Barefoot Pirate (11 page)

“How about these bad wizards? Do they learn bad wizard
responsibilities?” Nan scoffed.

Kevriac laughed. “I can just see it. Ten lessons on how to
properly subdue your enemies—”

“And on how to dress for success in terror tactics—”

“And there’s land-burning and mind-prying. Unfortunately,”
Kevriac’s voice sobered, “those things do happen. And I don’t want to learn
them. I guess I don’t see what she meant when she said that the most powerful
good magicians seldom use magic. It doesn’t make sense! But then she went to the
places I’d done things—the cave in the mountain, and our hideout, and so
forth—and she did magic to ‘restore balance’ and I, I
felt
it was really
powerful stuff.”

“Well,” Nan said slowly. “This is all something to think
about. I was going to ask you if you’d teach me magic—”

“Oh, no,” Kevriac said quickly. “I mean, no offense, but
until I do understand what’s going on, I don’t dare teach someone what might be
mistakes. But maybe,” he added in a shy, cautious voice, “you could go to the
Magic School with me. When we’re done here. If you want.”

Joe couldn’t hear what Nan said in return—her voice was even
lower than Kevriac’s. But it didn’t matter anyway. Joe wrapped his arms around
his legs and put his chin on his knees. Whichever way he looked at this business
of others always talking to Nan, paying attention to Nan, it really hurt. What
was going on?

He shook his head, trying to get rid of his anger. He was
glad Nan had made friends so fast; she’d seemed such a total nerd back on
Earth. But why did she get invited on a secret mission? Why did some of the
others treat her like she was something special? And then there was Kevriac,
who’d hardly said Word One to Joe, talking to her like she was his only friend
or something.

Joe got to his feet, and moved out to face them.

“Hi guys,” he said.

They swung around. Nan just looked like Nan—no particular
expression—but Kevriac’s face went all polite and quiet.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Joe said, and pushed on by.

Well, forget you, he thought. Out loud he yelled, “Hey
Tarsen! Can I lend a hand?”

o0o

Nan watched Joe shove his way past, and shout something to
Tarsen. Strange, she thought. Unless I’m actually seeing the person speaking,
the translation magic doesn’t always work.

Kevriac turned away from Joe and Tarsen. “Look, there’s the
big island,” Kevriac said, pointing ahead. “We’ll be there soon.”

“What’s it called?” Nan asked.

“Waneldur.”

Nan squinted against the setting sun. She couldn’t see much
beyond a lump on the horizon.

“Here.” Blackeye waved from her position by the barrels and
other mess, as she finished draping a net all over the stern. “I see some sail
out there. You two better go below.”

“Why are we hiding?” Nan asked.

Kevriac shrugged. “We don’t all stay on deck. Some nosy wart
with a spyglass might notice an absence of adults and stop us. If only three or
four—the biggest—are topside, then they’ll assume the bosses are below taking
it easy while the young hands do all the work. That’s what we figure, anyway,
and it’s fooled ’em until now.”

A ramp led down into the little cabin below, which was
completely bare. Here they found everyone except Blackeye, Warron, Joe, and
Tarsen. Tarly had knelt down on a pile of thick woven wool rugs obviously meant
for her, and Bron and Sarilda each sat with their backs against her sides.
Their knees were up, their feel planted firmly on the deck. They seemed to be
bracing Tarly against the rolling of the boat.

Kevriac sat against the hull, staring down at his hands. Nan
stationed herself next to one of the two scuttles, which were both open. Forward,
they heard the sounds of Shor in the tiny galley, busy dipping the dishes in
the bucket with the magic spell on it that cleaned things.

Nan peered through a scuttle. She couldn’t see anything but
ocean at this angle, so she slid down next to Kevriac.

“About the translation spell,” she said.

Kevriac looked up, his pale brows curved in question.

Nan explained what she’d noticed about some words not
translating, and Kevriac said, “The only way to hear everything is to learn the
language yourself. That spell is as good a translator as there is, that
magician told me. But it has limits: you have to be focusing on the speakers,
either by facing them or trying to hear them, or else you have to be the
subject of their words. That last part was the hard part to add on.”

“How can I learn the language?” Nan asked.

“We’ll have to take the translator spell off you. Then you
just—learn it.”

Nan thought this over. “Maybe after the prince is rescued.
Yes, I’ll do that.”

Kevriac smiled, looking both eager and a little shy. “And
I’ll teach you how to read and write as well. How’s that?”

“Thanks,” Nan said. “One more question about magic, then
I’ll stop.”

Kevriac laughed a little. “I don’t mind talking, I just
don’t feel right teaching it.”

“You said in your book that Sarilda has magic—inherited from
her background, kind of.”

“She’s got at least one Hrethan in her ancestors. They have,
oh, a kind of natural access to magic. It’s very diluted in the descendants.”

“What are Hrethan, some kind of elf?”

“What’s an elf?” Kevriac asked. “Never heard of it. Hrethan
are also called the Snow People, and they’re kind of mysterious. I heard once
that they came, a long time ago, from another world. Some say that the stories
about their abilities in the past are exaggerated. Nobody ever sees the ones
who supposedly live on Starborn Island, way in the north, so nobody knows.
Nobody here, that is. Maybe they travel to other islands, or on the big
continents. Anyway. . .” He turned his head. “Sarilda, show Nan what you can
do.”

Sarilda stopped talking to Shor and Tarly, and laughed.
“Ready?”

Nan watched in fascination as Sarilda’s face fuzzed,
elongated, and then cleared—and she looked just like Blackeye.

“I can only do faces I’ve seen, and it’s only an illusion,”
came Sarilda’s high voice from Blackeye’s lips. “But it’s fun sometimes.” A
flicker and she was herself again. “I can also do this kind of illusion—” She
threw up her hands and sparks of light pin-wheeled, glowing, about her head.
“Sometimes. Never when I’m tired, or thinking about other things.”

The boat heeled sharply. The scuttle darkened; Nan poked her
face out just in time to see a long, low, rakish ship with three sail-bedecked
masts slide slowly by. Then the sailboat rocked violently in the big ship’s
wake.

Nan braced herself, peering after the ship. Beyond it were a
number of ships and boats of all sizes and shapes moving back and forth in the
water. Beyond those, golden cliffs towered in twin peaks. Layered along the
cliffs was the city of Fortanya.

Nan stared in amazement.

“See the palace?” Kevriac asked. “Look at where the river
comes down. See the bridge?”

Nan shifted her head. At the points of the peaks some fluffy
white clouds hung about the cliff tops, but she could just make out the
breathtaking curve of a bridge. On it, pale and ghostly in the clouds, the
lines of a towered castle could just be discerned.

“Wow,” she said.

“That is Castle Rotha,” Kevriac said.

“You see what we mean about hard to get into,” Sarilda put
in. “Unless you happen to have wings, no way to get up there except at either
end of the bridge, and each end has a huge guard tower.”

“I see them.” Nan shivered. She and Joe were expected to
break into that?

Her innards had gone cold, the way she’d felt when a foster
family told her they just couldn’t fit her in anymore, and she’d have to go
back to the state. According to Blackeye’s rescue plan, she and Joe would be on
their own.

The boat heeled again, and Fortanya swung away from view.

Nan slid back down to the planking. The others had gone back
to their conversations. They sounded cheerful, maybe a little excited. Nan
pressed her arms against her stomach. Until now the rescue stuff had never
seemed real. Even when Blackeye told her about it, all Nan could think about
was how great it felt to be an insider. Hearing a secret. Being trusted.

Feeling admiration.

Now she felt sick. There’s no way we can make it, she
thought.

A yell from topside startled everyone.

“They spotted anchorage close in,” Sarilda said.

“Hey, that was fast.” Mican rubbed his skinny hands.

“Visitors brought us luck,” Tarly said, giving Nan a smile.

Nan tried to muster a smile up in return.

“Keep chewing that ginger,” Sarilda admonished her. “Don’t
stop just because we’re in harbor. We’ll be rolling about lots more as they
bring us in.”

Seasick or not, Nan wished she and the boat would have to
stay out on the water. The boat slowed, which just increased the rocking. On
deck, someone was yelling. The boat jerked a couple of times, rocking even more
violently; it began to roll just as Blackeye shouted “The way is off her, hook
up!”

More jerks, while the others attached the boat by a thick
cable to a floating buoy.

Blackeye appeared at the top of the ramp, her glossy black
braid swinging. “Mican, you and Shor take the visitors to get some duds, first
trip. We’re going to do some listening around.” She tossed a small bag down to
Mican. “Make it easy—buy what you need at market. On blue-one change meet us at
the White Twig.”

Sarilda laughed. “That means she wants to show you the
Falcon
.”

Nan took a deep breath as she followed Mican, Kevriac, Joe,
and Shor up the ramp to the deck, then over the side into the canoe. Warron and
Blackeye took up oars and rowed them to a long wharf where countless tiny boats
either drew near or else launched away; Nan glanced around. They were
surrounded by floating boats with their sails furled more or less neatly, all
fairly close together. Ships seemed to be anchored farther out, except for the
big rake-masted ones that rated wharfs—all of them either with green and black
stripes, or else with the kind of fancy scrollwork and other decorations that
suggested they were the pleasure vessels of Todan’s favored nobles.

On the short ride, chattered about the market and all the
wonderful things they had there. Nan tried to listen—tried to recapture the
wonderful feelings she’d had during the last few days.
I won’t look at that
palace on the bridge. Maybe something else will happen and I won’t have to go
.

When they climbed up a slimy ladder and stepped onto the
quay, Nan felt it moving, and staggered. She was glad she’d kept the ginger;
she sucked it, trying to brace herself.

“You’ll get your land legs back in a moment,” Kevriac said,
as Warron and Blackeye expertly launched the canoe away and back to the boat.
“Just stand still and look around.”

There was certainly plenty to look at. The harbor was
crammed with people of every imaginable type, in jewels and silks, in bright
sailing clothes, in rags, and everywhere, armed soldiers. Here and there were
centaurs, always pulling some kind of conveyance.

The fear tightened inside her again.

“You
still
seasick?” Mican spoke with faint derision.

“It takes a bit,” Shor said softly, with her friendly smile.

Nan straightened her back, giving Mican a wary look.
I’m
a princess,
she reminded herself.
Which is why he hates me! At least I
can act like one.

“Let’s go,” she said shortly. “I’m fine.”

“Market’s up this way,” Mican said. “Say.” He turned a
challenging grin on Nan and Joe. “Shall we steal your new duds? Then we can use
this money to get some good stuff to eat.”

Nan looked back. Joe was walking quietly, his gaze on the
dirty quay. He was walking as if his feet hurt. Yes. He winced and kicked at a
small stone.

Nan had no problems; she’d always gone barefoot as much as
she could, unless there was snow on the ground. She’d noticed a long time ago
that the foster parents never complained if you saved them money—and she
certainly saved them shoe money by wearing one pair, year round, only when she
had to.

“I think we should do what Blackeye says,” Shor said
quietly. “She doesn’t want the warts knowing we’re here this time.”

“She’d give us a usual run if she wasn’t worried about her
prin-cess
,”
Mican said snidely.

Joe looked up, his mouth rounding in question—then he shrugged
and turned away. As if this had nothing to do with him.

Nan had been watching him, afraid he’d question the
‘princess’ crack. Luckily Mican’s tone had been sarcastic enough that the term
seemed part of the insult.

Nan stopped him from saying any more by muttering, “All
right. Whatever you want. I don’t care—just stop blabbing on and on.”

Mican’s thin cheeks reddened. Nan suspected that if she’d
been a real princess, with a real story to keep secret, her words made a pretty
heavy-duty rebuke.

Serves him right
, she thought, folding her arms.

Mican jerked around. “This way.” He began pushing his way
through the crowd on the wharf, the others drawn along like beads on a string.

The wharf gave onto a broad concourse that Mican crossed;
the concourse ran all around the big U of the harbor, the buildings all huge
warehouses and custom houses. Between these, narrow streets led upward toward
the cliffs.

Mican darted between two huge warehouses, one that smelled
of pungent spices and one of wood. The crowds had not lessened, but Mican moved
fast, his sister pounding along right behind him. Kevriac and Nan stayed
together and Joe followed as they ran up the crowded brick streets that wound
back and forth along the cliffs. They passed rows of houses and shops built right
up directly against the cliffs stopping when they reached a wide terrace,
brick-patterned, built on a natural plateau. In its center was a huge fountain.