Orson Card - Wyrms

But she found it at last, and tucked it safely away, hoping she would never have to resort to her own alimentary system as a hiding place again.

They left the Glad River at Wanwood, where it bent north and west. They bought a half-open carriage with four horses; they wouldn't need to keep out the cold, only the rain. The roads alternated between ruts and mudholes, depending on the weather. On the worst roads, Sken climbed off the carriage and walked.

"I thought you were well enough padded to withstand a little bouncing," said Angel.

"Padded! This is all meat, and tender as veal today, after this pounding."

No doubt they seemed an odd family, if anyone on the road took them for father, mother, and son. Patience, still disguised as a boy, publicly referred to Angel and Sken as uncle and aunt, which annoyed them both. But on the highway, few people commented on oddities, not to their faces, anyway; and their money won them admirers wherever they went.

The roads were not as safe as the river, not for travelers without armed escort. They were careful to stop for the night well before dusk, and in every inn they stayed at, the three of them shared a room. more than once Angel had to persuade burglars to abandon their life of crime. Removing a few fingers usually did the trick.

At last they reached Cranwater, the great river that flowed from Skyfoot in a single stream to the sea. They reached it at Waterkeep, an ancient castle that once marked the northeast boundary of Korfu. Now the castle was in ruins and the city had shrunk to a fair-sized market town. Two dozen inns and taverns, what with the intersection of the river and the road.

They chose an inn and stabled the horses. At supper, with bread and cheese and pea soup at the tavern table, and Sken's mug filled with warm ale. Angel and Patience discussed their plans for the morning.

"It's time we left the road," said Angel. "The river is here, our highway northward."

"The river's narrow here," said Sken. "The current's strong. I'd need two strong men to help me row against it."

Angel had already thought of that. "The prevailing wind in these latitudes at this time of year is from the west, and usually the southwest."

"You're going to buy a windsucker?" asked Sken.

"Do you know how to pilot one?"

"I was wrapped in sailcloth the day I was born," said Sken. "Long before I settled me on the river with my second husband, my family was a seafaring family. Left our stilts every spring with the floods and a cargo of such stuff as Heptam makes, then home again before summer with the earliest fruits from the islands. Never got rich, as I recall it, but we got drunk a lot."

"Then you know how to handle a sailing vessel."

"Never done it on a river this narrow. But no reason it can't be done. Just have to do things faster, that's all.

Don't buy too big a boat, that's all. You'd better let me choose it, too."

"Is that all?"

"That's all. Are you two made of money?"

A dwelf stood by their table with a pitcher of ale.

"More?" he asked.

"No," said Angel.

"Yes," said Sken, glaring at him.

"Are you two made of money?" asked the dwelf. He had Sken's intonation exactly.

"Now look what you've done," said Angel. "We'll have the dwelf repeating it all over the tavern."

"Repeat repeat," said the dwelf. Then he giggled.

Angel put a couple of coppers in his hand, turned him around, and pushed him toward the kitchen.

"Sorry," said Sken.

"Even if dwelfs have no brains, they still have ears, and they can repeat anything." Angel let his annoyance show. It could be intimidating, and Sken was silent.

"Dwelfs are a puzzle," said Patience. "They do have their own language. They must have some kind of brain, to hold a language."

Angel shrugged. "I never ponder the mental capacity of dwelfs. I just think of them as exceptionally stupid geblings."

"But they aren't geblings, are they?"

"Another indigenous species. Imakulata needed humans, whether the geblings and dwelfs and gaunts thought so or not."

The innkeeper came out of the kitchen carrying bread to another table. But when that job was done, he came over and pulled up a chair beside Angel.

"Everything is excellent," said Sken. She was beginning to be drunk. "Everything is perfect. More ale, please."

The innkeeper was not amused. "I don't know where you people are from-probably Heptam, since you seem to think nothing can harm you."

"There are plenty of things that can harm us in Heptam," said Angel.

"There isn't a tavern in Waterkeep where you can; safely show as much money as you've shown, and talk as freely. I hope you aren't planning to travel from here by road."

"Shouldn't we?" asked Angel.

"Better hire a trustworthy guard. Preferably by arranging with the townmaster for some of the local police.

Otherwise you won't get ten miles from here alive."

"What is the unbearable danger?"

"Robbers."

"Is that all?"

"All? There's plenty of trade through here, and not much protection. Officially we're part of Pankos, but we haven't seen a royal officer in thirty years. So the townmaster makes the law in Waterkeep, and Tinker makes the law in the woods."

"Tinker?"

"He used to be a royal governor, or maybe just a royal governor's son. They say he was caught sleeping in the wrong bed. That was fifteen years ago. He lives in the forest north of here. They say he has a whole city of robbers living in treehouses. We call it Tinker's Wood."

"Sounds like children playing," said Angel.

"If you go south or east or west they'll stop you, and as long as you give them everything you own without a fight, they'll usually let you keep your clothes and your lives. If you have enough money, even your horses and carriage."

"And if we go north?"

"Then take an army. A very large one. Or go by boat.

Tinker figures anyone headed north by road has decided to die. And he believes that death can be a long and satisfying spectator sport."

"You've convinced us," said Angel. "And thank you for taking the risk of angering him, by warning us."

"Oh, he doesn't mind if we warn people. There's always plenty of fools who figure if they buy a few extra arrows they can go where they like."

"I can go anywhere," mumbled Sken. "I'll cut em in half, every last bastard of em."

"Go by boat," said the innkeeper. "And don't go anywhere near shore for at least thirty miles upriver. It's good advice. People who take it live to thank me."

The innkeeper went back to the kitchen.

"Back to the water," said Sken. "About time." She lifted her mug to salute the others and sloshed ale on Angel. They enlisted the help of the four household dwelfs to get her to her room.

On the dock the next morning they found a good many boats for hire, but not many for sale. "Doesn't matter," murmured Angel. "Any boat is for sale when the price is high enough."

"Our money isn't infinite," said Patience. "We may want some next year."

"Do you want to get to Cranning or not?"

Yes, she wanted to get to Cranning. Wanted to more than anything else in the world. The Cranning call was with her now as a constant hunger. As long as she was moving toward Cranning, it eased, and she felt satisfied.

But when there were delays, like now, as they walked on the wooden wharf of the riverport, the need became quite intense.

Today, though, she noticed a subtle change. It wasn't just that she needed to get to Cranning. Now she felt a longing to be on the water, to travel up the river. The morning sunlight dancing on the water looked magical, the curve of the river enticed her.

And it occurred to her that she had never felt such feelings before. She hadn't particularly enjoyed the journey on the Glad River. Why should she long for water- home travel now?