Дэйв Дункан - Magic Casement

He thought tides. It would need fast work to rig up four horses. “Who’s driving?”

“You.”

“Me!”

“Deaf today?” Hononin splashed his face again.

Rap took a deep breath. Then another. He tried to speak calmly. “Who’s going to mother me?” Ollo, probably. He was around and he had brought the big one in.

“No one.”

Rap put his head in the water to give himself time to think. It proved to be a stupid idea, like being kicked. It filled his ears and ran up his nose and he came up feeling much worse than when he went in. But then he had not been drinking last night. Maybe it felt better than a hangover. He gasped and spat.

It had not helped his thinking much.

Why the change of plan? The second wagon also would be fixed before evening.

One wagon by itself was unusual, if the driver ran into trouble on the causeway on a rising tide, then he might need another team—quickly! Or a good sorcerer, as the saying went. One man alone was unusual, too. And a beginner? By himself? Rap had held the reins often enough on the easy bits, but that was all. Why him at all? Why not Jik or Ollo, who knew what they were doing? Why him by himself?

Perhaps Hononin had heard about the testing yesterday. He might be frightened that Rap had impressed Thosolin and would be taken away from the stables to be a man-at-arms. Or perhaps the hostler did not want one of his hands treated like that again.

Yet Rap had never been trusted with a wagon on his own before, or not far, at least. Certainly not for the whole trip. He shivered with tingles of excitement. He would be one of the drivers, then—perhaps only the junior driver, but more than a stableboy. He could eat at the drivers' table! Man-at-armsing could wait awhile—he was young yet.

“You can do it, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Rap said firmly, and tried to look matter-of-fact. He could handle it. “You’ll see me down the hill, though?”

“Can you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then,” Hononin said. “I trust you, even…” He began wiping his face with his shirt and walked away. The rest of the sentence remained unspoken or was lost in the shirt.

I trust you, even… Even what?

Snowball had loosened her right front shoe. Rap went and told Hononin; Hononin cursed and headed for the castle commons. Apparently the farrier was not there, because the man who arrived to deal with the matter was Rap’s friend Kratharkran, the smith’s apprentice, ostentatiously wiping crumbs from his mouth and pouting at being dragged from important business. Although his father was an imp, Krath was more jotunnish than most jotnar and had been sprouting like a snowdrift lately. Rap had spoken with him the previous evening, but in his leather workclothes he seemed to have grown more overnight.

Despite his height, he had an absurdly squeaky voice. He peered down at Rap with disbelieving blue eyes. “How long have they trusted you with a wagon?”

“As long as they’ve trusted you with a hammer!”

They grinned in mutual satisfaction, and Krath set to work. When he had fixed the shoe, he solemnly asked Rap’s approval, calling him “driver.”

Equally solemnly, Rap thanked him and said it was a nice piece of work, which it was. Krath agreed and wished him luck, then strode off to resume his meal.

All of which had been very businesslike and felt good, but by the time Rap had the team harnessed and ready, he knew he was going to be cutting the tide very close. He found the old man counting sacks in the feed room.

“I’m ready,” he said, trying to look and sound relaxed.

“Go, then.” Hononin did not even turn around.

“You don’t want to look it over?” The old man never, ever, let a wagon go off down the hill without a personal inspection, not even if Ollo or Jik was driving. And surely he would want to look at Snowball’s shoe?

He still did not turn, obviously mad about something. “Just go!” he barked. “Don’t miss the tide!”

Rap shrugged and left. He had not even been given the inevitable warning to take care through the town. Most odd!

Hurrying back to the yard he met Fan on her way to feed the chickens. He asked her to tell Inos that he had to rush off.

Shivery with excitement, he climbed up to the bench. Before he could crack his whip, he heard a high-pitched shout behind him. Lin was running across the yard with a bag in his one good hand. He looked up hopefully at Rap. “Want some company?”

“Sure,” Rap said. Lin was a terrible gossip, but bearable. No one could find anything useful for him to do since he broke his arm. “What’s in the bag?”

Awkward with his cast, Lin clambered up to the bench. “Cheese, mostly, and a bit of leftover mutton. Rolls.”

Rap’s inside was too jumpy to want food yet, but he should have thought of it for later. “Enough for both of us?”

Lin nodded solemnly. “The old man said you’d had no time for breakfast.”

Rap lowered his whip again. “What’s into him today?” he demanded. “He’s acting odd! Since when has he cared if I missed my breakfast? Why’s he running me out of town like this?”

Lin had great ears for scandal. His dark eyes twinkled. “You were holding hands with Inos last night.”

“So?” Rap asked uneasily. “What’s that to do with him?”

“Nothing, Rap. Nothing.”

“Out with it!”

Lin giggled. “Her daddy noticed.”

I trust you, even if others don’t.

Rap slammed the brake handle fiercely, cracked his whip much louder than he had meant to, and sent the wagon rumbling forward.

Between the castle gate and the harbor were fourteen hairpins. Going down was easier than coming up with a load, but it was still tricky. Rap had watched it done often enough, but he had never been allowed to handle brake and reins in the town. It was odd that Hononin had not known that.

The first two were easy, but he breathed a hearty sigh of relief when they had rounded the third, which was canted steeply. A wagon out of control could be almost as bad as a shipwreck. He was aware that Lin was watching him closely and hanging on very tight with his good hand. Fortunately it was still very early and there were almost no pedestrians around to mangle.

Four and five were not too bad. Six was a horror, with the wagon standing on its head above the team, wheels scratching on cobbles. Too close to the wall, the unloaded, too-light rig started to slither sideways. Rap discovered that he was soaked with sweat and needed two more hands than the Gods had given him.

The next one was the worst.

He was going to catch the tide. He was not going to make a mess of this. If he failed he would never forgive himself, and Hononin would never trust him again. And Inos would hear how he’d run over pedestrians or smashed up a wagon or even knocked in the side of a house and killed horses—it happened sometimes.

Trust yourself, his mother had said. If you don’t, who will ?

He yelped, pulled the reins, tightened the brake, and the rig stopped. Silence. Lin looked at him curiously. “What’s wrong?”

Rap wiped an arm across his streaming forehead. He was panting as if he’d run all the way up from sea to castle. “Listen!”

Lin listened and his eyes widened—clopping hooves and the rumble of iron on cobbles. Then it grew suddenly louder and another team appeared ahead of them, crawling round bend number seven, horses wide-eyed and steaming, hugging the buildings to have room to swing their load through the curve. Then came the wagon, with the driver shouting curses and a load of new peat dribbling water off the back. Nasty stuff, fresh peat. It was heavy and it could shift, but peat couldn’t be stacked over the winter in that climate, so the first loads were always still wet.