The Blackwood River formed the northern boundary of the Great Delta. A broad, slow-moving flood of dark brown peat water, three hundred yards wide. It slid silently between high embankments of willow wattle and river reed toward its junction with the Ouse.
At sunrise, as Tomas and Nessa dropped the gravel ramp to the ferry landing, thick white fog lay over the water like unspun wool. The only sound was the rhythmic clack-whine of an iron snatch-block riding a suspended cable, and the hollow slosh of water against the blunt bows of a heavy timber punt.
The Blackwood Ferry had once been the most notorious toll-trap in the middle provinces. Under the old Merchant Guild charter, travelers paid one silver coin per head, two for a loaded pack-frame, and a full silver crown for a farm cart. Or double after sunset, lest they be left to freeze on the gravel spit until morning.
Now, beside the cable support post stood a newly painted sign:
Blackwood Municipal Free Ferry. Established under the Common Trust of the Seven Communities. Free to All Foot-Travelers, Common Carters, and Market Stock.
The slate appeared above the oak cable post, its charcoal surface reflecting the morning mist.
