Lois Bujold - Passage

Berry reported the names of the boats that had been seen by the helmeted goods-clerk from their stop yesterday. Cutter mentioned a man who knew a man who’d seen the Briar Rose at a town still forty miles downstream, which made Berry narrow her eyes and wave especial thanks; it would save stopping before then. Berry wished Cutter luck, and Cutter called back, as the gap again widened and the Tripoint Steel splashed bravely on, “You girls be careful now!”

“We’re not all girls,” Fawn heard Whit mutter from the roof. “The Fetch can look after its own. Blight it.”

Dag came out to cloak Fawn in his arms and listen carefully while this was going on, and Barr leaned on the rail to watch in curiosity. Fawn explained to him about Cutter’s quest for the missing boats. “Like a river patrol, sort of. They’re looking for trouble, and armed for it.”

Barr just shook his head.

That afternoon, Barr jittered around the Fetch as restlessly as a bedbug at a family reunion, swearing under his breath at each passing mile. Fawn would have bet that kidnapping schemes now revolved behind his silvery-blue eyes, but how to bring them off in a crowded flatboat in the view—and groundsenses—of all those aboard defeated him at least till bedtime. When she trod across the bunkroom after her last visit to the back deck for the night, his open eyes still gleamed from his nest of blankets in the fading firelight.

The next morning, when she came out to start tea, she found him up and dressed before anyone else. As Fawn cut bacon and calculated how to stretch limited eggs over unlimited potatoes, Berry’s bunk curtains stopped moving. She yanked them back and rolled out dressed in her usual shirt, vest, and leather skirt, shoving her sock feet into her waiting boots. When she came in from the back deck after a brief morning wash, Barr was waiting by the door.

He lowered his voice. “Boss Berry, can I speak with you—in private?” He waved vaguely toward the bow.

She put a hand on one hip and regarded him without favor. “Might it get you off my boat?”

“Maybe.”

She looked dubious, but led him through the stores, tying her hair in its horse-tail with a scrap of cloth on the way.

Whit sat up on one elbow in his bunk and blinked. “What was that all about?”

“Barr wanted to talk to Berry. Alone. They went up to the front deck.”

Whit frowned, rose, and padded over to peer out the window. “No, they went ashore. They’re walking upstream. He’s kinda got his arm…huh.” His frown deepened to a scowl, and he went back to the bunk rack and shook Remo awake. Remo sat up looking less than delighted, but after a whispered consultation, both drew on trousers, boots, and jackets and went out as well. Hawthorn and Hod, wakened by the rustling, followed curiously.

Dag wandered into the kitchen from their bed-nook amongst the stores and sat at the table, smiling as Fawn handed him a mug of strong tea. “What’s the parade?” he asked, nodding toward the bow. He sipped gratefully and opened his second eye. In the bunk rack, Bo rolled over and groaned, then stumbled out to the back deck.

“It’s a little hard to say,” said Fawn, standing on tiptoe at the window to look up the shore. Dripping trees, gray mist, muddy bank, and no one in sight. She went back to cracking eggs and cutting onions, cheese, and bread.

She almost sliced her hand when sudden shouts broke out in the distance. Dag sat up, his head turning, brows drawing down. He tensed, but did not rise. The yelling diminished, then rose again, then stopped. Fawn certainly made out Whit’s voice, and probably Barr’s and Remo’s both.

“What’s all that ruckus?” Bo asked, coming back in and helping himself to tea.

Fawn stretched up again, squinting out into the mist. “They’re all coming back. Uh-oh. Barr’s holding one hand to his face, and Remo has the other arm twisted up behind his back. Really hard. Whit’s got hold of a big stick, and is waving it and talking. Berry’s kind of…stomping. Wow, she looks mad. Hod’s bringin’ up the rear as usual, and Hawthorn’s running ahead.”

Dag rubbed his forehead and took a long, preparing breath. Fawn took heart that he did not, himself, jump up; but then, it seemed the emergency was coming to him. Hawthorn’s thumping feet across the gangplank announced his excitement even before he burst into the kitchen to cry: “Dag! Barr’s tried to magic Berry, and Whit and Remo says they’re gonna kill him!”

More shuffling footsteps crossed from shore, the boat dipped as many feet thudded onto the deck, and the rest of the party arrived on a wave of raised voices too mingled to make out the words, except for some You dids, an I didn’t! and rather a lot of Dag! Dag! Dag winced and took a long swallow of tea, then turned in his chair as the whole mob piled into the little kitchen-bunkroom.

The left side of Barr’s face was deeply reddened; his eye was already swelling shut. Any other damage Fawn could not see, but both Remo and Whit were out of breath, and Hod, of all people, was rubbing his knuckles and looking ready to burst into tears. Barr’s voice broke briefly above the babble: “I did not! Use some sense! Is this the time of day for that sort of thing? Ow, stop that, blight you!” He rose on his toes as Remo hoisted him higher.

Dag pitched his voice, Fawn noticed, really deep: the rumble somehow cut through the noise. “One at a time, please. Boss Berry?”

The uproar died as Whit and Hod poked each other for attention to Dag, and even Hawthorn swallowed his squeaks. Berry stepped forward, grim and angry.

“That patroller of yours”—she pointed a shaking finger at Barr—“tried to do something to my head. Some sorcery.”

“Yeah, and we know what it was, don’t we?” said Remo, hoisting again.

“Ow, no, blight it!”

“Dag?” said Fawn uneasily from the place of safety she’d sought behind his shoulder. “Can you tell who’s telling the truth?”

Dag looked around, pursed his lips, and dipped his chin. He cleared his throat. “Boss Berry, may I touch your head?”

She hesitated a long moment, then looked up to seek Fawn’s eyes: Fawn nodded vigorously. Berry shrugged and stepped forward. Dag leaned back and collected Fawn in the circle of his arm, not for his own reassurance or hers, but for Berry’s, Fawn realized. Very carefully, Dag touched the back of his hook to Berry’s pale forehead. He had to have done something with his ghost hand, because Barr’s mouth dropped open and even Remo’s eyes widened.

“I thought he was just a patroller!” Barr whispered to his partner.

“You thought wrong,” Remo growled back.

“Well.” Dag sighed without pleasure. “There’s a new bit of ground reinforcement here. It’s trying to be shaped as a persuasion, but it isn’t very well made, so I’m not quite sure what it was intended to do if it had been finished.”

“Can you get it back out o’ there?” said Berry nervously.

“I can release any beguilement, and undo the shape so it’s no more directed than any healing reinforcement. Your own ground will convert it in a couple of days. There shouldn’t be any other effect than, well, you won’t be getting any headaches for a bit. Shall I do this now?” His voice, Fawn realized, had gone very gentle.

“Yes!” said Berry. “I don’t want no one puttin’ things in my head I can’t see.”

The little bit of absence in Dag’s eyes passed faster than a blink. “There,” he said, dropping his left arm. “All undone now.”

Berry rubbed her forehead. “I suppose I have to take your word for that.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I didn’t—” began Barr.

“What?” said Dag.

Just that word, with a faint twist of astonishment, but the look that went with it was like nothing Fawn had ever encountered in Dag’s eyes before. She’d never seen his waking face so absolutely wiped clean of any humor whatsoever.