Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus
Pen left without a word, burning with frustration and shame, so furious with himself that he could have spit. But there was no help for it, and he refused to give Garth Hatch the satisfaction of seeing him react. Fighting to control himself, he stood alone at the starboard rail, his gaze directed resolutely forward even though he could feel the Rover Captain's eyes on his back. He should have paid better attention to Ahren Elessedil's warning. But that was water over the dam. What mattered was how well he remembered the lesson he had just been taught. Well enough, he promised himself. The next time Gar Hatch tried to make a fool of him, things would turn out differently.
* * *
It was late in the afternoon of that same day when Cinnaminson came on deck. She climbed up through the hatchway leading from the narrow sleeping quarters below, stepping into the crimson light of the sunset like a shade. Pen was sitting with Khyber at the aft rail, still stewing over the way he had let himself be fooled by Gar Hatch, when he saw her. He did not know where she had come from or what she was doing there. He had thought that besides the four who had booked passage there were only Hatch and two crewmen. Now this apparition had appeared. He stopped talking in midsentence, causing Khyber, who had not been paying close attention, to look up from her writing and follow his gaze.
She was only a girl, no older than Pen, younger than Khyber, her slender form wrapped in something soft gray and green that might have been a long robe and shimmered like the sea. She looked to have woken from a deep sleep, her short, sandy blond hair disheveled and her face tilting toward the light as if to make certain of the time. Pen thought her beautiful, although he would later revise that judgment to striking, and sometime later to captivating. Her features were delicate, but unremarkable and not quite perfect. Still, they intrigued him. What mattered more was the way she moved, not looking at anything while seemingly aware of all. She glided rather than walked, the soft whisper of her gown marking her passage as she came toward them.
It was when she had almost reached them that Pen saw her eyes. They were milky white and empty, staring straight ahead at nothing. She was blind.
Pen did not know who she was. He did not know her name. What he did know was that he would never forget her.
«Are you our passengers?» she asked them, looking off into a space they did not quite occupy.
Pen nodded, then realized she couldn't see him. «Yes, two of them, anyway. I'm Pen and this is Khyber.» He had presence of mind enough, though just barely, to remember to use only first names.
«I'm Cinnaminson," she told them. «I'm Gar Hatch's daughter.»
She stretched out her hand and waited for them to take it, which they did, one after the other. Her smile was winsome and a bit fragile, Pen thought, hesitant and protective at the same time, which seemed right for her condition. But there was strength to her, too. She was not afraid to come up against what she couldn't see.
«Traveling to the Charnals," she said, making it a statement of fact. «I like that part of the world. I like the feel of the mountain air, the smell and taste of it. Snowmelt and evergreens and ice.»
«Do you always come on these trips?» Khyber asked, looking doubtful about the whole business.
«Oh, yes. Ever since I was eight years old. I always go. Papa wouldn't fly anywhere without me.» She laughed softly, milky eyes squinting with amusement. «I am an old salt, he tells me, a child of the air and sea.»
Khyber arched a questioning eyebrow at Pen. «I am surprised he would allow you aboard at so young an age when you could not see to help yourself. It seems dangerous.»
«I see well enough," the girl replied. «Not so much with my eyes as with my other senses. Besides, I know every inch of the Skatelow. I am not in any real danger.»
She sat down beside them, moving effortlessly to find a place between them, her gray and green robes settling about her like sea foam. «You don't fly, do you, Khyber?»
«No. But Pen does. He was born to airships.»
Her gaze shifted, not quite finding him. «Don't tell my father. He doesn't like it when other flyers come aboard. He's very jealous of what's his.» Pen thought, without having any better reason to do so than the way she said it, that she was including herself in that assessment. «Too late," he told her. «He found out from my uncle and already made a point of letting me know how lacking I am in real skills.» Her smile dropped. «I'm sorry, Pen. I would have warned you if I had known. Papa can be very hard.»
«Is he hard on you?» The smile returned, less certain.
«I am his most important crew member," she said, not quite answering the question. She hesitated. «He wouldn't want me to tell you this, but I will anyway. I am his navigator.» Pen and Khyber exchanged a quick glance. «How do you manage that?» the Elven girl asked. «I didn't think you could navigate if you couldn't see.» The milky eyes shifted slightly toward the sound of Khyber's voice. «I don't see with my eyes. I see with my other senses.» She bit her lip. «I can do things to help Papa that don't require sight.» Again, she paused. «You mustn't tell Papa I told you any of this. He wouldn't like it.» «Why wouldn't he like it?» Pen asked. «Papa worries about outsiders, people other than Rovers. He doesn't trust them.» Nor do we trust him, Pen thought. Not a good situation. «I still don't understand this navigation business," Khyber pressed, her brow furrowing. «Tell us something more about how you help your father.» «Cinnaminson!» All three turned in the direction of the voice. Gar Hatch had turned around in the pilot box and caught sight of them. He looked furious. «Come help your Papa, little girl," he ordered brusquely. «You've sailor work to do.»
She stood up at once. «Coming, Papa.» She glanced down quickly. «Say nothing!» she whispered. She left without another word, walking straight to the pilot box and climbing in. Pen watched to see what would happen and wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed when nothing did. Gar Hatch put his hand on his daughter's shoulder, patted it briefly, and turned back to steering the vessel. Cinnaminson remained standing beside him.
«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 forest line 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.
