Chapter 7

White Wader was a short and unappealing vessel, with only two sails and a short deck. The captain was getting his cargo unloaded when Cristoff found him.

"What can I do for you sir?" asked Andal Drol

"I need transport to Qarth." Said Cristoff, handing him the scroll with Aragon's seal. Andal cracked the seal and read the letter, his charming grin never leaving his face. He finished and rolled the scroll back up and tucked it away in his sleeve.

"Very well then, it just so happens I have business in Qarth, and I would be delighted to take you with us sir."

"You can call me- Jonas." Cristoff had nearly forgotten the cover name he was given to use in public, since he was technically dead.

"Welcome aboard Jonas. I hope the hold isn't too rough for your liking. I'll have the payment on our return. I'm sure your associates will have no trouble procuring it."

Cristoff was not sure whether Andal knew about the Assassins or if he just thought that he was getting paid by someone else. Cristoff never saw the contents of the letter so he didn't know which, and he kept the information to himself.

White Wader pulled out of the port and began the long circuit around Essos' edge. The weeks went by quickly, and Cristoff kept in practice by impressing the crew with his agility and deftness. He felt strangely comfortable with the sea rolling the boat beneath him, the spray on his tongue and wind in face. It all just felt, right. Cristoff closed his eyes and smiled into the sun from the top of the mast. The lookout still clambered up behind him, about to owe Cristoff two silvers. Cristoff was vaguely aware of a voice yelling across the deck, until he realised it was Andal calling his false name.

"Jonas! Get down here!"

Cristoff opened his eyes and frowned. Ever since Cristoff had set foot on Andal's ship he treated him like part of the crew; able to be told what to do anytime he wanted. Cristoff took the two silvers from the lookout and slid down a long rope that hung from the topsail. Cristoff hit the fore of the deck with a resounding thud, rolling to break his fall. But he came down at the wrong angle and skidded on his feet before falling over backwards. Men turned and laughed at his attempted descent while he got back up.

"Jonas, I would have thought the gods graced you with more wits than mule. I need you intact so that I can get paid."

"And use me for free labour while I'm here." Thought Cristoff painfully

"Sorry captain. What do you need from me?"

"I was told you were good at sums, and you're the only other person who can read here. Help me through my accounts in my cabin, now." Andal turned and walked back without waiting for a reply. Cristoff started walking but a crewman stopped him,

"Don't feel like he's singling you out; he does this with each passenger. Those who refuse get thrown overboard. He's a lot stronger than he looks."

"I'd still like to see him try." Replied Cristoff

"If you anger him, you might just."

Cristoff huffed and continued. Andal's sums were long and complicated. Andal used some kind of foreign counting method that he claimed, 'got the job done in half the time' but was completely alien to Cristoff. Eventually he worked through enough that he was dismissed. He slept like a log that night, the waves gently rocking him to sleep.

The next night, Cristoff was sent down to the holdfast to bring up the food for the men that night. The meal was sparse; dried meat and black bread but it filled Cristoff's belly all the same. Cristoff woke up in the middle of the night in a sweat and a roiling belly. He stumbled up to the deck to get some fresh air. He began to feel better, but soon had to give up his meal to the sea. As he watched the food float away, he wondered why none of the other men where sick from the meal; they'd all eaten the same food, hadn't they? He looked up again, but he could see something against the black night, something tall and waving. The wind was generous in the night, and Andal had demanded that they keep sailing so that he would get paid as soon as possible. Cristoff narrowed his eyes and could make out the shape of a ship. As his stomach settled and his mind cleared, he realised with dread that these were no allies to traders, that they were dreaded pirates who lurked around the coasts but would occasionally cross the narrow sea to steal exotic goods,

"Pirates! Pirates to port!" called the lookout from the top of the mast.