“They’re honestly greedy,” Gar pointed out. “There’s something immensely honest in a fish taking the bait.”
Our protection is the bait, hm? Well, I suppose we can grill Miles slowly, over a period of days. If he’s hiding something, it’ll show sooner or later. He gave Gar a narrow glance. At least, if you’re listening with your mind as well as your ears.
Gar gave him a look of withering scorn.
Oh, Dirk thought. You always do. Well, I suppose we all do, metaphorically at least.
Gar shook his head.
Not even metaphorically? Well, I have to admit I’ve known a lot of people who hear without listening. Aloud, Dirk said, “Okay, fish it is. But do we really have time to bait a hook and wait?”
“We may have to use a net,” Gar admitted.
Miles wondered why the two men took so long trying to decide whether or not to go fishing. For his own part, the decision was simple—if you were hungry and had time, you fished. Of course, they didn’t have time right now—unless the fish bit quickly.
It also never occurred to him to wonder whether or not the two men were trustworthy—he knew they weren’t. They were strangers, weren’t they? But for some reason, they seemed to think it was in their interest to protect him, and he would have been a fool to turn down such assistance. After all, there was something in it for them—he could tell they really were foreigners by their accents, and really did need help in local customs. But he wasn’t about to trust them farther than he had to—unless he happened to travel with them long enough to get to know them, which wasn’t likely.
They came into the barn, and sure enough, a villager was harnessing his ox to a plow. Miles shrank back, trying to keep Gar between himself and the peasant, but the man didn’t even look up until Dirk stepped up on his far side and said, “Good morning, good man.”
The peasant looked up, surprised—and his back was to Gar and Miles. “Good morning, guardsman.” His tone had so much deference as to be almost dread—no wonder, Miles thought, for reeve’s guards might be sent to do anything, even to arrest innocent peasants for nothing worse than wild talk when drunk.
“Am I on the road to Innisfree?” Dirk asked.
“Innisfree? Never heard of it!” The peasant frowned. “Did your reeve truly tell you it lay in this direction?”
“Down the east road, he said, but we seem to have taken a wrong turning.” Dirk frowned darkly. “Are you sure you’ve never heard of the town?”
“Never.” The peasant’s eyes widened with apprehension; he sidled around to put the ox between them.
“Ask among your friends, then, will you? See if any of them have any notion of the way. I’ll wait here for you to send word.”
“Indeed, sir! I’ll see to it straightaway!” The peasant ducked his head in a sort of bow and called to his ox, shaking the reins. It slogged into motion, ambling out of the barn. The peasant followed it, plow rolling ahead of him, with an air of relief.
“Innisfree?” Gar asked from the shadows of the hayloft. “Why not?” Dirk shrugged and started climbing the ladder. “I heard an argument about how to get there, once. Seemed like a good place for getting someone confused.”
“I suppose it would be,” Gar agreed.
“Now what do we do, sir?” Miles asked in a half-whisper. “We wait,” Gar told him, “and we lie quietly.”
Dirk came to lie down near them. All three lay back and rested as the day aged and the heat grew. A fly came buzzing to see what they were and, finding them unappetizing, buzzed off. After a while, they heard footsteps below, and a quavering voice called, “Guardsman?” It waited, then called again, “Sir guardsman? Reeve’s man?” It waited a longer while, then sighed with relief. “He didn’t wait.”
“Praise heaven,” the peasant’s voice replied. “I wasn’t looking forward to telling him we couldn’t find his precious Innisfree.”
“What do we do now?” the younger voice asked.
“Forget about him and get back to work,” the peasant said with the firmness of experience. “Don’t borrow trouble, lad—you’ll earn enough of it in your own time.”
“What’s that?” the younger asked.
They were both silent, and Miles could hear the dogs, much nearer now, and coming even closer quickly.
“Hounds,” the peasant said with a shudder. “Pity the poor soul they’re chasing! Come, lad, let’s hurry back to our field! Remember, we know nothing!”
Their footsteps faded away. Trembling and hollow-bellied, Miles nonetheless couldn’t help himself. He squirmed over to the wall and peeked through a gap between boards. Behind him, he heard Gar say, “Sorry, Dirk. I’ve developed doubts about the government here after all.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Dirk answered with a martyred sigh. “So have I.”
CHAPTER 4
The moon gave enough light for Orgoru to steal from but to but with an eye out for the Watch. Admittedly, in so small a village as this, the Watch was only one man, but he was almost as old and sour as the magistrate he served; both plainly resenting having been sent to so small a village toward the ends of their careers, and were therefore all the more likely to vent their spleens on young folk they might catch trying to slip away to a greater chance of happiness.
On the other hand, being as old as he was, the Watch wasn’t likely to be able to catch them, either.
Orgoru tripped and stumbled twice on his way to Ciletha’s cottage, but fortunately didn’t make too much noise either time. He walked past her kitchen window slowly, and that was signal enough; she was waiting and watching, and slipped out the door only moments after she saw him pass, her pack over her shoulder. He gave her hand a squeeze, then turned his face toward the forest.
Moonbeams managed to pierce the canopy here and there, so the gloom wasn’t quite complete. They felt safe enough to talk, and Orgoru said, “We have to make sure we don’t leave them a clear trail to follow.”
“How shall we do that?” Ciletha quavered.
“Why, as folk of high station should do—by taking the high road, and leaving the low road to the lowly!” Orgoru reached up to a tree with low branches and clambered up, ungraceful and panting, but up. “You now!” He reached down and took Ciletha’s hand.
“I’ll fall,” she objected.
“We aren’t going high enough for it to hurt you much,” Orgoru explained, “and we’ll go very carefully. Come now—or would you rather marry Bork?”
Ciletha shuddered and reached up.
They went very carefully indeed, edging out along the lowest limb until they were able to climb into another tree, then inching along its lowest branch to a third.
“We’ll never get very far,” Ciletha protested.
“True, but they’ll never find us, either,” Orgoru pointed out. “Their hounds won’t be able to catch our scent, up here.” Finally they came to a tree that overhung a brook, and Orgoru passed his pack to Ciletha while he dropped down into the water. Since it didn’t come above his shins, he reached up and called, “First drop our packs, then drop down yourself!” Ciletha seemed glad enough to do that, surprisingly. They splashed off together, making much faster progress than they had before—until Ciletha caught Orgoru’s arm and pulled back, pointing with a trembling finger. Looking where she indicated, he saw the glowing coals of a campfire, and near it, a figure wrapped in a blanket.
Ciletha put her lips next to his ear. “We must slip far from him!”
“No,” Orgoru breathed back. “I see no dogs—and he’s left his clothing in a pile!”