neetha Napew - Spellsinger

constructing our own." He sounded irritated and perhaps a little peeved that

Talea might have been right in suggesting they travel overland.

The next two days offered only hopeful signs. Several boats passed them, but all

were traveling downstream toward the Glittergeist Sea and distant Snarken.

Jon-Tom used the time to practice his duar, working to master the difficult

double-string arrangement. He was careful only to play soft music and not to

sing any songs for fear of accidentally conjuring something distressing. Clouds

of gneechees seemed to swarm about him at such times. He was learning to resist

the constant temptation to spend all his time trying to catch one in his gaze.

Once something like a foot-long glowworm crawled out of the shallows to dance

and writhe near his feet. It did nothing else, and shot back into the water the

instant he stopped playing.

Flor was fascinated by the instrument. Despite Jon-Tom's initial worries she

insisted on trying it herself. She succeeded only in strumming a few basic

chords, and went back to listening to him play.

She was doing so one morning when a cry came from Talea.

"A ship!" She stood on the end of the sandy point and gestured to the west.

"How big?" Clothahump puffed his way over to stand next to her. Jon-Tom slipped

the duar back across his chest, and he and Flor moved to stand behind them.

"Can't tell." Talea squinted, shielded her eyes. The cloud cover now restricted

the sunlight, but the glare from the surface of the river was still strong

enough to water unwary eyes.

Soon the vessel hove into full view. It was stocky and pointed at both ends. Two

square-rigged sails were mounted on separate masts set fore and aft. There was a

central cabin abovedeck and a narrow high poop from which a figure was steering

the ship by means of an enormous oar.

There were also groups of creatures moving from east to west along the sides of

the ship. They shoved at long poles. Jon-Tom thought he could make out at least

a couple of humans among the fur.

"Looks like a cross between a miniature galleon and a keelboat," he murmured

thoughtfully. Wetting a finger, he tested the wind. It was blowing upstream.

That would propel a sailboat against the current, and the ship could then down

sail and take the current back downstream. Except on days such as today. The

breeze was weak, and the keel poles had been brought into play to keep the

vessel moving.

"Are they flying a merchant's pennant?" Clothahump fiddled with his spectacles.

"One of these days I really must try and master that spell for myopia."

"Hard to tell," Talea said. "They're flying something."

"There seem to be an awful lot of people on deck." Jon-Tom frowned. "Not all of

them are pushing on those poles. Some of them seem to be running around the edge

of the ship. Could they be exercising?"

"Are you more than 'alf mad, mate? Anyone not workin' 'is arse off would be

below decks restin' out o' the way."

"They're running nonetheless." Jon-Tom frowned, trying to make some sense out of

the apparently purposeless activity taking place on the ship.

"Pog!"

The bat was instantly at Clothahump's side. "Yes, Master?" He hastily tossed

away the lizard leg he'd been gnawing on.

"Find out who they are, how far upstream they are traveling, and if they will

take us as passengers."

"Yes, Master." The bat soared out over the water, heading for the boat. Jon-Tom

followed the weaving shape.

Pog appeared to circle above the vessel. It was now almost opposite their little

beach, though on the far side of the river. It wasn't long before the famulus

came speeding back.

"Well?" Clothahump demanded as the bat fluttered to a resting stance on the

ground.

"Boss, I don't think dey're much in the mood for talking business." He raised a

wing and showed them the shaft of the arrow protruding from it. Plucking it

free, he threw it into the water and studied the wound. "Shit! Needle and thread

time again."

"Are you certain they were shooting at you?" asked Flor.

Pog made a face, which on a bat can be unbearably gruesome. "Yes, I'm sure dey

were shooting at me!" he said sarcastically, mimicking her voice. "So sorry I

couldn't bring more proof back wid me, but unfortunately I managed ta dodge da

other dozen or so belly-splitters dey shot at me."

He was fumbling in his backpack. Out came a large needle and a spool of some

organic material that Jon-Tom knew could not be catgut. As the bat sewed, he

spoke.

"Dere seemed ta be some kind of riot or fight taking place on da deck. I just

kinda circled overhead trying ta make some sense outta what was going on.

Eventually I gave up and drifted over da poop deck. Tings were quieter dere and

it's where I'd expected ta find da captain. I tink one of 'em was, because he

was better dressed dan any of da odders, but I couldn't be sure, ya know?" He

pushed the needle through the membrane without any sign that it pained him,

stuck it around and in again, and pulled smoothly. The hole was beginning to

close.

"So I shout down at dis joker about us needing some transportation upstream.

First ting he does is call me a black-winged, gargoyle-faced, insect-eating

son-of-a-bitch." He shrugged. "Da conversation went downhill from dere."

"I don't understand such hostility," murmured Clothahump, watching as their

hoped-for transport began to slip out of sight eastward. No telling how long it

might be before another going that way might pass them.

"I just got da impression," continued Pog, "that da captain and his crew were

pretty fucking mad about someting and was in no mood to talk polite to anyone

including dere own sweethearts, if dey got any, which I doubt. Why dey were so

mad I don't know, an' I wasn't about ta hang around an make no pincushion of my

little bod ta find out."

"We might find out anyway." Everyone looked toward Mudge. The otter was staring

out across the river.

"How do you mean?" asked Flor.

"I believe they just threw somebody overboard."

Distant yelling and cursing came from the fading silhouette of the ship. Several

splashes showed clearly now around the ship's side. Even Jon-Tom saw them.

"Somebody's jumped in after the first," said Talea. "I don't think anyone's been

thrown, Mudge. There! The three that just jumped are being pulled back aboard.

The first is swimming this way. Can you make out what it is?"

"No, not yet, luv," replied the otter, "but it's definitely comin' toward us."

They waited curiously while the ship slowly receded from sight, trailing a

philologic wake of insult behind it.

Several long minutes later they watched as a thoroughly drenched figure nearly

as tall as Flor emerged dripping from waist-deep water and slogged toward them.

It was a biped and clad in what when dry would be an immaculate silk dressing

jacket lined with lace at cuffs and neck. A lace shirt protruded wetly from

behind the open jacket, the latter a green brocade inlaid with gold thread. The

white lace was now dim with river muck.

Matching breeches blended into silk knee-length stockings which rose from

enormous black shoes with gold buckles. The shoes, Jon-Tom estimated hastily,

were comparable to a size twenty-two narrow for a human, which the damp arrival

was not.

It stopped, surveyed them with a jaundiced eye, and began wringing water from

its sleeves. A monocle remained attached to the jacket by means of a long gold