At the Lowtide Tavern, Therelin found a surprising turn of good fortune. The Lowtide offered a humble rate for the bare necessities—a bed and a door that locks. Supposedly, their renowned chef brought in enough income to discount the nightly rate to a point where Therelin could afford nearly a month’s stay. And to boot, the Lowtide was located in a mercantile district adjacent to the wealthier estates on the mountain slopes—well away from Cobblestone Bog.
But Therelin certainly didn’t intend to spend his month of shelter idly. He had spent the last couple days looking for work. Yesterday, he was invited to a home on edge of the slum where a man was dying of Rikisi Disease. Healing him wouldn’t pay well, but it was better than nothing. Today, Therelin locked his room and started out onto the street while eating a few shrubs he had foraged the day before. It wasted a few hours a day to live off the land while surrounded by over a mile of city—the forest was far from the Lowtide Tavern—but Therelin did what he had to do.
Just as he was finishing his small morning meal, his route was distracted by a stall set up in a street market. A painted sign rested on top of the stall, leaning against a brick building behind it; it read, “Workers wanted. Pays 40-50 Coins per Week.” Therelin buttoned up his beige tunic before he approached; the second group of guards he had run into, in Noress-That-Was, had told him that it was inappropriate to walk around shirtless in the city. This was civilization, after all.
There were a few people already speaking with the potential employer, a short man with a black topknot. Therelin waited his turn patiently. “What is the job?” he asked, when it was finally his turn.
The man showed him a parchment sign. “A number of ships are hiring. Many have already filled their crews, though. Just peddling the last few positions off today.”
“What’s the best one?” Therelin asked.
The man listed it as though he had memorized the answer by rote. “Captain Marzey of the Smith’s Trove, delivering ore and ingots to Starath, Bellasa, and Kedar Port.”
Therelin raised an eyebrow. “Is that safe these days?”
“No,” the employer said. “But it’s got to be done regardless. Pays 45 coins a week—a damn sight more than most sailors will see.”
It was good pay, indeed. Therelin had been paid 8 per day by Master Ethraw, back in Saanazar—but he knew enough about Grey Sea finances to recognize that as overpay. He had only been moving boxes and standing guard. Sailors likely earned less than glass merchants, by a large difference. “When does it leave?”
The man at the hiring stall raised his eyebrows and his forehead furrowed with wrinkles. “Four weeks. You going to sign up?”
“Sure,” Therelin said. He needed the money, but he hadn’t truly decided. He might find a better job first, but a ship was a good way to see more of Gethra. This gave him a month to find a different, safer job, and to finish healing the man of Rikisi. Therelin was also hoping to look up any magicians who lived in Noress-That-Was. He wrote “Therelin of Keth,” on the man’s sheet and thanked him for the time and information.