The wind is in the south, we shall have rain.
So Rap’s mother would have said. Probably it had been true, where she had come from, but it was not true in Krasnegar. The wind was from the south, off the land, so it was going to be another fine day. It was the north wind, from the sea, that brought rain, or snow more usually. His mother used to have many strange notions like that, Rap knew now, although he could not remember very much of her. He could hardly recall what she had looked like, but he could remember some of her strange notions.
One of those was to wash every morning. That was not always easy in Krasnegar. Sometimes in winter the ice was so thick that it had to be broken with an ax, but in summer it was pleasant to wash in the mornings, and at any time he liked the habit. It made him feel good, so he did it, although most of the other men laughed at him or called him crazy or said it was unhealthy. A few of them never seemed to wash at all, but he liked the tingle he got from water and the way it wiped the sleep off his skin. And he often thought of his mother as he did it.
That morning he had not even bothered to take a bucket of water indoors. He was standing bare-chested by the trough in the shadowy, dewy stable yard when old Hononin came marching out, pulling off his shirt. Rap felt uneasy. Being shirtless out in the fields was all right, but Krasnegarians were puritanical about dress, and he felt uncomfortable at being discovered in a state of seminudity. Seeing the old man like that was even worse, and quite unprecedented. His skin hung loose on him and a patch of gray hair in the middle of his chest looked as if it might have fallen off the bald spot on his scalp. Rap wondered if he ought to leave, but he merely moved respectfully to the far end of the trough and said nothing.
The little old hostler seemed even more gnarled and grumpish than usual and he did not speak, either, just thrust his whole head into the trough. That explained matters.
He emerged spluttering and shivering, then started cupping water with his hands and rinsing his armpits and shoulders.
“The big one’s fixed,” he growled without looking at Rap. “Want you to take it out before the next tide.”
Rap looked around to make sure there was no one behind him. There wasn’t. Well! The sunlight brightened. A wagon ride was a much more enticing thought than more sentry duty, even if Thosolin did not indulge himself in other petty testings. South to the mainland, where there was more to keep a man occupied… But Inos expected to go riding and she would not have many more chances before she left. He felt a sudden, nasty pang and told himself to grow up and be manly. There was some evil in every good, as the priests said, and a man must obey orders.
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?”