Legends of Dimmingwood 02:Betrayal of Thieves (9 page)

It was unclear whether it was the water he feared or the possibility of getting his clothes wet. Either way, I seized his arm, even as he was wishing me luck and attempting to back away, and leapt down onto the bobbing raft, hauling him after me in a single rough motion. He’d proven he had a way with these river people, and I wasn’t about to plunge myself into their midst alone.

In the end, it wasn’t strength that decided the issue, but the precariousness of our position. The raft sank ominously low in the water the moment we clambered on board and all other concerns had to be dismissed in the effort to stay afloat. We quickly shifted ourselves so our weight was evenly distributed across the planks, but my feet were already soaked ankle-deep in water before we pushed off from the dock. I could tell my calf muscles were going to start cramping if I had to stay crouched for long in the awkward position I’d chosen but didn’t dare shift my weight. Even the smallest movements sent the raft dipping wildly.

The lake must not have been very deep here because the youth guiding us took up a long, thick stick and poled us forward through the water. He was a skinny boy and when he quickly tired, I took over the task. There were no such offers from Fleet, but I was learning not to expect them. We passed beneath the immense arcing bridge I had crossed into the city only days ago, and seeing it from this angle, I decided the great stone monster looked oddly out of place on the placid lake—a stark contrast to the natural surroundings. It was a relief when we came out from beneath its heavy shadow and I felt the warmth of the sun on my shoulders again.

I didn’t really need the boy to guide me because the floating village of the river people was clearly visible from here. As we approached, I studied the string of large rafts bobbing ahead. These were nothing like the smaller working floats navigating back and forth across the lake but were barges long and wide enough to accommodate a handful of little huts on their decks. Where one barge ended, it was lashed to the next with rope bridges or temporary plank walkways spanning the gap over the water. I couldn’t help admiring their sturdy, economical construction and appreciating how these temporary dwellings didn’t mar the natural landscape, as we land dwellers had done with the stone edifices towering at my back.

I saw brown figures in colorful dress moving on the long decks ahead, hauling in nets of fish and leaping agilely from one barge of their floating village to the next. It looked like most of the river people population lived out on the lake, shunning the shabby hovels built for them on the docks, and I could see why they preferred their barges. Out here, they were free to lift their anchors at any time they pleased and drift away from the city’s shadow.

Drawing up to the nearest barge, a long craft that dwarfed our little float, we grated roughly against its timbers as we came to a stop and then our boy was over the side and securing our float to the barge. I didn’t realize until I stood on the deck of the larger craft what a relief it was to have my feet on a more or less firm surface, even if that surface was still bobbing gently on the water. Our tiny float had unnerved me with all its lurching and pitching over the waves, and it was obvious the passage had been still harder on Fleet, whose face was drawn into the queasy lines of a man trying valiantly not to lose the contents of his stomach all over his boots. Unfortunately, my friend was granted little time to recover, because our boy was already scurrying off, bare feet slapping across the rough deck as he ran. We had to follow more slowly, since Fleet didn’t have his sea legs under him yet and, as the one largely responsible for his being here, I could hardly abandon him.

Our visit attracted the same level of interest here as it had back on the docks. There were many of the bronze-skinned river folk aboard, hauling or mending nets, repairing sails, or completing unfamiliar tasks I couldn’t guess at. As we cut a path through them, they dropped their work and turned to stare after us with cold eyes. I had the distinct feeling we might be thrown overboard at any moment, but, as on the docks, no one raised hand or voice to prevent our intrusion.

When we had moved safely beyond the knot of workers, our boy led us to a small hut made of thick shoots of some heavy reed I didn’t recognize. Identical to its neighbors, the dwelling was covered by a thatched roof with an open smoke hole in its center and could be entered by means of an open doorway at its front, across which hung a red tarpaulin. I say
could
be entered, because we didn’t have the opportunity to proceed that far.

Our young guide approached a small, dark-haired woman sitting cross-legged to one side of the doorway and leaning against the hut. Her nimble fingers were busily stringing muscle shells of all sizes onto a long bit of twine and beside her rested a basket overflowing with still more shells, most of them glistening wetly in the morning sun as if just recently collected from the water. I was immediately struck by her beauty, despite her middling years and the grey streaking the black hair at her temples. Her face and the backs of her hands were patterned with a swirling map of red ink, much like the tattoos of the men back on the docks, and strands of wooden beads and painted shells descended from her earlobes, down to her shoulders, setting off a soft rattling noise whenever she moved her head.

She moved it now, tilting her head back to listen, as our guide rattled off something unintelligible in the river folk tongue. The woman hardly spared a glance in our direction before jabbering back something equally incomprehensible, but I got the impression she was displeased. The youth frowned and lifted his shoulders at her question and she fired off a command that sent him scurrying away. It was all I could do not to grab his shoulder as he ran past and demand he stay. I had no desire to be left alone with the strange, hostile looking woman now setting aside her work to turn her full attention on us. But I reminded myself I still had Fleet to back me up, even if he wasn’t, when last I looked, fit for much.

A glance at the street thief now revealed he appeared to be feeling suddenly stronger. He flipped an extra coin to the boy as he darted past, more, I thought, for the eyes of the beautiful river woman than for the sake of his own generosity. His water sickness seemed all but banished as he approached the woman.

“Good day to you, mistress,” he said. “My name is Fleet and this is my friend Ilan. I don’t know how much the lad explained to you, but we’re looking for someone called Seephinia, who we’ve been told could direct us to a good friend of ours.”

I would hardly have categorized Hadrian as a good friend, but I didn’t correct the street thief’s embellishment. The river woman’s blank expression and prolonged silence must have put Fleet off balance because after a long stretch of silence, his polite smile faltered and he flicked me an annoyed glance.

“Told you these people couldn’t understand a civilized tongue,” he muttered. “Heathens, nothing but heathens.”

Slipping his smile back into place, he leaned closer to the river woman. “FRIENDS,” he all but bellowed into her ear. “WE SEEK FRIENDS, YES?”

He emphasized this with a few hand gestures I supposed were meant to make things clearer but which made no more sense to me than they probably did to the river woman.

After allowing my companion to make a fool of himself with his shouting for a few moments longer, the river woman turned her cool dark eyes on me.

“I am Seephinia,” she said in a heavy accent. “My nephew”—she nodded after the boy—“tells me you seek the Gray Robe. Why this is?” Although her words were slightly jumbled, I understood her well enough.

I had previously given Fleet only the barest explanation of my search for Hadrian, and I had no intention of divulging any more of it to this stranger. “It’s a personal matter,” I said stiffly. “Just trust me. Hadrian will want to see me.” I hoped that was true.

Her eyes narrowed disapprovingly, although I failed to understand what I said to offend her. Was this the casual hostility we attracted from all the river folk or something more personal? It didn’t matter. I came for the priest, and I wasn’t backing down over a few hard looks. That said, I wasn’t going to be foolish about this either.

“Look,” I said placatingly. “I’ve come a long way to see my friend on a matter of importance. I would be very grateful for any help you could offer, and I’m sure the Gray Robe would be appreciative too.”

Her expression grew unreadable, but I could feel her considering my words. I could have kicked Fleet when he had to chip in just then with a condescending bribe. “There’ll be a shiny copper in it for you as well.”

The river woman ignored him and kept her black eyes fixed on me. “I learn the truth—Ilan,” she said, with a slight pause before and after my name, as if she was not entirely pleased with the taste of it. “If you are friend to the Gray Robe, I take you to him. If you lie, I cast you to the fish.”

“Sounds fair enough.” I agreed, my words coming out with more confidence than I felt. “I have nothing to hide.”

She sniffed, looking me up and down. “We see,” she said.

She rose to her feet in one fluid movement, drawing stares from both Fleet and me. I hadn’t noticed until now that she wore only a strip of green cloth wrapped around her from shoulders to thighs. I had never seen a woman walking around in public so scantily clad and, judging by Fleet’s expression, he hadn’t either. I dug my elbow into his ribs, aware even as I did it that the motion was observed by the river woman and rendered pointless.

She ducked through the covered entrance of the hut and Fleet and I made as if to follow, but she held up a hand, indicating we should wait outside, while she disappeared wordlessly into the darkened interior.

When the canvas closed safely behind her, Fleet gave a low whistle and said, “I’ve got to tell you, Ilan, I was a little surprised at you just now. I’ve never seen anyone get a stranger’s back up so quick.”

“What?” I said, jaw dropping. “You shout in the woman’s face like she’s an idiot, talk over her head about what an ignorant savage she is, and round it all off by drooling over her bare legs, and you think I’m the one who offended her? If she tosses us overboard it’ll be for your bad manners and disgusting leers, not for anything I did.”

Fleet sighed and said, “Ilan, Ilan, it’s clear you know nothing about what a woman appreciates in a man.”

I stared incredulously. “Why, you—I
am
a woman!”

But he seemed not to hear. “It’s obvious you’re going to get us both neck deep in trouble if I let you have your way,” he said. “So do us a favor, will you? When she comes back, just keep quiet and let me do the talking.”

There was no telling what my response would have been, because at that precise moment, the river woman ducked her head out the canvas. I started, torn between wondering how she had returned so quickly and worrying about whether she had overheard our conversation.

Her flat gaze gave nothing away. “The Gray Robe asks for you.”

“You mean you’ve got him inside?” I asked, surprised to learn he could be so near.

Fleet jumped in here. “We deeply appreciate your trouble,” he told the frowning river woman. “I apologize for my companion’s manners. She doesn’t get out of the woods much and isn’t accustomed to dealing with people.”

She ignored him, instead looking at me, as she firmly blocked the entrance to the hut. “I not see what business you have with the Gray Robe, but if he permits, is not my concern. But I warn you this, drylander. The Gray Robe has many…”—She frowned, as if searching for the right word in our tongue—“…many who wish him hurt…”

“Enemies?” I supplied.

She glared. “If you are one of these, I flay you like a fish and throw your guts into lake.”

She sounded perfectly serious.

Beside me, Fleet gave a nervous little laugh, but I took her at her word, having already noted the curved knife tucked into the cord at her waist. I hadn’t the slightest doubt she was capable of using it for gutting more than fish. Or at least of attempting to, if she could catch either of us.

I nodded with the most complacent look I could summon, and she stepped aside, allowing us to enter the doorway of the small hut.

“Shouldn’t have got her back up,” Fleet whispered again, as we crowded through the entrance. I pretended not to hear.

The interior was shaded and after stepping in from the bright sunlight, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The space was small and crowded, with cluttered shelves lining the walls and stacks of baskets and large earthenware jars shoved into corners. A mat of woven reeds covered the floor and here and there colorful cushions were scattered around the room. I guessed these to be for seating, since the only true furnishing in the room was a low table set out in the center of the living space. There was another doorway letting out the back of the hut and its leather hanging was tied back, affording a view out over the water. A cool cross breeze swept through the doorways at either end of the room, carrying with it a musical clattering sound, like the soft tinkle of wind chimes. I looked upward and saw the sound came from numerous strings of painted shells and bits of carved wood hanging suspended from the low ceiling.

Hadrian the priest was nowhere in sight. The river woman padded across the room to a curtained alcove partitioned off from the rest of the living space, ducked her head around the divider, and muttered something in her native tongue to someone I couldn’t see. I didn’t hear the quiet reply, but in a moment the curtain was shoved aside and a broad figure emerged. With a flood of relief, I recognized the priest man.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Not until I saw the priest did I realize how anxious I had been. It hadn’t occurred to me before to wonder what I would do if this were all some trick of the river woman’s. But on that score my fears were instantly put to rest, because there was no mistaking the priest, even if his mode of dress was different enough to startle me. Gone were the gray robes, which had always looked incongruous on him anyway, and the chainmail he used to wear beneath. In place of that costume, he now wore a loose cotton shirt and the same wide-legged trousers worn by the river men. His skin had darkened since the last I saw him, I supposed from his days out on the water, so that he could almost pass as one of the river people.