Islands in the Sky

3.12

Sema walked down the docks. She wasn’t sure how long ten minutes was, or how far the dock manager expected her to walk in that time, but she also wasn’t sure it especially mattered. She thought she understood what he’d meant, that she should walk for a short time, and then ask for directions, and she suspected being exact wasn’t important.

Even so, she tried to guess the passing of time.

She had some idea of how long a minute was, because there had been a mechanical timer in her village which could be turned to measure out a given number of minutes and then set going, to tick and click and rattle as it counted, and then buzz when it was done. It was a toy, a device of the ancients, something to watch for fun, and it had been taken out and set going several times a year all through Sema’s life, which meant she had some idea of time. She could remember something of the length of a minute, and so had some idea of how long ten minutes was, too, even though she was mostly guessing.

It wouldn’t be very exact, but she decided to count her steps as she walked, to try and keep track of distance that way. Just in case it mattered. She wasn’t sure how many steps she took in a minute, but she thought that ten counts of fifty might be enough for all ten minutes. And ten counts of fifty could easily be recorded on her hands, by putting out a finger or thumb on each as she walked, until all her fingers were extended.

She decided to hope that was exact enough, and counted as she walked.

She walked for a while, down to the bend of the island she was on, where the docks seemed to go around a corner. She could see more of the city now, see up valleys of roofs, going off into the interior of the islands. She could see smoke and haze and even more people, too, moving around, on the bridges and the nearer streets. She turned that corner, and walked through a part of the docks that was simply a long quay without stone wharfs, where ships tied up directly against the island so as to be closer to warehouses for unloading. She walked through that area, stepping around porters and stopping as people carried cargoes past her, and then on, into another part of the docks that was more like the area she had first arrived in, a jumble of smaller wharves and jetties and eating houses and taverns.

She wasn’t sure, but she thought this seemed more like a place to find someone her dock-manager would know. And she had counted off ten fifties of steps as well, so she stopped and looked around.

People were busy. Everyone was busy. Everyone she could see was, except a man standing beside a ship, watching others unload it. He must be making sure the right things were unloaded, Sema thought. He was standing almost in his porters’ way, with his hand on his hip, as though he felt himself very important. Probably too important to bother speaking with her, Sema thought, but he might also be someone who knew other important people, or who worked for them. Someone who would know Quen Tosal.

She hesitated, and then made herself go over. “Excuse me,” she said, and then waited.

The man barely looked up. He didn’t actually look up. “What is it?” he said.

“I am looking for Quen Tosal.”

“So look. He isn’t here.”

“Could you tell me where I ought to go? Please?”

The man sighed, as though it was a terrible imposition. Then, finally, he looked at her, and when he did he seemed a little surprised.

“What do you want with Quen Tosal?” he said.

“I have business with him. I have trade.”

“You have business with Quen Tosal?”

Sema nodded. “I do.”

The man looked sceptical. “Does Quen Tosal know this?”

“Not yet,” Sema said, patiently. “Obviously. Not until I speak with him and tell him what I want to trade.”

“I really do not think he will wish to speak with the likes of you.”