If I'd had any sense, I’d have been terrified. I couldn't wait to go.

I know it sounds strange, but I hardly remember the first time I saw Corli itself. It is in my memory little more than a jumble of impressions. I know it was wet, and that I was lost after I left loss's boat. I think I considered asking directions, but decided instead that I wouldn't mind being lost for a while.

A few moments stand out from the mist. I remember leaving the quay and wondering towards the harbour, getting wetter with each step. There was an inn with a tire where I had soup, and the landlady gave me a cloth to dry myself. I waited there until the rain stopped. The next thing I remember is being at the dock, seeing the great ships for the first time and being amazed at the size of them. To my eyes, used only to loss's little riverboat, they looked huge, their sails like furled wings gathered onto the yards.

Unfortunately, I remember very well what happened when I got to the harbour. I went to the first dock I came to and asked where I might find the Harvest ship. I drew any number of blank looks and a few lewd remarks, so I walked on along the pier. I needn't have bothered to ask. Fifteen minutes' gawping walk from that first ship, I heard a crier. After selling the horses in Illara I knew enough to admire his lung power. Then I managed to understand what he was saying.

"Come aaall ye, come aaall ye! Sail for the Harvest! Sail in three days' time for the Dragon Isle! Silver for leaves! Silver for leaves! Silver for all the leaves you can carry! Come aaall ye, come aaall ye!"

I hesitated a moment before approaching him. I had meant to go up and mention Bors's name, but decided in the end I would rather not be indebted to him if I could help it. And I noted that for all the crier's enticements he was being given a wide berth by the passing sailors. Apparently lansip was not as real to them as death by drowning in the Storms.

The moment I came close enough for speech he dropped the foghorn of his voice to a more bearable level. "Come to sign on as Harvester?"

"That I am. What are the terms?"

"Same for everyone, unless ye've been to sea before."

"No, I haven't."

He grinned, and the sight wasn't for the fainthearted. He had more gaps than teeth. "I never asked," he said. "Ye've not the look." Then in a practiced singsong he recited, "Terms is silver, weight for weight, for all the lansip leaves ye gather. We provide passage, bags for the leaves and half your rations—and ye'll work for that half, let me tell you. You supply your own bedding, clothes—and get a waterproof or ye'll regret it—and the other half of your provisions. If ye disobey orders we'll not answer for your safety." For the first time his voice softened the merest touch as he added, "And ye must know that no Harvest ship has returned in a hundred and thirty years. There's rumour the Storms are weakening near to nothing this year; but all in all we've no better than one chance in two of coming back alive. Consider it well ere ye decide."

Ass that I was, I barely paused for breath. "I've decided. I'm coming."

He signed me on with no further argument. He gave me a list of the items I would need for the voyage and pointed me to a scribe nearby. With the infinite smugness of the slightly educated I thanked him and said I could read for myself. He nodded and said, "Then you’ll have read that you signed on as assistant crew from this minute. Take the day to find your gear and be here at sunset, you'll sleep on the ship and take up your duties from eight bells at the change."

He might just as well have been a dog barking for all I understood him. "What change? Did you say eight bells? When is—"

"Midnight, ye useless thing. Now hop to it, get your gear into a sea chest and get on board before the sun's down. Move!" he yelled, his voice rising to its former level. He turned from me and began to cry again his enticements for Harvest workers.

I left a bit dazed—part from shock at what I'd done, part from the sheer volume—and turned towards the town. Thankfully most of what I needed I found in a series of shops near the harbour.

I'm afraid I spent a small fortune in Corli. I know I was badly cheated in some places, but I really didn't care. I found a small, strong sea chest, some heavy tunics and stout leggings (they were not at all surprised by my clothing in Corli, even in those days), and as recommended I purchased that curious and smelly garment sailors call a tarpaulin. It stank of tar and I wrapped it in my old blanket (though on the journey I wore it seven days out of seven and would not have traded it for its weight in solid silver). I got myself a new pair of good boots, some extra bedding, rations and a small luxury—dried dates and figs from the southern reaches of the South Kingdom, since even I had heard of the poor rations at sea. I packed away my old clothes, leaving my skirts and my fine new cloak at the bottom of the chest and everything else on top where l could reach it. I spent what little time remained to me wandering about Corli Harbour, becoming accustomed to the smell of fish and salty air, watching the sea in fascination.

I reported as ordered at sun set. I carried my belongings on board in the fading light, jostled from behind by my fellow Harvesters, directed by the regular crew, who barely tolerated us. I stared all around me as I was led to my "berth" belowdecks—a tiny space in which to sling a too—short hammock and a smaller space in which to stow my gear—and told to sleep while I could. It was only just after sunset. I managed perhaps two hours' sleep before we were all roused by a loud voice calling something I couldn't understand, but which by the movements of my fellows obviously meant "Get out of bed and get to work."

It was eight bells at the change. Midnight. We all worked in the steamy hold, hard as ever I had worked on the farm, scrubbing the floors—they called it swabbing the decks—preparing the ship for I knew not what. Come dawn—about six bells in the dawn watch, or seven in the morning on land—I found out. We were all hurried back up to the main deck and put to work loading cattle and what I judged to be not near enough hay to feed them. What they were there for I could not even guess. For a brief while I worried that I had been fooled and that this was a trading ship, but soon there were more canvas sacks to be loaded into the hold than I had ever imagined existed. They were new and surprisingly good quality, and I eventually realised that they were waiting to be filled with lansip leaves. .

My heart beat absurdly fast as I worked. The very touch of the rough canvas thrilled me. I was living my dream at last, and even the terror of the journey had no power over me.

For the next two days, with sleep snatched between watches, all I remember thinking was that if this was a dream I wouldn't mind waking. I’d had no idea. When we weren't scrubbing or sleeping, we were learning about the ship and its workings. I had never imagined such strange terms in my life, still less thought I would need to know them. The ship's Master had us practicing every waking moment until the movements began to feel familiar. Surprising how quickly such things come to seem normal.

My next clear memory is of the dark before dawn—five bells in the dawn watch, so late in the year—the day we were to sail. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the promise of morning. The smell of the sea, ever present in the town, was stronger yet at the dockside. The gulls cried their eternal longing, other birds fought with them for the foul bits of fish the incoming fishermen spilled on the dock. A light breeze blew from the water, blowing away the smell of the land altogether. It was clean and sharp with salt.

We had gained steadily in numbers since I came on board, but there were still a number of empty hammocks, so we all had plenty to do. There was a lot of cursing by the Master as we raw beginners fumbled with a rope (which I was beginning to think of as a line, but could never call a sheet without giggling) and despite all our practice nearly tripped each other up trying to follow orders. He was a hard taskmaster, but even I could guess that our lives would soon depend on knowing what he wanted done and doing it as swiftly as possible. Still, I managed to glimpse the gangplank being hauled on board and the last line cast off from shore. It all went very quickly. We were madly busy as we left our anchorage and I felt the ship begin to move. We were on our way.