Free Trade Winds (Choc Lit) by Christina Courtenay Page A

haven’t got any storage, Mr Kinross,’ he added. Killian made a mental note to try and rent some storage space as soon as he could.
    As they were rowed towards the city, Killian saw the strong ramparts and bastions close up. Over the top, as they came nearer, he glimpsed the roofs of houses and the spires of two churches. The entry to the main canal was roughly in the middle of the town. It was flanked by rocky little hills and they passed a huge wooden bar, which according to the captain was lowered each night.
    ‘It’s called Stora Bommen and they only keep it open during the day. Best for defensive purposes, I would hazard a guess.’
    Killian wondered who the Swedes’ enemies were. Presumably the Danes or Norwegians, who were their closest neighbours, at least on this side of the country. He knew very little about the political situation and resolved to find out more as soon as he could. If he was going to make this his home for the foreseeable future, it would pay to be well-informed.
    They continued along a canal flanked by buildings mainly built from wood. Most of them were painted either red or yellow with white or blue window frames. One or two of the houses were made of stone and seemed sturdier, but they were the exception. The streets looked to be laid out in a regular, straight grid pattern, at right angles to each other, from what Killian could make out, although the canal itself wasn’t quite straight. It had a kink at the end where it veered to the left. He could also see some sort of an island in the middle of it further up ahead.
    ‘For some reason they call this canal Stora Hamnen , which roughly means “the big harbour”,’ Captain Craig told him, ‘on account of it being the place where everything is loaded and unloaded, I suppose.’
    They passed under several bridges, all arched and quite pretty, and came to a stop next to a large square. It was at roughly a man’s height above the level of the canal. They had to climb up a few steps to reach the street, where the noise and bustle was almost deafening. Killian stopped for a moment to look around, and liked what he saw. He drew in a deep breath and was pleased to find the air not too noxious either. Compared to Edinburgh, it was positively sweet-smelling, despite the inevitable stench from the canals.
    The square was cobblestoned and had trees planted at intervals along the canal. It gave a pleasing sense of space, despite the many people who were going about their daily business. Hawkers, vendors, street entertainers and workers, mangy dogs, horses and carts – all contributed to the scene, but it wasn’t nearly as crowded as the streets of Edinburgh. Neither was it as colourful. Most of the inhabitants seemed to be dressed in greys, browns or black, although there were the odd splashes of colour from more exalted persons that drew the eye. Killian was glad he had put on a fairly sober coat of grey silk, so he didn’t stand out too much.
    ‘How many people live here?’ Killian asked Captain Craig, as he followed him along one of the side canals towards a hostelry. It seemed preferable to spend the night at an inn, rather than go straight to Mr Fergusson. He didn’t want to be beholden to the man, after all, and wanted to wait and see whether he would be invited to stay with him or not. First, he needed to get his bearings.
    ‘Not sure. Five, maybe six thousand? Could be more though.’
    The landlord of th e White Hart – or Vita Hjorten as it was called in Swedish − was a jovial, rotund Scotsman by the name of Murdoch, whose face split into a welcoming grin at the sight of Captain Craig. ‘Ah, so you’re back then?’ He beamed. ‘And you’re wanting rooms I presume?’
    ‘Aye, indeed we are.’ The captain introduced Killian and entered into negotiations regarding the room charge. While he did so, Killian listened intently to a group of people speaking Swedish nearby. It sounded like a very guttural language and contained