Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (60 page)

portance.

Then his gaze drifted to the next poster in line.

It was Eragon.

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Roran’s gut clenched as if he had been struck, and for a few seconds he

forgot to breathe.

He’s alive!

After his initial relief subsided, Roran felt his old anger about Eragon’s

role in Garrow’s death and the destruction of their farm take its place,

accompanied by a burning desire to know why the Empire was hunting

Eragon. It must have something to do with that blue stone and the Ra’zac’s

first visit to Carvahall. Once again, Roran wondered what kind of fiend-

ish machinations he and the rest of Carvahall had become entangled in.

Instead of a reward, Eragon’s poster bore two lines of runes. “What

crime is he accused of?” Roran asked Gertrude.

The skin around Gertrude’s eyes wrinkled as she squinted at the board.

“Treason, the both of you. It says Galbatorix will bestow an earldom on

whoever captures Eragon, but that those who try should take care be-

cause he’s extremely dangerous.”

Roran blinked with astonishment. Eragon? It seemed inconceivable un-

til Roran considered how he himself had changed in the past few weeks.

The same blood runs in our veins. Who knows, Eragon may have accom-

plished as much or more than I have since he left.

In a low voice, Baldor said, “If killing Galbatorix’s men and defying the

Ra’zac only earns you ten thousand crowns—large as that is—what

makes you worth an earldom?”

“Buggering the king himself,” suggested Larne.

“That’s enough of that,” said Horst. “Guard your tongue better, Baldor,

or we’ll end up in irons. And, Roran, don’t draw attention to yourself

again. With a reward like that, people are bound to be watching strangers

for anyone who matches your description.” Running a hand through his

hair, Horst pulled up his belt and said, “Right. We all have jobs to do. Re-

turn here at noon to report on your progress.”

With that their party split into three. Darmmen, Larne, and Hamund

set out together to purchase food for the villagers, both to meet present

needs and to sustain them through the next stage of their journey.

Gertrude—as she had told the guard—went to replenish her stock of

herbs, unguents, and tinctures. And Roran, Horst, and Baldor headed

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down the sloping streets to the docks, where they hoped to charter a ship

that could transport the villagers to Surda or, at the very least, Teirm.

When they reached the weathered boardwalk that covered the beach,

Roran halted and stared out at the ocean, which was gray from low

clouds and dotted with whitecaps from erratic wind. He had never imag-

ined that the horizon could be so perfectly flat. The hollow boom of wa-

ter knocking against the piles beneath his feet made it feel as if he stood

upon the surface of a huge drum. The odor of fish—fresh, gutted, and

rotting—overwhelmed every other smell.

Glancing from Roran to Baldor, who was likewise entranced, Horst

said, “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” said Roran.

“Makes you feel rather small, doesn’t it?”

“Aye,” said Baldor.

Horst nodded. “I remember when I first saw the ocean, it had a similar

effect on me.”

“When was that?” asked Roran. In addition to the flocks of seagulls

whirling over the cove, he noticed an odd type of bird perched upon the

piers. The animal had an ungainly body with a striped beak that it kept

tucked against its breast like a pompous old man, a white head and neck,

and a sooty torso. One of the birds lifted its beak, revealing a leathery

pouch underneath.

“Bartram, the smith who came before me,” said Horst, “died when I was

fifteen, a year before the end of my apprenticeship. I had to find a smith

who was willing to finish another man’s work, so I traveled to Ceunon,

which is built along the North Sea. There I met Kelton, a vile old man

but good at what he did. He agreed to teach me.” Horst laughed. “By the

time we were done, I wasn’t sure if I should thank him or curse him.”

“Thank him, I should think,” said Baldor. “You never would have mar-

ried Mother otherwise.”

Roran scowled as he studied the waterfront. “There aren’t many ships,”

he observed. Two craft were berthed at the south end of the port and a

third at the opposite side with nothing but fishing boats and dinghies in

between. Of the southern pair, one had a broken mast. Roran had no ex-

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perience with ships but, to him, none of the vessels appeared large

enough to carry almost three hundred passengers.

Going from one ship to the next, Roran, Horst, and Baldor soon discov-

ered that they were all otherwise engaged. It would take a month or

more to repair the ship with the broken mast. The vessel beside it, the

Waverunner, was rigged with leather sails and was about to venture north

to the treacherous islands where the Seithr plant grew. And the Alba-

tross, the last ship, had just arrived from distant Feinster and was getting

its seams recaulked before departing with its cargo of wool.

A dockworker laughed at Horst’s questions. “You’re too late and too

early at the same time. Most of the spring ships came and left two, three

weeks ago. An’ another month, the nor’westers will start gusting, an’ then

the seal and walrus hunters will return and we’ll get ships from Teirm

and the rest of the Empire to take the hides, meat, and oil. Then you

might have a chance of hiring a captain with an empty hold. Meanwhile,

we don’t see much more traffic than this.”

Desperate, Roran asked, “Is there no other way to get goods from here

to Teirm? It doesn’t have to be fast or comfortable.”

“Well,” said the man, hefting the box on his shoulder, “if it doesn’t have

to be fast an’ you’re only going to Teirm, then you might try Clovis over

there.” He pointed to a line of sheds that floated between two piers

where boats could be stored. “He owns some barges that he ships grain

on in the fall. The rest of the year, Clovis fishes for a living, like most

everybody in Narda.” Then he frowned. “What kind of goods do you

have? The sheep have already been shorn, an’ no crops are in as of yet.”

“This and that,” said Horst. He tossed the man a copper.

The dockworker pocketed it with a wink and a nudge. “Right you are,

sir. This an’ that. I know a dodge when I see one. But no need to fear old

Ulric; mum’s th’ word, it is. Be seeing you, then, sir.” He strolled off,

whistling.

As it turned out, Clovis was absent from the docks. After getting direc-

tions, it took them a half hour to walk to his house on the other side of

Narda, where they found Clovis planting iris bulbs along the path to his

front door. He was a stout man with sunburned cheeks and a salt-and-

pepper beard. An additional hour passed before they could convince the

mariner that they really were interested in his barges, despite the season,

and then troop back to the sheds, which he unlocked to reveal three

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identical barges, the Merrybell, Edeline, and Red Boar.

Each barge was seventy-five feet long, twenty feet wide, and painted

rust red. They had open holds that could be covered with tarpaulins, a

mast that could be erected in the center for a single square sail, and a

block of above-decks cabins at the rear—or aft, as Clovis called it—of

the craft.

“Their draft be deeper than that of an inland scow,” explained Clovis,

“so you needn’t fear them capsizing in rough weather, though you’d do

well to avoid being caught in a real tempest. These barges aren’t meant

for the open sea. They’re meant to stay within sight of land. And now be

the worst time to launch them. By my honor, we’ve had nothing but

thunderstorms every afternoon for a month.”

“Do you have crews for all three?” asked Roran.

“Well now. . see, there’s a problem. Most of the men I employ left

weeks ago to hunt seals, as they’re wont to do. Since I need them only

after the harvest, they’re free to come and go as they please for the rest of

the year. .. I’m sure you fine gentlemen understand my position.” Clovis

tried to smile, then glanced between Roran, Horst, and Baldor as if uncer-

tain whom to address.

Roran walked the length of the Edeline, examining it for damage. The

barge looked old, but the wood was sound and the paint was fresh. “If we

replace the missing men in your crews, how much would it cost to go to

Teirm with all three barges?”

“That depends,” said Clovis. “The sailors earn fifteen coppers per day,

plus as much good food as they can eat and a dram of whisky besides.

What your men earn be your own business. I won’t put them on my pay-

roll. Normally, we also hire guards for each barge, but they’re—”

“They’re off hunting, yes,” said Roran. “We’ll provide guards as well.”

The knob in Clovis’s tanned throat jumped as he swallowed. “That’d be

more than reasonable. . so it would. In addition to the crew’s wages, I

charge a fee of two hundred crowns, plus recompense for any damage to

the barges on account of your men, plus—as both owner and captain—

twelve percent of the total profit from sale of the cargo.”

“Our trip will have no profit.”

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That, more than anything, seemed to unnerve Clovis. He rubbed the

dimple in his chin with his left thumb, began to talk twice, stopped, then

finally said, “If that be the case, another four hundred crowns upon com-

pletion of the voyage. What—if I may make so bold as to inquire—do

you wish to transport?”

We frighten him, thought Roran. “Livestock.”

“Be it sheep, cattle, horses, goats, oxen. . ?”

“Our herds contain an assortment of animals.”

“And why do you want to take them to Teirm?”

“We have our reasons.” Roran almost smiled at Clovis’s confusion.

“Would you consider sailing past Teirm?”

“No! Teirm’s my limit, it is. I don’t know the waters beyond, nor would

I want to be gone any longer from my wife and daughter.”

“When could you be ready?”

Clovis hesitated and executed two little steps. “Mayhap five or six days.

No. . no, you’d better make it a week; I have affairs that I must attend to

before departing.”

“We’d pay an additional ten crowns to leave day after tomorrow.”

“I don’t—”

“Twelve crowns.”

“Day after tomorrow it is,” vowed Clovis. “One way or another, I’ll be

ready by then.”

Trailing his hand along the barge’s gunwale, Roran nodded without

looking back at Clovis and said, “May I have a minute alone to confer

with my associates?”

“As you wish, sir. I’ll just go for a turn about the docks until you’re

done.” Clovis hurried to the door. Just as he exited the shed, he asked,

“I’m sorry, but what’d be your name again? I fear I missed it earlier, an’

my memory can be something dreadful.”

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“Stronghammer. My name is Stronghammer.”

“Ah, of course. A good name, that.”

When the door closed, Horst and Baldor converged on Roran. Baldor

said, “We can’t afford to hire him.”

“We can’t afford not to,” replied Roran. “We don’t have the gold to buy

the barges, nor do I fancy teaching myself to handle them when every-

one’s lives depend on it. It’ll be faster and safer to pay for a crew.”

“It’s still too expensive,” said Horst.

Roran drummed his fingers against the gunwale. “We can pay Clovis’s

initial fee of two hundred crowns. Once we reach Teirm, though, I sug-

gest that we either steal the barges using the skills we learn during the

trip or incapacitate Clovis and his men until we can escape through other

means. That way, we avoid paying the extra four hundred crowns, as

well as the sailors’ wages.”

“I don’t like cheating a man out of honest work,” said Horst. “It goes

against my fiber.”

“I don’t like it either, but can you think of an alternative?”

“How would you get everyone onto the barges?”

“Have them meet Clovis a league or so down the coast, out of sight of

Narda.”

Horst sighed. “Very well, we’ll do it, but it leaves a bad taste in my

mouth. Call Clovis back in, Baldor, and we’ll seal this pact.”

That evening, the villagers gathered around a small banked fire in order

to hear what had transpired in Narda. From where he knelt on the

ground, Roran stared at the pulsing coals while he listened to Gertrude

and the three brothers describe their separate adventures. The news

about Roran’s and Eragon’s posters caused murmurs of unease among the

audience.

When Darmmen finished, Horst took his place and, with short, brisk

sentences, related the lack of proper ships in Narda, how the dockworker

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recommended Clovis, and the deal that was brokered thereafter. How-

ever, the moment Horst mentioned the word barges, the villagers’ cries of

ire and discontent blotted out his voice.

Marching to the forefront of the group, Loring raised his arms for atten-

tion. “Barges?” said the cobbler. “Barges? We don’t want no stinking

barges!” He spat by his foot as people clamored with agreement.

“Everyone, be quiet!” said Delwin. “We’ll be heard if we keep this up.”

When the crackling fire was the loudest noise, he continued at a slower