Tom shifted the tiller and slackened a line. The sail went soft, and as the boat momentum veered to port it fluttered and filled again, swinging the boom around to the other side of the boat with a snap sounding loud enough to break a mast. The boat leaned to the other side, picking up speed with the change of direction. The feel of the motion changed to one of more intent, the small boat surging ahead like it had new life.
“Here they come,” Tom said.
Gareth saw the sail following them suddenly lean the other way, indicating it had matched Tom’s turn. It had already increased in size since he’d first seen it, although he couldn’t yet make out the hull. “I don’t understand. The teachers have always helped me.”
“Tell me your story. Make it quick.”
He considered how to begin and then plunged in. He told of his earliest memories and how the teachers had supplied him with a roof, clothes, and food. He told of the lessons concerning history, math, science, and language. He almost ran out of story until he mentioned the dragon’s nest, and he quickly recounted all he remembered of that incident.
Tom listened without interruption as he continued to adjust the sail and direction to gain more speed. When Gareth paused, he said, “People say the Brotherhood are a greedy lot. They share information for a price and sell it for more. The question is, why would they give it to you for nothing?”
“It’s always been that way.”
“For you, maybe. But rest assured somebody is paying for your learnin’, and those Brothers don’t work cheap, I’m thinking.”
“My friend Faring said something similar. He said, someone always pays.”
“They watch out for you, or watch over you? Which is it?”
Gareth paused at the question, considering. “They keep me away from any danger. They’re always watching me. But they also teach me.”
“Since you were small, you say?”
“Yes.”
“You’re without folks of any sort?”
“Yes.”
“How many monks lived in that village?”
“Dun Mare? At least four all the time. Lately, twice that many. Ten, I think. Others came to teach me new subjects, and then they’d leave.”
Tom pulled the sails tighter and nodded to the boat closing from behind. “Somebody paid the monks to watch over you, son. Paid every day what a fisherman earns in a year, I’m thinkin’. They paid them at that rate for about a dozen years. That’s far more than your egg’s worth.”
“The sail back there is getting bigger, and I can see part of the white boat, now. They’re catching up.”
“We’ll make it. See that white water churning ahead of us? Rocks near the surface.”
“Are we going to veer off before we get to them?”
“Nope. You’re going to stand in the bow and direct me through them. Just arm signals for which way to go.”
“If we hit a rock?”
“We sink. I already know you can swim, so can I. Take your bag with the egg and swim to the nearest beach. I should already be there to greet you. Here, hold onto the tiller for me, and keep it steady, I got some things to do.”
Gareth took the handle while Tom moved quickly to the bow, where he raised one foot and brought it down on a plank supported by a pair of braces. Silver coins spilled from depressions carved into the wood. He scooped them up and stored them in a small pouch tied to his waist. He reached for a support next to the mast and twisted. It came free with a snap, and he pulled a small oiled bag from inside a hollow. Tom also tied that bag by drawstring to his belt, and Gareth heard the jingle of more coins as he did so.
A quick glance behind showed the white boat had gained more distance on them, but it seemed to have changed course, slightly. “Tom, look behind.”
The fisherman paused, and nodded. “Changed course again. Tryin’ to use the wind to cut in front of us. Bring her a few points to port.”
When Gareth shrugged, Tom said, “Turn her left. Not too much.” Then, satisfied for the moment, he grabbed a stout pole from a rack mounted on one side of the boat. A wicked metal hook curled from one end. Strips of dried leather held the hook in place.
He sat next to Gareth and used a small knife to slice the leather wrappings until the hook fell off. A slot had been carved in the wood behind where it had been, and Tom carefully removed four small gold coins, each glittering in the sunlight. He glanced at the bewildered expression on the boy. “Never know when a storm, pirate, or spitting dragon sinks your boat, so I keep a measure hidden away for hard times.”
“If your boat sinks, so does your money.”
“Word to the wise from a smart youngster. Never keep all your stashes in one place is another lesson. Pirate comes aboard, and I fight a little. Then give him my smallest stash. He goes off happy. I keep the rest.”
“But if the boat sinks . . . “
“Smart men don’t keep all their stashes in one place. I told you. Got a few more at my house. And others hidden along the shoreline in some rocks.”
“You must be rich.”
“Never said any of my stashes were big, did I? When times are good you put some away for the bad time sure to come.”
“That pole with the hook? I thought it was for fighting.”
“The gaff? Nope, used to pull bigger fish into the boat when I’m lucky enough to catch one.”
Gareth surrendered the tiller to Tom and watched him adjust their direction more to the left. Gareth looked ahead, trying to see where the boat was heading, and why. The shoreline loomed closer, and the breaking water on partially submerged rocks foamed white. “Those four gold coins were pretty small.”
“Gold’s a funny thing. Each of them little things is worth more than all the rest you saw put together. And then some.”
“Then why not just keep them? Hide one in each of four places and you don’t have to worry about all those others.”
“Said to myself you were smart, but I’m thinking you’re short on knowin’ some common things, which is entirely different. Regular stuff everyone knows. Four little gold coins will buy a nice boat, nets, and about everything else you see about you. The problem is, what if you’re in port and only want to buy a bowl of oatmeal for your breakfast? Most food sellers have never even held a gold coin, let alone keeping enough silver and copper to exchange.”
“I see. You just steered us more to port, again. Why?”
“Good that you ask questions, Gareth. That boat back there is still running on a course ahead to try cutting us off before we reach shore, or before we can turn down the coast. I’ve increased the distance it must travel each time we changed course. Not a lot. Maybe not so much they’ve noticed, but I’m thinkin’ that soon they’ll realize their mistake and try to make a run directly on us. That will be another mistake with all the rough water and reefs ahead. Chances are, nobody on that ship has ever sailed this part of the coast, or, at least, this close to land.”
“Am I talking too much?”
“I’ve fished a lot of years. Mostly by myself, so I got used to my own company, but now and then others fished with me. Silence is good, but sometimes talking is good, too.”
The ship behind suddenly changed directions, the bow turning until it pointed right at the smaller boat. In response, Tom shifted the tiller to starboard and tightened the sail. They moved faster, but the old fishing boat with the round bottom was no match for the sleek white vessel. “This hull can’t sail into the wind worth a bag of beans, but she can take a wind from the beam and hold her own until we reach shore. You better get up on the bow and hold tight onto the rigging so you don’t fall in. When you see anything ahead just point the way you want me to steer.”