Clearing a track is thirsty work, a hard-working labourer reflected,
settling down on an upturned crate. Foam flecking his upper lip, he
inspected the array of supplies scattered across the frigid rubble. Ahh
yes, more darkbrew. Inga was a class act, that lady.

He had first heard of the new tundra trading post project when he joined
a crowd of people gaping at a curling poster nailed to a tree trunk. The
ink was still damp in the Aalen air: "NOW HIRING! The Southern Sapience
Cartel seeks hard, honest workers for construction job in northern
Sapience. Please apply in writing to Inga, Caer Witrin, Southern
Vashnars."

"Southern Sapience Cartel," he had wondered aloud. "I've never heard of
those folks before."

Kalieth, his Tsol'aa friend, had smiled, more than a touch of pride
evident in her expression. "Yes, it's the only way we can afford the
planned trading route. What with all those villages up north, and so few
opportunities down in the southern towns for us younger merchants, a
number of us are working together to open up shop in the tundra. Even
El'Jazira is thinking about sending a craftsman, although they're
dragging their feet a bit."

And so it was that he found himself in the frozen north, drinking down a
flagon thoughtfully hefted up by that fine fellow Vincenzio Vallah
Le'Murzen, who had delivered the last crate of supplies. Fortunate bit
of luck, that was. It had been hard to miss the shout of disgust from
his fellow worker over near that cursed prison, whose crate - delivered
earlier by Captain Delphinus Windancer - had been bereft of liquid
refreshment inside.

Leaping back to his feet, he picked up his spade and shovelled another
scoop of moss and soil. "Not long now until the opening," he thought.
"Best not to let Inga down."

~ ~ ~

Shielding her eyes from the glare, Kalieth clicked her tongue in
annoyance, gazing out beyond Port Tasur'ke. Too many delays, she
privately grumbled, and now she would be the last to arrive at the trade
posts with her goods.

Jolted out of her reverie, a grinding crash shuddered through her bones,
the crunch of shattering wood echoing above the port's usual cacophony.
Looking over the ship's railing in horror, Kalieth saw a churning broil
of wood splinters and barrels bubbled around the hull, sending her
storming down the plank to safety.

"Captain! For the love of Maya! You've sent the ship right into its
moorings! Don't just shrug at me, fix it!"

With a smug grin, the burly sea captain drew out a pipe, casually
lighting it and puffing away. "My ship, she's a proud lady, but she'll
be sailing nowhere this month. That damage will take my men some time to
set to rights."

Shouts leapt back and forth between the crew, the ship hands cursing and
reporting information about the hull damage, as a large crowd gathered
around the arguing duo. Stepping forward, Lord Jester, Pyke Starwell's
deep voice rose above the hubbub. "The Harlequin Storm could deliver
your goods."

"The Harlequin Storm? Is it a reliable ship? Is the captain actually
sober? Are you the captain, Pyke?"

"No sober man in his right mind would set foot in a boat to begin with,"
Mathonwy Corso muttered into his black linen sleeve.

Ignoring the masses, Pyke completed negotiations to ship the goods to
Tenwat, and dockhands began the arduous task of shifting them down to
the port of Shastaan, where The Harlequin Storm was docked. In short
order, the merchant party departed for the eastern oceans, the sea
captain's lingering warning fresh in their minds.

"Trade is a dangerous venture," he cautioned with a sneer. "Sailors
ought to be careful of carrying cargo for a shopkeeper."

~ ~ ~

"Ugh! By Selene's bottom, the ship's as heavy as a Hashani siren."
Casting a disconsolate glance at his captain, Councillor Rine, the
shipmate set his oar down. "I'm always doing more than my fair share of
the rowing, ever since you hired that new shipmate. I won't be rowing
another stroke until that lazy sod is back here doing his fair share,
Cap'n! Where did he sneak off to now?"

Despite young Bemek Vorondil-Windsong's offer to take up an oar, the
Harlequin Storm's crew immediately launched a search. Inside the cabin,
disturbed by Deshi Riva Kio'Gema, the absentee shipmate leapt to his
feet with a gruff exclamation, explosives scattering across the cabin
floor.

"What in the name of Maya?" Kalieth demanded as she stormed in.

"You'll not be takin' yer fripperies and fluff up north, young missy,"
the shipmate cried. "I'll see t'that!"

"Something tells me these won't be colourful and fun when they ignite!"
Riva quipped, but none were smiling as the shipmate set a spark to the
fuse and moved to make an escape. Joined by Pontifex Tahquil Maris, the
crew quickly dispatched the rogue shipmate to Maya's halls, but the
damage was done.

Violently pitching the vessel back and forth in the water, a colossal
explosion sent wood splinters and fire soaring through the cabin, and
another shipmate overboard to a watery fate. Billowing smoke poured from
the wounded vessel as the captain barked orders to repair the hull, the
plume rising until much of Sapience could see a visible black smear
tainting the eastern horizon.

Snatching a pale green letter from the charred cabin floor, Riva
solemnly read aloud: "To all associates. Further instructions follow
regarding Southern Sapience Cartel: Any shipments on behalf of SSC are
to be sabotaged without delay and without reservation. This instruction
remains in effect until further notice. F."

"I don't understand, why would anyone want... I mean, I'm just...
it's... we're just villagers, for the love of Maya! Who would do all
this?" Her shoulders shivering in shock, Kalieth let Pyke lead her back
into the fresh air as the crew picked up pace, redoubling their efforts
under Rine's direction to safely transport the cargo northwards through
the Bay of Dardanos.

In the early hours of the 22nd of Scarlatan, 573 AF, the exhausted party
finally arrived at Tenwat Harbour. Bravely venturing across the rough
and cold tundra track, they settled Kalieth into her new home at the
Artists' Collective Trading Post, their arduous journey complete.

~ ~ ~

Returning to the site of his earlier delivery, Delphinus escorted Oceana
Lighthawk-Windancer along the tundra track to the Martei Memorial
Tradepost, the chill frost gilding her ocean blue hair. A tanner called
Islaban quickly welcomed them inside out of the cold, apologising for
his lack of goods. "I'm sure it won't be too long before fresh supplies
arrive. I hear the next vessel is due in a month."

"Lost a man on the last shipment, I hear," Delphinus replied,
thoughtfully rubbing his chin as he turned to Oceana. "You mentioned an
initial. F, was it?" Oceana nodded grimly as he continued. "It was
before your time, that matter with the Jaguars. We all need to be
glancing over our shoulders..."

Penned by My hand on the 8th of Ero, in the year 574 AF.