Jarka Ruus (19 page)

“What do you make of that?” he asked Khyber.

“A bad business that we should stay out of,” she answered. She regarded him thoughtfully. “I think we ought to cut your hair. That long red mane is too recognizable. Maybe we should dye it, too.”

She put down her writing tools and went off to find her scissors.

         

They were told at the evening meal that, after dark, passengers were not allowed topside until morning. It was a rule of long standing aboard the
Skatelow
and the Captain's express order. The reason given was concern for safety; a fall at night from the ship's sleek decking would almost certainly result in death. It was better if everyone but the crew stayed below. Ahren Elessedil assured the Rover that the order would be obeyed, and Pen went to bed with every intention of breaking it.

He woke sometime after midnight and slipped from his bed on cat's paws, brushing absently at his newly shorn hair, grimacing at the roughness of its feel. Hardly anything was left of it; Khyber had done a thorough job. He glanced at Tagwen, who was snoring loudly in the berth above him. Clearly, the Dwarf would not wake. Ahren and Khyber shared a cabin down the hall, so he was less concerned about them. He took several deep breaths to settle himself, then moved to the door. He stood there for a moment, listening, but heard nothing. When he stepped outside, the corridor was empty. Other than the creaking of the rigging and the soft rustle of the mainsail in the almost dead night air, everything was silent.

He went down the corridor and up the stairway, stopping often to listen. Having done that sort of thing any number of times before, he was not particularly worried about getting caught, but he did not care to be embarrassed by Gar Hatch again. So he went slowly and cautiously, and when he reached the head of the stairs and found the hatchway open, he stopped yet again.

Above, not far from where he stood, he heard voices. It took him only seconds to recognize whose they were.

“. . . not fair that I never get to talk to anyone. I don't tell them anything about us, Papa. I just like hearing about their lives.”

“Their lives don't matter to us, girl,” Gar Hatch responded, firmly but not unkindly. “They aren't of our people and you won't see them again after this journey.”

“Then what does it matter if I talk to them?”

“It matters in ways you don't understand because you are still a child. You must listen to me. Be pleasant to them. Be helpful when it is needed. But do not go out of your way to speak to them. That is a direct order, sailor.”

There was silence after that. Pen remained standing where he was, listening. He wanted to peek outside, but he was afraid that if he did, he would be seen. The moon was three-quarters full and the sky clear. There was too much light to take a chance. He wondered what was going on up there that he wasn't supposed to see. As far as he could tell from what he was hearing, nothing at all.

“I'm going below to sleep for a few hours,” Hatch announced suddenly. “You take the helm, Cinnaminson. Keep her on course, no deviations. There's no weather on the horizon, so the sail should be smooth enough. You know what to do. Come get me if there's trouble. Good girl. I'll come back before dawn.”

Pen retreated down the steps as swiftly as he could manage, reached his cabin and stepped inside. He stood with his back against the door and listened as Gar Hatch trudged past toward the Captain's quarters. The Rover's footsteps receded, a door opened and closed, and everything was silent again save Tagwen's snoring.

For a moment, Pen determined to go topside again. But he was nervous about it now, afraid that Hatch might come back and catch him. What had he said?
You take the helm, Cinnaminson?
How could she do that if she was blind? Was she up there all alone, steering the airship and charting their course when she couldn't see? That didn't seem possible, and yet . . .

He stood awhile longer, debating what to do. In the end, he went back to bed. Khyber was right. It was none of his business, and he shouldn't mix in it. Ahren wouldn't like it if he jeopardized their safety through his interference. He couldn't afford to antagonize Hatch while they depended on him.

Perhaps, he thought, he would just ask Cinnaminson the next time he saw her. If she would speak to him, that was.

He went back to bed to think about it some more and was asleep in moments.

Seventeen

They flew north out of the Westland, then turned east across the Streleheim Plains down the corridor that lay between the Dragon's Teeth and the Knife Edge Mountains. It was a shipping lane used by almost everyone traveling west and east above Callahorn, and they passed other airships at regular intervals. The weather remained good, the skies clear and calm, the days warm and dry, the nights deep and cool, and there were no more storms. The
Skatelow
kept a steady pace, but not a fast one, staying low and hugging the forestline above Paranor. She sailed at night as well as during the day, and Gar Hatch put her down only twice in three days for fresh water and brief repairs.

Pen spoke with Cinnaminson every day, several times a day, and there was no indication from her behavior that she was trying to avoid him. In fact, she seemed eager to search him out, although she never did so in a way that suggested she was disobeying her father's wishes. Pen, for his part, tried to make their meetings seem to those who might observe to be about something other than their growing friendship. But he didn't even try to pretend to her that he wasn't interested. He was captivated, and even at his young age he could not mistake what he was feeling for her. He was excited just at the prospect of seeing her, and every day brought new opportunities to do so. He looked forward to those moments with an anticipation that made him ache.

But he never asked her about that first night. The more he thought about doing so, the less comfortable he felt. In the first place, he had been spying on her, and he didn't want her to know that. Nor could he think of a way to broach the subject without seeming to pry. It wasn't his place to ask her what she was doing for her father. At best, it would make her uncomfortable because anything she told him would be a betrayal. He still wanted to know how she could sail an airship despite being blind, but he decided it would have to be her idea to tell him.

He had plenty of time to indulge his newfound attraction for her. Tagwen was often airsick and seldom appeared topside. He was a Dwarf, he pointed out sourly, and he belonged on the ground. Khyber had resumed her Druid studies and spent most of her time with her uncle. Pen would see them sitting across from each other on the decking, heads bent close in conversation, the girl taking notes and making animated gestures that indicated she was trying to understand what he was teaching. Much of the time, they remained in their cabin, freer to engage in open discussion than when the Rovers were present. Khyber, always intense, seemed more so now that they had set out, perhaps appreciating better than Pen did the weight of the task she had agreed to shoulder.

But Pen, too, spent much of his time thinking about why he was there, a passenger aboard an airship bound for the Charnals and country few had ever explored. He no longer questioned whether what he was doing was the right thing. He no longer even questioned the motives of the King of the Silver River in sending him. He just accepted it and concentrated instead on how he was going to get through in one piece. If he allowed himself to think about the larger picture, it was too overwhelming to contemplate. So much was expected of him, and he had no reason to believe those expectations were justified. He found he could manage better if he considered things incrementally. Step one was escaping the
Galaphile
and Terek Molt. He'd done that. Step two was reaching Emberen and enlisting help from Ahren Elessedil. He'd done that, too. Step three was embarking on the journey east.

When he got to step four, however, things became a little less clear. Finding the tanequil was the goal, but he had the feeling that there were a few other steps in between and he would not find out what they were right away. Only time would reveal them, and it would not do to try to plan too far ahead. That he was making the journey on faith in the first place helped him accept that, but it didn't make him any less anxious about the outcome.

Spending time with Cinnaminson relaxed him most. He understood it was an indulgence, one that was difficult to justify given the seriousness of his purpose. But he understood, as well, that something was needed to distract him from his doubts and fears, and turning his thoughts to Cinnaminson helped. He wasn't foolish enough to expect that this infatuation would grow into something more. He knew it would be finished when they reached their destination and disembarked from the airship. But it did no good to think in those terms. Better to allow a little light into a darkened room than to worry about what would happen once it faded.

On the third day, they were sitting in the bow where he was pretending to write and she to listen to what he had written, their backs to the pilot box and Gar Hatch.

“Can you tell me where you are going?” she asked him quietly.

“I can tell you anything, Cinnaminson.”

“Not anything. You know you can't do that.”

He nodded to himself. She understood some things better than he did. “We go into the Charnals, looking for the ruins of an ancient city. Ahren wants to look for something there.”

“But he brings you and Khyber and Tagwen to help him,” she said. “An odd company for such an effort.”

Her fingers brushed his wrist, a soft swirl that made him itch all the way down to his toes. “I won't lie to you,” he said finally. “There's more to this. I'm sworn to secrecy.”

“Better that you tell me so than deceive me. I have traveled with enough passengers to know when they keep secrets. My father is paid to keep it so. But I want to know that you will be safe when you leave me. I want to know that I might see you again someday.”

His hand closed on hers, and he stared into her milky, empty eyes. She did not see him, but he could feel her watching in other ways. He studied her face, the lines and curves and softness, the way the light fell against her skin. He loved to look at her. He could not have told anyone why, just that he did. “You will see me again,” he said quietly.

“Will you come find me?” she asked him.

“I will.”

“Even if I am flying somewhere on the
Skatelow
, you will look for me?”

He felt his throat tighten. “I don't think I could do otherwise,” he said. “I think I have to.”

Then, without thinking about who might be watching, he leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. She kissed him back without hesitation. It was a thrilling, tantalizing kiss, and he immediately wanted more. But he was playing a dangerous game, and contemplating the way it might end tempered his enthusiasm sufficiently that he kept himself in check.

He broke away, not daring to look back at the pilot box. “Sorry,” he said.

“Don't be sorry,” she answered at once, leaning into his shoulder, head lowered so that her hair brushed his bare arm. “I wanted you to do that.”

“Your father won't like it.”

“My father wasn't looking.”

Unable to help himself, he glanced over his shoulder. Gar Hatch was turned away, working on placing lines at the rear of the box. She was right; he hadn't seen anything.

Pen looked back at her. “How did you know that?”

She gave him a smile that reached all the way into his heart. “I just did,” she said, and kissed him again.

         

“I wish you'd stop following Cinnaminson around like an eager puppy,” Khyber told him late that same day while they were sitting together at the bow of the
Skatelow
. She brushed back her thick dark hair and stared out at a sky lit purple and rose, her brow furrowed by deep lines of condemnation.

“I like her,” he said.

“As anyone can plainly see, including her father. Even Uncle Ahren has noticed, and he usually doesn't bother with such nonsense.”

He frowned. “Nonsense?”

“Well, it is. Do you have any idea what you're doing? You're going to get us in a lot of trouble if you aren't careful.”

“You don't know everything.”

“I know what I see. What everyone sees. I don't think you've thought this through. Or if you have, you've managed to leave out the important parts. You know how her father feels about outsiders. He doesn't want anything to do with us beyond taking our money. Rovers live by a different code of behavior than the rest of us. Everyone knows that. So why do you persist in nosing around after Cinnaminson?”

He looked sharply at her. “Stop it, Khyber.”

“Stop what? Stop telling you the truth?”

“You don't have to be so mean about it! Have you forgotten that my mother is a Rover?”

They glared at each other, each silently daring the other to say something more, each refusing to give ground. Pen knew Khyber was right about Cinnaminson, even if he wouldn't admit it. He knew he shouldn't be interested in her, even in a casual way and certainly not in the way he was. But he didn't know what he could do about it. It wasn't as if he had chosen for it to happen. It just had. Now he was stuck with his feelings, and he couldn't cast them aside or bundle them up and stick them in a locker. He was way beyond that, and besides, he wasn't at all sure he wanted to change things anyway.

“We're being careful,” he said finally.

She snorted. “How, exactly? Are there things happening between the two of you that I'm not seeing? I certainly hope not, because what I am seeing is already way too much.”

He wheeled on her. “Just because your brother wants to marry you off and you don't like the idea doesn't mean the rest of us have to feel the same way about things!”

“Oh, are you thinking of marrying her?”

“That's not what I mean!” He was furious now. “I mean I don't have to be as close-minded as you obviously are! I don't have to be like you!”

“Keep your voice down!” she hissed.

Behind them, Gar Hatch stood in the pilot box. Pen shot him a quick look, but he didn't seem to notice the boy. His eyes were directed forward, toward the horizon.

“You're being unreasonable!” Pen hissed back at her. “We're just friends!”

She started to reply, then stopped herself. Her face softened, her anger faded, and she nodded slowly. “All right, Pen. Let's drop the matter. What right do I have to tell you how to behave, anyway? Ask my family how well behaved I've been. I haven't the right to lecture you.”

He sighed wearily, looking out over the bow toward the approaching night. “I know I shouldn't be doing this. I know I should just stay away from her. I know that.”

Khyber put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “But you can't and you won't and I don't have the right to ask you to do so. I wouldn't want you telling me what to do if our positions were reversed. But I worry, anyway. I don't want you disappearing over the side of the ship one night just because you smiled at this girl once too often. Everything we're doing depends on you. We can't afford to lose you. Just keep that in mind when you're thinking about how pretty she looks.”

He exhaled sharply. “You don't have to worry about that. I can't stop thinking about it. That's part of the reason I like being with her. She helps me forget for a little while.”

They didn't say anything for a long time as they looked out at the skyline, listened to the cries of the seabirds and the hum of the ship's rigging. The western sky had gone shadowed and gray with the setting of the sun, and the first star had appeared in the north.

“Just be careful,” Khyber said finally.

He nodded, but did not answer.

         

The fourth day of travel dawned gray and sullen with storm clouds layered all across the northwest horizon, roiling and windswept as they bore down on the Streleheim. Pen came on deck at first light to find Gar Hatch and both Rover crewmen hard at work taking down the sails, tightening the rigging, and lashing in place or carrying below everything that might be lost in the blow. Cinnaminson was standing in the pilot box, her face lifted as if to taste the raindrops that had begun to fall.

He thought at first to go to her, then decided against it. There was no reason to do so, and it would call needless attention to his infatuation. Instead, familiar enough with what was needed to be able to help, he went to help the crewmen secure the vessel. They glanced at him doubtfully as he joined them in their work, but said nothing to discourage it. Behind him, Ahren and Khyber appeared, as well, standing in the hatchway, stopped by a wind that had begun to howl through the rigging like a banshee.

“Get below!” Gar Hatch bellowed at them. His gaze shifted to Pen. “Penderrin! Take Cinnaminson down with them, then come back on deck! We need your strong back and skilled hands, lad! This is a heavy blow we're facing down!”

Pen dropped what he was doing and raced at once to the pilot's box, slipping precariously on decking slick with dampness. He heard Cinnaminson shouting at him as he reached her, but her words were lost in the shrieks and howls of the wind. Shouting back that everything would be all right, he took her arm and steered her out of the pilot box and over to the hatchway, bending his head against the sudden gusts that swept into him. Again, she tried to say something, but he couldn't make it out. Ahren was waiting to receive her, and Pen turned back at once to help the beleaguered Rovers.

“Safety lines!” Gar Hatch roared from the pilot box, where he had taken over the controls.

Pen found one coiled about a clasp on the mainmast and snapped the harness in place around his waist. The
Skatelow
was dropping swiftly toward the plains as Gar Hatch sought shelter. The Rover Captain had to set her down or she would be knocked out of the sky. But finding a place that would offer protection from the wind and rain was not so easy when it was impossible to see clearly for more than a dozen yards.

The sails were down by then, so the boy hurried forward to secure the anchor ropes and hatch covers. Rain began to fall in sheets, a deluge that soaked Pen in only seconds. He had not worn his weather cloak on deck, and his pants and tunic offered no protection at all. He ignored the drenching, blinking away the torrent of water that spilled out of his hair and into his eyes, fighting to reach his objective. Still descending toward the plains, a stricken bird in search of a roost, the airship was shaking from the force of the wind.