it still tasted like salt. Everything tasted like bloody salt.
She wrapped herself in a white cloth, covering as much skin as she could. She would spend most of her day outdoors, more than enough to return burnt and blistered, head throbbing, stomach convulsing. The sun was no friend to Rhytheport, but their lives still depended on it. Talyreina’s especially.
Reluctantly, she left the house, hurrying out of the front door without glancing back. Built from baked clay bricks, it looked much like every other building there. The town’s creativity had been sapped years before, monotony becoming typical in both sight and thought. A newcomer would stand no chance finding their way home. Though, if she ever spotted one, she would probably throw them back into the sea for their stupidity anyway.
“Morning, Tally,” called a voice passing her in the street.
“Good morning to you, Witsen,” she replied, striving to sound as cheerful as she could.
Witsen was on his way back from the docks. That early, it suggested his catch had been light. And he was probably hungry and broke, in a foul mood and, above all, thirsty. She could let it go. She could let him walk home in peace without anyone reminding him how bad life could be, as any decent person would do.
“Catch anything this morning?” she asked, stifling a wry smile.
“Nothing to catch,” moaned Witsen. “I swear there are no more fish in the sea.”
Not an enticing prospect for a town that relied on a healthy catch to survive. It was not as if they could just buy food from Helen’s Bay. The dominant city lay in the only fertile region, the rich area, on the opposite end of Renryre Island. Rhytheport had been wedged between two hundred leagues of desert, and thousands of leagues of sea. It produced nothing to offer, except salt. And nothing to eat, except fish. Worse yet, there was nothing to drink; no fresh water to be found anywhere.
Talyreina knew what Witsen would ask next. She could tell by the pleading expression expanding on his face.
“Please, Tally,” he whimpered. “I haven’t had anything to drink today. Do you have any spare water? A few drops perhaps?”
She did. But that’s because she was smart. She saved it up, kept a few spare bottles hidden here and there, in places no one else could find them. She kept enough to last her a week just in case she couldn’t work. In Rhytheport, not having spare water was as good as hanging yourself. She always kept a store.
“Sorry, Witsen, I drank the last of it this morning. I made a cup of tea. It tasted incredible. Very… refreshing.”
Except it tasted like salt. Everything tasted like bloody salt.
“Thanks anyway,” said Witsen, a dour, pitiful expression swallowing his face. “Have a good day at work.”
About time that man fell overboard, Talyreina thought to herself; he would make a satisfying meal for the tailsharks. There may well be a shortage of fish around, but there were always plenty of tailshark fins cutting through the surf. Witsen was too soft by far, and too stupid. Talyreina couldn’t understand how he had survived so long in Rhytheport. Worse, the man seemed to think he stood a chance with her. Ten years of rejection still failed to dissuade him.
She wasn’t interested in weak men. She kept her eyes open for someone different. Someone with the right attitude. And perhaps someone who could take her away from Rhytheport. But deep down she knew it couldn’t happen. In thirty-something years, no one had managed to leave Rhytheport. It just was not possible.
“Morning, Tally,” came a voice from the gatehouse.
“Good morning to you, Maz,” she said, forcing a smile.
Maz had worked in the pans for as long as she could remember. She too, really, at least since she could walk. There wasn’t much skill to her job, but the men joked that she possessed a gift, and her life in the pans began early.
“Need anything?” asked Maz.
“Got a ship and enough money for me to get out of this godsforsaken place?”
If Maz owned a ship, he would no doubt have offered to whisk her away years before.
“I got some tools? Might not help with your flight, but in the meantime you could get some work done.”
“I’ll take a brush, a chisel, a hammer, and a couple of cloths. Got some rusty plates need work.”
Maz handed her the supplies, and she soon began her work as the tide gradually withdrew.
Salt pans stretched a few miles along the coast. During high tide they captured water in shallow pools, and during low tide they let it bake in the sun. A series of iron plates captured steam as it evaporated, allowing it to collect and gradually run off into bottles, leaving a layer of dried salt in the pan. The bottles needed to be prepared when the tide began to fall and removed before it returned. The plates needed constant attention; iron rusted quickly, poisoning the water if it was not cleaned frequently enough.
Most coastal towns along would boil their water over fire, but Rhytheport suffered a distinct disadvantage. Living at the edge of a desert meant there was little to burn. Firewood was a luxury as valuable as water itself, and flamed meat a treat reserved only for special celebrations, a feast few could afford. Residents of Rhytheport had learned to use the scorching sun and salt for their cooking needs too; the only two things they received in abundance when fishing skiffs returned unburdened.
“Morning, Tally,” called a voice as she began work on one of the pans.
“Good morning to you, Jollo,” she replied, already annoyed by his ridiculous grin.
Jollo was a fellow panner. Not a bad guy really, in that innocent, boring, and completely harmless sort of way. Except that he persisted in sniffing around her.
“Fine day isn’t it?” he said. “And a perfect tide too.”
It was a perfect tide, the sea dropping just as it began to grow hot, setting a full day’s worth of sun to boil the water. They were able to stockpile surplus and still sell more of it for a little less when tides were right.
“Only if you like spending an entire day in the sun.”
Jollo took a deep breath and puffed his chest out.
“All in a day’s work. Town needs us, we do the best we can.”
For ourselves, thought Talyreina to herself. Sure, she sold water, but it wasn’t exactly to help the locals. Panners were integral to Rhytheport, making certain there was always enough drinkable water… but a job was a job, and she was there for the coin.
“Fancy meeting me in the tavern tonight?” asked Jollo. “I hear Deklow got something special in from Helen’s Bay.”
Silly man. Drinks from Helen’s Bay were not cheap.
“I would love to,” said Talyreina. “But I can’t afford it at the moment.”
“Please, Tally, don’t worry about money. I would love to buy you a drink.”
Silly man.
“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” She flashed him a smile. “I’ll see you there. But you best get back to work now.”
Jollo skipped away like an undignified idiot. Talyreina began preparing bottles along the pans, her feet sinking into the ground. It was still early, the damp sand still cool. But it wouldn’t last long. She sang to herself softly as she worked. Not about handsome princes and heroic warriors, nor even about silly men buying her drinks, but about fabled towns of the mainland, where trees grew wild, where water flowed in broad rivers, and where trade kept markets stocked with goods unheard of in Rhytheport. The mainland was a myth, she was certain, despite countless tales repeated by older generations. But she didn’t care about reaching the mainland, she only sought to escape Rhytheport.
Talyreina sat down to take a short break, taking a sip of water from one of the collection bottles. It was hot and far from refreshing. She hated it, and she felt tempted to spit it out, but experience had taught her otherwise. She just wished the pans cleaned it more effectively. Poorly filtered, the water was used in producing local ale, when they produced enough of it, and for preparing food. It was drinkable, but it still tasted like salt. Everything tasted like bloody salt.
Such was the daily routine for Talyreina. Sun. Salt. More salt. And on special occasions, an ale in the local tavern.
“Evening, Tally,” came a greeting from behind the bar.
“Good evening to you, Deklow,” she replied, her eyes already scanning for available drinks behind the bar.
Only one tavern remained in Rhytheport. The Evergreen Stream. While the name seemed somewhat deceptive, sun-scorched remnants of the sign swinging above the door offered a more accurate depiction. It was not green, nor was there a stream within a hundred leagues. Often enough, it did not have anything to drink either, but that evening they had opened a barrel of the local brew and sourced a fresh shipment from Helen’s Bay.
“I’ll try one of those fancy drinks,” she said, pointing at the cask. “Jollo offered to buy me one.”
Deklow, being an experienced bartender, didn’t say anything, but he gave Jollo a pitiful look as he began to pour. She supposed she would at least need to talk to Jollo while she drank it. That much she could afford him.
But before long she turned away and wandered the tavern, searching for improved company. A man soon stopped her, offering to buy her a drink. She didn’t recognise him. Could be a trader, she guessed. It didn’t matter to her; she was soon sitting down with a fresh cup of ale.
“You work in the pans, right?” he said.
“Only because I need to.”
“I need to get out of this town,” he said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
She had heard that before, many times. But her drink was nearly full.
“Me?”
“Yes. I have a plan. But I need someone on the inside. Someone, er… not entirely… dedicated.”
That described her perfectly. Give or take.
“On the inside?”
“You understand the concept of supply and demand, right?”
“More or less. I supply the boot, you supply the pebbles, and you curl up on the floor crying for your mother while I demand that you shut up. Get to the point, what do you want from me?”
The man laughed, cheerful, unthreatened. Brave, or slimy, she couldn’t be certain, and she still didn’t know his name.
“Water,” he said. “More valuable than anything else around here. High demand, low supply, you see.”
“That’s not news, it’s just the way it is.”
“True. But what if we were to tinker with that, to our benefit? Reduce the supply, increase the demand.”
“Go on.”
“We work together, siphoning off extra water, stockpiling it in my warehouse. You work in the pans, so you can make sure that enough of the water comes our way, preferably without it costing us anything. Then, when we are ready, we poison all the workers, disrupting the supply. That would leave only us to meet the demand, at extortionate prices of course. We could earn enough to get out of Rhytheport.”
There were three flaws in his plan. One, she would need to poison herself too, otherwise they would all know it was her. Two, the entire town would see straight through their plan and hang them up for a week in sun.
“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked. “How do I know you wouldn’t betray me and take all the money for yourself?”
And finally, three: the way she saw it, she didn’t need him. She would definitely screw him out of his share.
“We both want the same thing,” he said. “We’re both stuck here, and we both want to get away. We can help each other here.”
He had a point.
“How did you end up here?”
“Storm blew us around the island, and my boat sank off the peninsula three days ago. Lost my crew, and I have no money and nothing to sell. I need to get back to Helen’s Bay.”
She glanced at the expensive ale in front of her, she did not ask how he could afford it.
“It sounds like we have a deal,” she said reaching her arm out. “What’s your name?”
“I gave up my real name years ago. Please, call me Tailfin.”
Tailfin. Sounds just like someone who would work up such a scheme. She downed the remains of her ale, and after nodding to her new business partner, she left for home, delighted at her new attempt at escape.
When the panners all fell ill a week later, Talyreina arrived at the pans insisting she was still okay to work. Despite the unknown risk, they were happy for her to head out. Strangely, even with perfect conditions, hardly any water had made it back to Rhytheport recently, and the stores were all but empty. Talyreina, of course, knew exactly where the water was, but she and Tailfin weren’t quite ready to sell. She would collect another day’s worth and wait a little longer while the residents began to dehydrate. That should drive the price up nicely.
She enjoyed the sun for the first time in a while, wondering whether it would be her last day working there. Her feet sank into cool sand, though the tides were already coming in later in the day. Soon, high tide would envelop the afternoon, and water production would all but fail. The townsfolk knew that too, and she could almost feel their last coins in her pockets.
“Evening, Tally,” said the man in the gatehouse.
“Good evening to you, Maz,” she said as she handed him tools to store overnight.
“Too many plates are rusted through,” she said. “Can hardly syphon a drop. Doesn’t help that I am alone here either.”
Worry furled across Maz’s brow; he knew what it meant. Rhytheport was dry.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise. I will do my best. I know how much the town needs it.”
Talyreina skipped away, leaving Maz nodding solemnly. He couldn’t do anything more. She headed back to towards town to meet Tailfin. The water had been stored in his so-called warehouse – an old, abandoned building, crumbling, and lacking a roof – where he had been sleeping under the restless stars since being wrecked in Rhytheport.
She had hardly made it half way there when a nervous thought turned into certainty. She began running, cursing to herself. Tailfin had moved faster than she, and she knew it. She sensed it in her bones.
She burst in through the broken doorway to find exactly what she had been expecting. A ruin, walls crumbing, roof long gone, with an empty floor, no water, and no Tailfin. The godsdamned bastard.
Furious, she bolted into town, searching for any sign of the slimy creep. Within moments, residents turned on her, chased her down, and grabbed her. She was taken by surprise, but it did not take long to catch up. He had sold her out, easing his own flight.
“What the hell is going on?” she yelled.
A particularly aggressive looking woman stood inches away from her face, with arms gripping hard on each shoulder and a scowl outdone only by her savage tone.
“You were stockpiling water, watching the rest of us suffer! Did you really think you would get away with it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The foreigner found your stash. Don’t deny it!”
“What? The foreigner? I have been working all day desperately striving to collect every drop of water I could, and you believe some foreigner about me hiding it? Where is he anyway?”
The woman faltered. Didn’t loosen her grip though.
“He’s… well, he was trying to get a boat…”
“He got away? Did you all pay for his board too?”
Now she let go, and the mob quietened down quickly, sheepishly shifting eyes at each other.
“Well, he… gave us the water. Freely.”
“Freely? You paid for his way out of this place.”
Rhytheport really was full of idiots. Tailfin had played them. Played her too, but at least she managed to get away without being robbed in the process.
“Any other panners okay to work tomorrow?” she asked. “No? Well then you better let me get a good night’s sleep!”
She didn’t. Instead, she spent the entire night cursing herself, rolling over and staring at different flaws in the darkened bedroom walls. She knew Tailfin planned to screw her over, but she was supposed to screw him over first. She was supposed to be the town’s saviour, not the one thrown to dirt for a trampling.
Well, she did at least gain something from her experience. A new goal in life. Not only did she need to get out of Rhytheport, but she needed to find Tailfin and stick a sharp blade through his testicles. One by one. Slowly. It would be a sweet revenge.
“Morning, Tally,” said the man in the gatehouse.
“Good morning to you, Ma… Jollo?” she replied, more curious than concerned.
“Maz is off sick,” said Jollo. “Same thing as the rest of us. You still all right?”
“Seems I have a stronger gut than you lot.”
“I guess. Hey, sorry to hear what happened last night. Nothing like being stabbed in your back by your own neighbours.”
Jollo produced a pitiful expression. Had he been there, he probably would have been stupid enough to try to help her. Besides, she didn’t care about the townsfolk. Being betrayed by some foreign trickster felt far worse.
“Yes, well, they were desperate. It’s over now. Anyone else at work today?”
“No, just you and me.”
Perfect. Jollo would end up following her around all day. Whining and pining.
“What say we split up, cover as much ground as possible?”
The tides were lousy. Not enough time between high tide and sunset to extract enough water. The stockpile would last only a few more days, but they would need to get ahead of production if they wanted to avoid another riot.
Putting her back into it, Talyreina had already resigned herself to the hard grind when she heard clinking chains coming from inland. She picked up an iron bar, the closest thing to a weapon on hand, and followed the noise to find a man limping towards her, stumbling meekly in the desert. She didn’t recognise him – another foreigner! But this man towed chains on his ankles, each one dragging an iron ball. He looked parched. Well, actually he looked half dead. Like he had been wandering the desert for a few weeks, burnt half to death.
Cautiously, she offered him some water. He stared at the bottle for a few seconds like a man trying to figure out if he was being tricked. Or in a dream.
“Lytette?” he asked.
“Er, what?”
He smiled and took the bottle. Took a deep sip, tipping his head over backwards. Then spat it out.
“Yuk. Tastes like bloody salt!”
Talyreina smiled and chuckled softly.
“Everything tastes like bloody salt!” she agreed. “I’m Talyreina. Tally for short. Who are you? What are you doing out here?”
“Madrik. I had a run-in with an old nemesis. Probably thinks he’s won. But not this time. This time, I will hunt him down, lock chains around his ankles, and drop him into the deep ocean.”
Madrik stared at the chains at his feet.
“You help me out, I will make it worth your while. I have money back in Helen’s Bay. Enough to make you smile for a very long time.”
Helen’s Bay? Money? Maybe she could convince a trader ship to take them there, agree a price to pay on delivery. Rhytheport money was useless, but coin from Helen’s Bay might just do it. She felt a smile broaden on her face, ignoring a nagging voice in her head reminding her that it was impossible to escape from Rhytheport. She had to try.
“I’ll help you get back to Helen’s Bay. For a price.”
“Done.”
They hadn’t agreed a price, but her smile continued to grow regardless. Getting to Helen’s Bay would be good enough for her. From there, she could track down the slimy bastard that screwed her over.
“Who are you going after, anyway?”
“The slimiest bastard you’ll ever meet. Goes by the name of Tailfin.”
She nearly squeaked in her excitement.
“Tailfin!”
Next, Chapter V: The Lost Hermit
M.A.B. Holloway 