Dockside
By EM Malachi
The docks were a swarm of activity. Crates from all over Britannia moved on and off ships, and captains and merchants haggled loudly across the pier. Iolo waited with Katrina as her ship to New Magincia was prepared for the journey. “Glad to be going home?”
Katrina clutched her pack as a sailor with a wheelbarrow of marrows ran up the gangplank next to her. “I can’t wait to leave. I’ve only been to Britain a handful of times, but it’s always too much!”
“Too much?”
“Too much city! Too crowded! Too dirty! Too loud! Too much everything!”
Iolo sensed his friend’s frustration was also about something else. “What’s wrong, Katrina?”
“Do you really want to know? Feridwyn is dead. The Fellowship killed my friend, and they are just going to get away with it! And you! How can you work for them? He was your friend too!”
Iolo pointed at a child wading in the waters under the River’s Gate Bridge. “That’s Finn. He has worked as a river scavenger since his parents died when he was five years old. He’s got a bed at the Fellowship house. Did he kill our friend?”
Katrina looked confused. “No. Of course not.”
Iolo pointed to an old woman selling carrots on the pier. “That’s the Widow Camille. Whenever she has a little extra food, she brings meals to share at the poorhouse, so she’s not lonely. Did she kill our friend?”
“No, but…”
“Shall I point out more people who didn’t kill our friend for you to be angry at?”
Katrina gave a sob. “Stop. These were Feridwyn’s flock.”
Iolo gave his friend a hug. “Yes, these are the people Feridwyn cared about. The most important thing we can do now is protect them. You on New Magincia, and me here in Britain.”
Katrina took a deep breath. “It just makes me so angry. The Fellowship is using his death. Their leader Batlin is wearing a black sash and crying wolf’s tears.”
“You have a right to your rage. We both know what the Fellowship is. While the gargoyle that killed Feridwyn is dealt with, I intend to watch those I think are truly responsible.”
As she boarded the ship, Katrina turned to Iolo from the gangplank, “Do you think there will ever be Justice?”
Iolo tapped the quiver of bolts fletched with raven feathers. “My friend, I am certain.”
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