The Arrival at the Port - something I've been working on....

The shopkeeper was just opening for the day, and didn’t catch sight of the small figure walking jerkily past the window. The bells over the door jingled when it opened, and when she looked up to see who it was, she stared.

“Could you give me some jerky? Bread, too? I’ve got a long ways to go.”

A young voice came out from underneath the layers of cloth draped over the head and wrapped around the face. Unmistakably a young girl’s, although it was unusually low. She was small, perhaps barely five feet tall……. cautiously, the shopkeeper leaned forward, asking, “Going far, erm….miss?”

“The next goodtown.” The girl replied blandly.

The shopkeeper blinked. “The nearest goodtown is Solstice, three hundred leagues away. That’s a good long ways, miss.”

“Not that long.” The girl adjusted one of her shawls. “Can you give me that much, for three hundred leagues?”

“You aren’t intending to walk there, are you?” the shopkeeper asked, appalled.

“Can’t think of any other way to get there.” The girl replied. “Don’t have any money or means to barter.”

“You can work, though, can’t you?” the shopkeeper asked.

“I suppose so.”

“Well, you know - there’s many a caravan that needs workers to help with the cargo and such – that’s how most pay their way, factually speaking. Though the Company overseers don’t like to hear about it.”

“Why not?” the girl asked with mild interest.

“Company wants to be modern, you know. On that ground, it wouldn’t sound too good if people found out that most of the workers on their caravans aren’t paid in money.” The storekeeper smiled, tentative. “Most folk don’t care, though. We make our living how we make it. Not much to be done about it, no use caring about it.” the shopkeeper turned, shuffling to the back of the shop, where the supplies were kept. “So, three hundred leagues, is it? If you took a job, that might take about a week or more. We’re not the fastest here, but it’s better than walking, eh?”

The girl shifted position underneath her shawls, silent.

The shopkeeper returned a few moments later, carrying a large linen-wrapped bundle in her arms. This she handed to the girl, who tucked it into her bag, and who in turn took some coins from a pouch at her side and handed them to the shopkeeper.

“Thanks,” the girl murmured.

“Anytime.” The shopkeeper nodded. “You have a safe trip.”

“I will. Thank you.”

The girl left the shop, leaving the shopkeeper peering after her curiously, feeling more than a little unnerved by the jerky motions the girl made as she stepped out the door – as though the ground stung at her feet.

On the girl’s part, she was very relieved. She had been walking for many days, cut off from any sort of contact. Her greatest fear, as she walked within the town’s borders, was of being seen.

The sun was terrible today, very hot and bright, and the wrappings the girl wore made the heat almost unbearable. At least they provided good cover - she had no need to shade her eyes when she peered through the slit in her wrappings, seeing the narrow sand-packed street stretched out before her. She regretted not asking the shopkeeper for directions to the caravan port, but she could hardly walk back in there and ask now. Well, that was not so difficult, she thought to herself. She could find her way to the port on her own – this town was small, and there were only so many places the port could be. She tried to ignore the stares of the people she passed, but it was no use – she could feel their eyes on her, curious and frightening. Despite the sun’s heat, she pulled her wrappers more tightly about her, so that there could be no mistake that they were secure.

As she walked and as she gradually became used to the stares, she became aware of a presence at her side. Looking down, she saw that it was a dog - a scrawny pup with a smattering of strawberry spots across its grey back, and a build that might have been sturdy were it not for the fact that it looked like it hadn’t eaten in a good long time. It also had terrible mange.

She stopped, and the dog stopped with her. It wasn’t very old – probably not past a year yet, she thought. There were many dogs like this in her own hometown - Pathetic little creatures who had the misfortune to be forgotten, and probably never even had owners in the first place.

“Now, what’re you doing, following me?” the girl asked the dog. “You find me attractive, do you? Think I’ll give you some food if you look at me with those big sad eyes?”

The dog did not answer, of course. Not in words. But it was the slight tilt of his head that made it look like he was listening to her talk and perhaps understanding.

The girl sighed through her nose, ruffling the cloth over her face, and took out a small strip of jerky from her bag. Tossing it to the ground, the dog wolfed it down in under a second, and then looked up at her again, an inquisitive perk to its small ears.

“That’s all. I can’t keep giving you my life rations, you know. I don’t intend to starve to death on your account.”

The dog looked at her.

“Keep following me, of course,” the girl said resignedly, continuing on her way, “Just don’t expect much – I’ll be leaving as soon as I get to the port. If I can find it.”

They went along then, the dog still trailing at her heels, and the girl found herself talking to it as she went along.

“Not much here to see, is there?” she said, glancing around at the small, square-shaped buildings, not beyond two stories high. “Smaller than my town, and that’s saying something. I guess it has a port, though – my town doesn’t have that. We have to walk everywhere. Some people have transport, but mostly it’s all on foot.”

The people stared harder at the strange, shawl-wrapped personage apparently talking to herself, but she hardly cared now that she had someone to talk to. Even if it was only a dog.

“I don’t suppose you have a name.” the girl said. The dog licked her pant-covered calf. “No eating my leg, now,” the girl said sharply. “I still need those.”

“I’ll call you Spots,” she continued, “on account of the fact that you have so many. They’re mighty pretty, I’d say. They would be, anyway, if half your fur weren’t gone.”

The dog made a low whining sound, and hurried ahead, turning its head towards an easterly direction. It paused, apparently waiting for her to catch up.

Underneath her shawls, the girl raised her eyebrows. Curious, she followed the dog down one wider street, and caught the faint scent of smoke and frying grease up ahead. That must have been what caught the dog’s attention, she thought – the promise of frying food.

There came the sound of talk and bustle, and suddenly they found themselves in a thick crowd, so busy that no one even stopped to stare.

They didn’t have much reason to, truth be told – there were many people here who covered themselves with scarves and shawls, although not quite so thoroughly as she did. Their unclad hands revealed the dark brown skin of the Deep Dune people, and the girl felt very small when they looked down at her from their unnatural height.

“Come on,” she muttered to the dog, who was still miraculously glued to her side.

They waded through the crowd, with the girl keeping a tight hold on her face wrappings so that they wouldn’t slip off, trying to find some sort of order that might point out the place they should go. This was unmistakably the caravan port - where else would there be such a large crowd, with so many different sorts of people? Her guess was confirmed when she saw the varied, rusted models of caravan transports, with lethargic-looking shellbacks standing beside them and anxious owners struggling to pull their business out into the open.

She had found the place, but now the question was where to go from here. The girl knew something of trade and transport, and therefore knew the dangers of being rash with who you gave your business to. Unfortunately, her experience with such things was quite limited, and so she was forced to guess on appearance.

She eyed the gathering of transports dubiously, a little afraid. She tried to calm herself, taking a deep breath.

All right, then. She observed the row of caravans once more, looking at each carefully. Each had seen much wear in their day, and looked ready to fall apart. Her heart sank a little further.

The dog, apparently uninterested in her now that she was no longer handing out food, trotted off through the crowd, leaving her alone. Noticing its absence, she felt a small pang of regret. She couldn’t have kept it, of course, but it had at least been something to keep her company. Even it was only for a short time……

“Excuse me,” a man said. Surprised at being addressed, the girl stepped back silently, allowing the man passage through to his transport, carrying a large wooden crate.

Without thinking, the girl followed him, keeping sight of his dark green uniform through the many colors and fashions blocking her path. His destination was not far – he stopped about a hundred feet away, dropping the crate next to a particularly battered-looking cart. He straightened, stretching out his back, and noticed the quiet figure standing nearby.

“Good day,” he said, not at all put off by her appearance. “How can I be of service?”

The girl took a moment to respond – carefully phrasing her words before speaking. “Are you going to the other goodtown?”

“Which one – north or further north?” the man asked wearily.

“What do you mean?” the girl asked warily.

“There are only two within six hundred leagues. I’ll help you depending on which one you’re heading to.”

The girl remembered a name the shopkeeper had mentioned – “Solstice.” she said aloud.

The man gave her a speculative look.

“You come from the Dunes?” he asked.

“No.” the girl replied.

“Heh. Didn’t think so. The coverings threw me off, but looking at them again tells me they aren’t of Dunes make.”

Underneath the cloth, the girl stiffened. The man, sensing her discomfort, turned the topic. “You’re in luck, miss – I’m short on the required worker quota this trip.” He eyed her small frame dubiously. “Are you up to much heavy lifting?”

“I’m stronger than I look.” The girl said, squaring her shoulders.

“That a fact?” the man glanced down at the heavy crate next to him, and rubbed his chin. “Well, we’ll give you a trial run, I guess – lift this crate up into the cart, and then follow me for the rest of the loading.”

The girl immediately obeyed, stepping forward and bending down in one smooth motion. She hefted the large, heavy crate into her thin arms, her knees buckling for a moment, and then straightened. The man nodded approvingly. The girl was true to her word – and she had obviously done this sort of thing many times before.

“Put it right next to that red-marked crate there,” the man said, pointing. The girl raised the crate onto the metal floor with a loud clunk, and slid it into the position the man had indicated. The long sleeves around her arms slipped, and the man caught a glimpse of dark tan skin patched with pasty pink blotches before she quickly readjusted her clothes.

“Well, then,” the man said, smiling. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a job, miss.”

Her face wrappings twitched. “Th-thank you, sir.” she said.

“As long as I’ve got hands, we’re both happy. Just don’t slack off and cheat me on our deal, and we’ll be friends.” He held out a hand. “I’m Jethras Tummett, caravan master of this sorry group. You’ll call me Mister Tummett on this trip.”

The girl gave the offered hand a wary glance before reluctantly clasping it with her own gloved one. “I’m Gehnn. From….down south.” She said.

They shook. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Jethras Tummett said. After this exchange, he gestured for her to follow him, and then made his way back into the crowd. “Keep close – it’s easy to get lost here.”