Free Scholar by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

and he had to use one hand to clamp his nose to keep from sneezing. The fingers of the other held to an edge in the rough stone.
    â€œHe went in over there!”
    â€œMore like by the square-rigger.”
    â€œGo after him, Walthar. It’s a silver.”
    â€œIn that water? Patrollers can keep their silver. ’Sides, he hasn’t even come up. No sight of him. No sounds. You go in if you want.”
    â€œWhere did he go?” demanded a harsh voice.
    â€œHe jumped off the pier. Never came up.”
    â€œHe might be right underneath you, for all you know.”
    â€œWe looked. Don’t see anything.”
    â€œThere’s a silver reward for whoever turns him in.”
    â€œWe get it if we find his body?”
    â€œOnly if he’s alive. He has to answer to the Patrol.”
    â€œWhat’d he do?”
    â€œNever mind that!”
    Quaeryt kept breathing easily and waiting, but it had to have been close to two quints before the patrollers left. He still had no idea why the patroller and his partner had decided to go after him. He’d been polite, and he hadn’t done a single thing except walk down the pier with a duffel. Years before, he’d never had any trouble in Nacliano. Why now?
    Once the crowd above slowly dispersed, he eased his way to the other side of the pier, still holding shields, and made his way inshore, half-swimming, half-pulling himself hand over hand along the stone foundations, sometimes having to squeeze through the narrow spaces between pier supports and hulls, until he finally found a ladder up the side of one of the stone pier supports. He took his time climbing it because, while his shield might conceal him, he’d still be leaving a trail of water behind.
    He simply rested on the top of the ladder, out of the way, watching and listening, but he saw no patrollers, and the various vendors, loaders, and teamsters traveling the pier appeared to have forgotten the commotion that had occurred half a glass earlier.
    Once his browns had dried enough that water droplets did not leave a trail, Quaeryt climbed from the ladder to the edge of the pier and, still holding his concealment shield, walked slowly toward the base of the pier.
    Two patrollers walked back and forth on the stone causeway beyond the end of the pier, glancing along it, clearly still looking for Quaeryt.
    â€œHaelan … he drowned.… Even if he didn’t, he’s not going to walk down here toward us.…”
    â€œScholars … Duultyn said they were trouble … as bad as Pharsi traders or imagers.”
    â€œDuultyn’s pretty hard on ’em,” offered the younger patroller.
    â€œDon’t matter. Can’t have anyone attacking patrollers.”
    â€œSuppose not.…”
    â€œYou don’t want Duultyn saying you love scholars. Next thing you know…”
    Quaeryt eased by the pair unseen and slowly made his way toward the next pier. There were no patrollers at its base and he walked more quickly out toward the far end where the Azurite was berthed. He passed a brig and a barque, both with Telaryn ensigns, and then a Ferran brig. When he came to where the Azurite had been … the berth was empty.
    He stood there looking at the Azurite sailing slowly out into the harbor.
    What vessel leaves port in midafternoon? The winds are better in the morning and evening.
    That might well be, but the Azurite was gone, and there was no help for it. He’d have to try Captain Fhular and the Regia Nord  … if the coaster even happened to be ported at the present.
    His browns were almost dry, enough so that most wouldn’t notice, even if his feet felt like they were still sloshing inside his boots. Still holding concealment shields, he eased along the side of the pier until he was in the shadow of a bollard, where he released the shields, several yards from where three loaders stood, watching as two dray horses pulled a