“A little long-winded,” Walker offered.
The tall Rover laughed gleefully. “A sense of humor in a Druid! Who would have thought it possible? Well, you catch my drift, so I needn’t go on. We are made for each other—and for quests that most would never dream of even considering. You want us, Walker, because we will stand against anything. We will go right into death’s maw and give a yank of his tongue. We will do it because that is what life is for, if you are a Rover. Now tell me—am I wrong?”
Walker shook his head, as much in dismay as in agreement.
“He actually believes all this,” his sister declared ruefully. “I worry that it might prove contagious and that one day soon we will both become infected and then neither one of us will be able to think straight.”
“Now, now, Little Red. You’re supposed to stand up for me, not knock me down!” Alt Mer sighed and stared at Walker with his cheerful gaze. “There is also, of course, the inescapable fact that almost no one else of talent and nerve would give you the time of day in this business. Rovers are the only ones bold enough to accept your offer while still respecting your need for secrecy.” He grinned. “So, what’s it to be?”
Walker pulled his black robes more closely about him, and the mist that had filtered into their dark alleyway stirred in response. “Let’s sleep on it. Tomorrow we can have a talk with your shipbuilder and see if he backs you up. I’ll want to see his work and judge the man himself before I commit to anything.”
“Excellent!” the big Rover exclaimed joyfully. “A fair response!” He paused, a shadow of regret crossing his broad face. “Except for one thing. Sleep is out of the question. If you’re interested in our services, we’ll have to leave here tonight.”
“Leave?” Walker didn’t bother to hide his surprise.
“Tonight.”
“And go where?”
“Why, wherever I say,” the Rover answered, feeding Walker’s words back to him. He grinned at his sister. “I’m afraid he thinks me none too bright after all.” He turned back to Walker. “If the shipbuilder you wanted could be found in March Brume, you wouldn’t need us to locate him for you, would you? Nor would he be of much use if he conducted his business openly.”
Walker nodded. “I suppose not.”
“A short journey is required to provide you with the reassurances you seek—a journey that would best be begun under cover of darkness.”
Walker glanced skyward, as if assessing the weather. He couldn’t see moon or stars or fifty feet beyond the fog. “A journey we will make on foot, I hope?”
The big Rover grinned anew. His sister cocked her eyebrow reprovingly.
Walker sighed. “How soon do we leave?”
Redden Alt Mer draped one companionable arm over Rue Meridian’s shoulders. “We leave now.”
The boy with the iron hoop and stick remained hidden in the deep shadows of the dockyards across the way until the trio emerged from the alleyway and disappeared up the road. Even then, he did not move for a long time. He had been warned about the Druid and his powers, and he did not wish to challenge either. It was enough that he had found him; nothing more was required.
When he was confident he was alone again, he left his hiding place, hoop and stick abandoned, and raced toward the woods backing the village. He was small for his age and wild as an animal, lean and wiry and unkempt, not quite a child of the streets, but close. He had never known his father and had lost his mother when he was only two. His half-blind grandmother had raised him, but had lost all control before he was six. He was bright and enterprising, however, and he had found ways to support them both in a world that otherwise would have swallowed them whole.
In less than an hour, sweaty and dirt-streaked from his run, he reached the abandoned farm just beyond the last residences of March Brume. His labored breathing was the only sound that broke the silence as he entered the ruined barn and moved to the storage bins in back. Within the more secure one on the far right were the cages. He released the lock, slipped inside the bin, lit a candle, and scribbled a carefully worded note.
The lady for whom he gathered information from time to time would pay him well for this bit, he thought excitedly. Enough that he could buy that blade he had admired for so long. Enough that he and his grandmother could eat well for weeks to come.
He fastened the message to the leg of one of the odd, fierce-eyed birds she had given him, walked back outside with the bird tucked carefully under his arm, and sent it winging off into the night.
12
Redden Alt Mer and Rue Meridian took Walker along the dockside for several hundred yards, then turned onto a narrow pier bracketed by skiffs. Stopping at a weathered craft with a knockdown mast and single sail and a rudder attached to a hand tiller at the stern, they held her steady while the Druid boarded, then quickly cast off. Within seconds, they were out of sight of the dock, the village, and any hint of land. The Rovers placed Walker in the bow with directions to keep an eye open for floating debris, and went about putting up the mast and sail. Walker glanced around uneasily. As far as he could determine, they had no way of judging where they were or where they were going. It did not seem to matter. Once the sail was up and filled with a steady wind off the sea, they sat back, Alt Mer at the stern and his sister amidships, tacking smoothly and steadily into the night.
It was a strange experience, even for the Druid. Now and then a scattering of stars would appear through the clouds, and once or twice the moon broke through, high and to their right. But for that, they sailed in a cauldron of fog and darkness and unchanging sea. At least the water was calm, as black and depthless as ink, rolling and sloshing comfortably below the gunwales. Redden Alt Mer whistled and hummed, and his sister stared off into the night. No bird cries sounded. No lights appeared. Walker found his thoughts drifting to a renewed consideration of the ambiguity and uncertainty of what he was about. It was more than just the night’s business that troubled him; it was the entire enterprise. It was as vague and shrouded as the darkness and the fog in which he drifted, all awash in unanswered questions and vague possibilities. He knew a few things and could guess at a few more, but the rest—the greater part of what lay ahead—remained a mystery.
They sailed for several hours in their cocoon of changeless sounds and sights, wrapped by the darkness and silence as if sleepers who drowsed before waking. It came as a surprise when Rue Meridian lit an oil lamp and hooked it to the front of the mast. The light blazed bravely in a futile effort to cut through the darkness, but seemed able to penetrate no more than a few feet. Redden Alt Mer had taken a seat on the bench that ran across the skiff’s stern, his arm hooked over the tiller, his feet propped up on the rail. He nodded to his sister when the light was in place, and she moved forward to change places with Walker.
Shortly after, a sailing vessel appeared before them, looming abruptly out of the night, this one much larger and better manned. Even in the darkness, Walker could estimate a crew of six or seven, all working the rigging on the twin masts. A rope was tossed to Rue Meridian, who tied it to the bow of the skiff. Her brother put out the lamp, hauled down the sail, took down the mast, and resumed his seat. Their work was done in moments, and the towrope tightened and jerked as they were hauled ahead.
“Nothing to do now until we get to where we’re going,” the Rover Captain offered, stretching out comfortably on the bench. In moments, he was asleep.