Barefoot Pirate (10 page)

Nan grinned back. “I bet everyone on every world that had
Todans and clothes-horse ladies has heard that one.”

“Clothes—horse?” Blackeye laughed in delight.
“Clothes-horse. What a picture! Do you really dress horses?”

“I don’t know. We don’t have any horses where I live. Lived.
Maybe somebody did dress one up a hundred years ago, when people used to use
horses to get around. Uh oh. Here we are at that that stone ladder again.”

Blackeye kept chuckling from time to time as they worked
their way down. She didn’t say anything more, until they were nearly there.
Then she stopped, her face serious in the light of the glow globe. “Here, Nan. We
weren’t going to tell you—the visitors—the actual plan until it was time to do
it. But I’ve changed my mind. If we can’t trust you now, we won’t be able to
any time, right?”

Nan nodded, shivering inside, but this time from happiness. I
don’t care what their plan is. I only care that she trusts me.

“So here’s what I’ve got in mind.”

o0o

“Hey, I don’t feel so dead,” Joe said three mornings later.
“A miracle.” He stretched cautiously. He was still sore, but not nearly as
mega-sore as he’d been on that second morning.

He scowled, trying to fight off the twinge of jealousy that
came with memory of that morning. When he’d gotten up that day, it was to find
out that Blackeye, Warron, and a couple of the others had taken Nan on some
kind of secret mission during the night.

Why Nan instead of him? He’d looked at her curiously when he
and Tarsen returned from their fencing practice. Her eyes were puffy and
dark-ringed but she was smiling quietly as she ate her breakfast.

He did not find a chance to ask her privately what was going
on. Warron had emerged right after, grabbed a single piece of bread, then he
chased them out for another long, grueling day.

Sometime at the end of the day it occurred to Joe that she
was avoiding any personal encounters. Okay, fine, he’d decided.

She went to bed right after dinner. Good riddance. He stayed
up, and even dropped some hints about how fantastic it was that he didn’t feel
at all tired—which was a big lie. Not that it mattered. Warron, Blackeye,
Sarilda, and Mican disappeared one by one to crash, and the others just sat
around singing songs and talking about nothing much until general yawns sent
everyone off to sleep.

So he’d thrown himself into the training with every ounce of
bounce he could muster. Nobody would say Robles was a lazy slob—no friggin’
way. He hustled hard, just to find Warron pushing him even harder. And still no
secret night runs.

Maybe I’m imagining things
, Joe thought, rolling out
of his hammock.

“C’mon, let’s nab the hot chocolate while it’s still hot,”
Tarsen said as Joe yanked his sweatshirt on.

“Right behind ya,” Joe said, shoving his feet into his
sneakers. Following Tarsen’s jaunty figure up the tunnel, he reflected that
another good thing was ol’ Tarsen. He was a funny guy—and he, at least, seemed
to like hanging around Joe. Yesterday afternoon he’d even shown up and ran
along with them while they did their rock-and-tree-climb in the forest. He’d
called out a stream of mock-insults and joking threats, keeping Joe at least in
a gasping state of laughter even though his body felt like it’d been mashed by
a monster truck.

“We’re all clear outside. Ready for our Fortanya run?”

That was Blackeye, just coming in from the beach. She
addressed Warron, who’d just emerged from the stream cave, his long wet hair
tied back.

Warron gave a short nod, then said, “Get ’em some duds.”

“Right.” Blackeye clapped her hands and rubbed them. “I had
that in mind as well.” She turned to Joe. “Wear something of Tarsen’s, and
you’ll have to go barefoot. We don’t want any attention from anyone. We’ll get
you some clothes in the city.”

Just then Nan appeared, dressed in a long blue tunic and
loose pants of some silky material, all embroidered with leaves and tiny
flowers. Nan’s thin face looked clean and ruddy, her eyes shining. If she was
sore, she sure didn’t show it any, Joe thought.

Nan turned to Sarilda. “This outfit—are you sure it’s okay
for me to wear it? It’s so beautiful.”

Sarilda grinned, clearly pleased. “It’s my best thing—and
it’s right that you should wear it.”

There they go again, Joe thought. Treating her like she’s
the hero here, and I’m just the guy who came along for the ride.

“Grab your grub and let’s git,” Tarsen said, smacking his
hands. “Joe, you come with me. You can have my best outfit, if you like. The
sleeves have falcons embroidered on ’em, and the sash is a nifty one I stole
right out of Nitre’s own barracks.”

Joe shrugged, trying not to get mad at the difference
between Tarsen’s tone and Sarilda’s—as if Nan somehow deserved their best
stuff, and Joe was just getting the same offer to keep his feelings from being
hurt. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, trying hard not to sound like a whiner.

A couple minutes later they came back out to join the
others. Joe felt slightly weird in the long tunic with its belled sleeves. He
looked down at himself, fingering the dancing fringes at the end of the sash.
I
know Tarsen is an okay guy—and that everybody dresses this way here
, he
thought
. But geez, if the guys at home saw me now!
Then he grinned.
Well,
they can’t. They’re probably sweating out problems 1-30 in Algebra, or being
yelled at to take out the trash, and I’m here. Yeah. That’s right. Get things
back into perspective.

“Ready, Kevriac?” Blackeye asked.

The pale-haired magic-worker nodded and silently led the way
out. Joe realized he hadn’t seen much of this kid. He seemed real quiet. Maybe
he spent all his time studying magic books or something.

“I’ll show you the marketplace,” Tarsen offered, appearing
at Joe’s side. “Maybe we can even have some fun with Nitre’s patrols.”

“How about rousting some of Olucar’s palace slimes?” Mican
suggested, walking on Joe’s other side. “We can have some prime fun in
Fortanya.”

“Quiet, you bums,” Blackeye said. “Don’t want him to mess
this up.”

Kevriac moved out onto the beach, shut his eyes and
stretched out his hands. He said some words in a kind of singsong that did not
come through translation—and Joe gasped when he saw a long, sharp-bowed
sailboat appear suddenly on the water maybe a quarter mile out.

“Did he just make that?” Joe asked, amazed.

Tarsen laughed. “No. We pinched it when we first escaped. He
hides it by magic.”

Just then Tarly passed by, giving Joe a shy smile, and
splashed into the water. She waded out, then started swimming toward the boat.
Behind, Warron and Mican appeared carrying a canoe. Everyone waded a little
ways out into the water, Joe wincing and ouching at the rocks and shells he
stepped on. He sometimes went barefoot in summer, but that had been months ago.
His feet were tender.

They climbed into the canoe and everyone helped paddle it
out to the sailboat. Tarly reached it about the same time, and treaded water,
her auburn hair streaming in the sea around her, while Warron pulled himself up
onto the sailboat and lowered a ramp down to the canoe. The other kids helped
the centaur get into the canoe, then she trotted daintily up the ramp. Once the
kids were all on board, Shor and Sarilda scrambled back down, attached some
ropes to the ends of the canoe, and it was lifted up to the deck via boom,
ropes, and tackles.

Joe’s spirits soared as he looked about the deck of the
sailboat. It was a tidy craft about thirty feet long, with a small cabin below.
Tarsen showed him over the boat, explaining everything in such a fast jumble
that Joe gave up trying to learn all the new terms. He grinned so wide his
teeth felt cold when he saw the triangular sails bell out, one on either side
of the single mast, snapping in the clean, steady wind until Mican and
Warron—chanting a song as they pulled—sheeted them tightly home. Then the sails
tautened into tear-shaped curves. The boat beneath them seemed to come to life,
cutting smoothly across the gentle ocean swells.

Yeah, I think I can definitely get used to this life
,
Joe thought, leaning on the side and watching the island slide away behind
them.

“Joe, Nan. Want to learn how to sail one of these?”

“You bet!” Joe called.

He made his way down the slanting deck to where Tarly stood
at the tiller. Nan joined him a few seconds later. Joe glanced at her, then
looked back again in surprise. Back in the cave, he’d noticed how different
she’d seemed from the tight-faced kid in his classes on Earth. Now she’d gone
back to her Earth-face—kind of gray-tinged and pained.

Tarly studied Nan, her large eyes troubled, then she smiled.
“Sar,” she called. “Got some ginger-root for Nan?”

A voice echoed faintly from below: “Coming right up.”

Sarilda danced her way down the deck, her balance sure. She
handed Nan a thin reddish root. “Suck on it,” she said. “Hurry. If you start to
barf, it won’t work as well.”

Nan quickly crammed the root into her mouth. She made a
prune face, which slowly changed to relief. “It does help,” she said.

Tarly smiled. “Why didn’t you speak up?”

“I hate to complain. And I didn’t think anyone else—” She
stopped, shrugging in her old jerky way. “I guess I felt stupid being the only
person who was seasick.”

“Guess again.” Sarilda gave her musical laugh, then pointed
to where Shor sat perched on a rail, a ginger-root wiggling from the side of
her mouth as she sucked busily.

“I had a terrible time when we first sailed,” Tarly put in,
leaning into the tiller. “You might say we centaurs weren’t built for water
life. But I got used to it. Except in bad weather.” She pointed with her chin
at the tiller. “Now, let’s have a lesson in winds, sails, and water currents.”

For the next couple of hours Joe listened carefully,
repeating to himself all the new words he heard. He got a chance to steer, and
reveled in the pull of the water against the tiller and the feel of the wind
sweeping down the deck.

When his turn was over Nan took his place. Joe wandered
away, and finding that everybody was busy with some kind of job, he wandered
back and sat on a pile of fishing nets behind the canoe to watch the water and
hope Nan would get bored so he could have another turn.

The sun had moved considerably across the sky when Shor
appeared on deck from the cabin below, carrying a tray of squat mug-bowls full
of food. Enticing smells reached Joe, just to be whipped away by the wind.

Warron took the tiller, and everyone else moved forward to
the bow to eat. For a time no one spoke, then as each finished the crunchy,
spicy vegetables in a delicious pale orange pepper sauce, they put their bowls
back on the tray and returned to their tasks.

Nan and Tarly stayed on the other side of the mast in the
lee of the canoe. The wind brought their voices forward. They talked a little
about winds and steering, then Joe heard the clicking of Tarly’s hooves as she
moved away.

For a time the only sounds were the splashes of water and
the creaks of the boat. Then a voice he seldom heard spoke up.

“Do you like sailing?” It was Kevriac.

“Sure do,” Nan responded. “This is great. Why are the others
making a mess with those nets and barrels in the back there?”

“Aft. We say forward when we mean the front of the boat, or
ship, and aft for the back part. Anyway, they are busy with our ruse. We make
the boat look like a fishing boat. We even fly a wart flag—one we stole from
the Fisheries Minister who Todan set up to control the fishers.”

“I wondered how we’d get into the capital harbor without
them recognizing their own boat.”

“Oh, we painted over the green and black stripes when we
first arrived at the island, and made a new suit of sails. They would never
recognize it, especially with our nets and things all over.”

Nan said, “Why not make it invisible, like you did at the
island?”

“I can’t make living beings invisible, and cloaking so many
things, especially large things, things is hard.”

“So magic is pretty limited in what it can do?” Nan asked.

Kevriac gave a laugh—the first Joe had ever heard from him.
“It’s not magic, it’s me,” he said. “I don’t know much.”

“I think it’s great, what you can do,” Nan said.

“I thought so, too—until I met a real magician,” Kevriac
said, and sighed.

“What happened? Get trouble from a bad guy?”

“No. Quite the opposite. But she warned me what
could
have happened—and still might, if it’s true what Blackeye reports about Todan
getting a wizard from Dhes Andes in Sveran Djur.” Kevriac was silent a moment,
then he spoke in a rush. “I study and study, but I just can’t get past a certain
level of control. I know I’ll get us into trouble if I try to tangle with a
wizard and lose, and I keep having nightmares about it. But I have to try. And
then...”

“What?” Nan prompted in a quiet voice. “Not that you have to
tell me if you’d rather not.”

“Well, it was this promise I made. You know, in order to get
the Gate magic to work, and to get you here. When the plan is done, I have to
go to some school for magicians way on the other side of the world. I don’t
really want to go.”

In all the days they’d been on this world, Joe had not heard
so much from Kevriac. Even Bron, who everyone said was the quietest, had spoken
more in Joe’s presence.

“Why?” Nan asked. “Some stupid adult making you do something
you don’t want to do?”

“Well, I did promise. And I don’t think they’ll come after
me. She didn’t talk like the kind of person who’d force people against their
will. She just said that I’d learn more if I was taught—and also, that more
magic knowledge brings more responsibility to do it right.”