Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus
«Here's how we go," Gar Hatch said, seeing the look on his face. It was warmer in the Slags, and the Rover was bare–chested and shiny with the mist's dampness. His muscles rippled as he climbed out of the pilot box and stood facing the Elf. «It isn't as bad as it looks, first off. Bad enough, though, that it warrants caution if we stay on the water, and that's what we'll mostly do. We'll drop the mast, lighten our load as best we can, and work our way east through the channels, except where flying is the only way through. It's slow, but it's sure. That big warship won't ever find us down here.»
Pen wasn't so sure, but Gar Hatch was Captain and no one was going to second–guess him in that situation. So they all pitched in to help take down the mainmast, laying it out along the decking, folding up the sails and spars and tucking them away, and tossing overboard the extra supplies they could afford to let go. It took most of the morning to accomplish this, and they worked as silently as they could manage; sounds carry long distances in places like that.
But they saw no sign of the Galaphile, and by midday they were sailing along the connecting waterways and across the flooded lowlands, easing through tight channels bracketed by gnarled trunks and beneath bowers of limbs and vines intertwined so thickly that they formed dark tunnels. Three times they were forced to take to the air, lifting off gently, opening the parse tubes just enough to skate the treetops to the next open space, then landing and continuing on. It was slow going, as Hatch had promised, but they made steady time, and the journey progressed without incident.
It might have been otherwise, had the Rover Captain not been familiar with the waters. Twice he brought the airship to a standstill in waters that ran deeper than most, and in the distance Pen watched massive shapes slide just beneath the surface, stirring ripples that spread outward in great concentric circles. Once, something huge surfaced just behind a screen of trees and brush, thrashing with such force that several of the trees toppled and the waters churned and rocked with the force of its movement. Yet nothing came close to the airship, for Hatch seemed to know when to stop and wait and when to go on.
By nightfall, they were deep in the wetlands, though much farther east than when they had started out, and there was still no sign of their pursuit. When asked of their progress, Hatch replied that they were a little more than halfway through. By the next night, if their luck continued to hold, they would reach the far side.
That couldn't happen any too soon for Pen. He was already sick of the Slags, of the smell and taste of the air, of the grayness of the light, unfriendly and wearing, of the sickness he felt lurking in the fetid waters, waiting to infect whoever was unfortunate enough to breathe it in. This was no place for people of any persuasion. Even on an airship, Pen felt vulnerable.
But perhaps his anticipation of what was going to happen when it was time to leave the Skatelow was working on him, as well. Taking Cinnaminson from her father was not going to be pleasant. He did not for a moment doubt that he could do it, did not once question that he could do whatever was necessary. But thinking about it made him uneasy. Gar Hatch was a dangerous man, and Pen did not underestimate him. He thought that Cinnaminson's fears about what might have happened in Anatcherae were well founded. Gar Hatch probably did betray them to Terek Molt. He probably thought they would never live to reach the Skatelow to finish this voyage and that was why he was so distressed when Ahren Elessedil reappeared and ordered him to set sail. It wasn't unfinished repairs or stocking of supplies that had upset him; it was the fact that he had been forced to go at all.
What would he do when he found out that his daughter, his most valuable asset in his business, was leaving him to go with Pen? He would do something. The boy was certain of it.
On the other hand, Pen hadn't done much to help matters along from his end, either. He hadn't said a word to his three companions about what he and Cinnaminson had agreed upon. He didn't know how. Certainly, Tagwen and Khyber would never support him. The Dwarf would do nothing that would jeopardize their efforts to reach the Ard Rhys, and the Elven girl already thought his involvement with Cinnaminson was a big mistake. Only Ahren Elessedil was likely to demonstrate any compassion, any willingness to grant his request. But he didn't know how best to approach the Druid. So he had delayed all day, thinking each time he considered speaking that he would do so later.
Well, later was here. It was nightfall, dinner behind them by now, and the next day was all the time he had left. He couldn't wait much longer; he couldn't chance being turned down with no further opportunity to press his demand.
But before he could act on his thinking, Gar Hatch wandered over in the twilight and said, «I'd like to speak with you a moment, young Penderrin. Alone.»
He took the boy up into the pilot box, separating him from the others. Pen forced himself to stay calm, to not glance over at Ahren and Khyber, to resist the urge to check how close they were if he needed rescuing. He knew what was coming. He had not thought Cinnaminson would be so quick to tell her father, but then there was no reason why she should wait. He wished fleetingly, however, that she had told him she had done so.
Standing before Pen, the misty light so bad by now that the boy could barely make out his features, Gar Hatch shook his bearded head slowly.
«My girl tells me she's leaving the ship," he said softly. «Leaving with you. Is this so?»
Pen had given no thought at all to what he would say when this moment happened, and now he was speechless. He forced himself to look into the other's hard eyes. «It is.»
«She says you love her. True?»
«Yes. I do.»
The big man regarded him silently for a moment, as if deciding whether to toss him overboard. «You're sure about this, are you, Penderrin? You're awfully young and you don't know my girl very well yet. It might be better to wait on this.»
Pen took a deep breath. «I think we know each other well enough. I know we're young, but we aren't children. We're ready.»
Another long moment of silence followed. The big man studied him carefully, and Pen felt the weight of his gaze. He wanted to say something more, but he couldn't think of anything that would make it any easier. So he kept still.
«Well," the other said finally, «it seems you've made up your minds, the two of you. I don't think I can stop you without causing hard feelings, and I'm not one for doing that. I think it's a mistake, Penderrin, but if you have decided to try it, then I won't stand in your way. You seem a good lad. I know Cinnaminson has grown weary of life on the Skatelow. She wants more for herself, a different way of life. She's entitled. Do you think you can take care of her as well as I have?»
Pen nodded. «I will do my best. I think we will take care of each other.»
Hatch grunted. «Easier said than done, lad. If you fail her, I'll come looking for you. You know that, don't you?»
«I won't fail her.»
«I don't care who your family is or what sort of magic they can call on to use against poor men like myself," he continued, ignoring Pen. «I'll come looking for you, and you can be sure I will find you.»
Pen didn't care for the threat, but he supposed it was the Rover Captain's way of venting his disappointment at what was happening. Besides, he didn't think there would ever be cause for the big man to act on it.
«I understand," he replied.
«Best that you do. I won't say I'm the least bit happy about this. I'm not. I won't say I think it will work out for you. I don't. But I will give you your chance with her, Penderrin, and hold you to your word. I just hope I won't ever have cause to regret doing so.»
«You wont.»
«Go on, then.» The big man gestured toward Ahren and Khyber, who stood talking at the port railing. «Go back to your friends. We have a full day of sailing tomorrow, and you want to be rested for it.»
Pen left the pilot box in a state of some confusion. He had not expected Gar Hatch to be so accommodating, and it bothered him. He hadn't lodged more than a mild protest, hadn't tried to talk Pen out of it, hadn't even gone to Ahren Elessedil to voice his disapproval. Perhaps Cinnaminson had persuaded him not to do any of those things, but that didn't seem likely to Pen. Maybe, he thought suddenly, Hatch was waiting for the Druid to put an end to their plans. Maybe he knew how unreceptive Pen's companions would be and was waiting for them to put a stop to things.
But that didn't feel right, either. Gar Hatch wasn't the sort to count on someone else to solve his problems. That kind of behavior wasn't a part of the Rover ethic, and certainly not in keeping with the big man's personality.
Pen looked around for Cinnaminson, but didn't see her. She would be up on deck later, perhaps, but since they were not flying that night, she might be asleep. Pen glanced at Ahren and Khyber. He should tell the Druid now what was happening, give him some time to think about it before he responded. But just as he started over, Tagwen appeared from belowdecks to join them, grumbling about sleeping in tight, airless spaces that rocked and swayed. The boy took a moment longer to consider what he should do and decided to wait. First thing in the morning, he would speak with Ahren Elessedil. That would be soon enough. He would be persuasive, he told himself. The Druid would agree.
Feeling a little tired and oddly out of sorts, he took Gar Hatch's advice and went down to his cabin to sleep.
* * *
He awoke to shouting, to what was obviously an alarm. Bounding up instantly, still half–asleep, he tried to orient himself. Across the way, Tagwen was looking similarly disoriented, staring blankly into space from his hammock, eyes bleary and unfocused. The shouting died into harsh whispers that were audible nevertheless, even from belowdecks. Boots thudded across the planking from one railing to the other, then stopped. Silence descended, deep and unexpected. Pen could not decide what was happening and worried that by the time he did, it would be too late to matter. With a hushed plea to Tagwen to follow as quickly as he could, he pulled on his boots and went out the cabin door.
The corridor was empty as he hurried down its short length to the ladder leading up and climbed swiftly toward the light, straining to hear something more. When he pushed open the hatch, he found the dawn had arrived with a deep, heavy fog that crawled through the trees and over the decks of the Skatelow. At first he didn't see anyone, then found Gar Hatch, the two Rover crewmen, Ahren Elessedil and Khyber standing at the bow, peering everywhere at once, and he hurried over to join them.
«One of the crewmen caught a glimpse of the Galaphile just moments ago, right overhead, flying north," the Druid whispered. «He called out a warning, which might have given us away. We're waiting to see if she comes back around.»
They stood in a knot, scanning the misty gray, watching for movement. Long minutes passed, and nothing appeared.
«There's a channel just ahead that tunnels through these trees," Gar Hatch said quietly. «It goes on for several miles through heavy foliage. Once we get in there, we can't be seen from the sky. It's our best chance to lose them.»
They pulled up the fore and aft anchors and set out. Breakfast was forgotten. All that mattered was getting the ship under cover. Everyone but Cinnaminson was on deck now. Pen thought to go look for her, but decided it would be wrong to leave in the midst of the crisis. He might be needed; Hatch might require help piloting the craft. He stayed close, watching as the Rover Captain took the Skatelow through a series of connecting lakes spiked with grasses and studded with dead tree trunks, easing her carefully along, all the while with one eye on the brume–thickened sky. The Rover crewmen moved forward, taking readings with weighted lines, hand–signaling warnings when shallows or submerged logs appeared in front of them. No one said a word.
