And the escaping prisoners would still be trapped on this island with their angry captors. Pen was disinclined to sacrifice them for a diversion he did not need.
You’re no fun, said Des. If amiably.
He slid down from his perch and slunk off among the piles of fishing gear, nets, and rowboats scattered along the curving strand. Most of the rowboats were meant to ferry crews out to the larger boats at anchor, or fish in the harbor on calm days, and many of them would need at least two strong men to shove them off the sand when the tide was low. A handful of the vessels now moored to buoys out on the lapping water were single-masted craft meant for small crews, so, not impossible; although the smallest craft Pen had ever sailed in on Cedonian seas had carried a crew of three. Hauling up a heavy sail by himself would be a challenge, even with the aid of two wiry girls, though there was a chance there might be some sort of crank for the task.
Could the Corva sisters swim? Most people couldn’t, not even, to Pen’s surprise, many sailors. The girls would not be very buoyant to tow, though Pen thought he could do it in a pinch.
A splash out on the harbor waters made him flinch, and he peered with both Sight and dark-sight. The inky surface rippled in repeated waves, a faint satin gleam flicking above it. Ah. Dolphins. A pod of four or five, it looked like, rolling after one another in pursuit of fish.
Pen wondered if his shamanic persuasion skills, which worked on other animals, would work on dolphins. Or would the blood he would shed in the water as the price of that style of magic just attract sharks? …Would the persuasion work on sharks? It would be awkward to find out the hard way that it didn’t.
Dolphins would be slippery creatures to try to cling to, hard for him, maybe impossible for the girls. So would it be feasible to hitch a dolphin or dolphins to a small boat? How would one devise such a harness? Some sort of yoke or padded ring that would be comfortable for the animal and efficient to get on and off…?
Only you, Pen, said Des, exasperated.
Regretfully, Pen laid the alluring picture of a team of dolphins towing them home to Vilnoc aside for later experimentation, along with his narcoleptic rats. Or only for some dire emergency.
Very unlikely emergency. You are supposed to be selecting a ship to steal, remember?
He hunkered down and studied the inventory. He imagined that the three smallest boats put in and out irregularly about their tasks, but they seemed day-vessels, so likely they were always here at night. One way or another, there should be a boat for him.
He would give Godino one more day to produce better help. If nothing was forthcoming, tomorrow night might be time to take his chances on the unforgiving sea. …Their chances. He grimaced and rose to slither back to the temple.
The next afternoon, the skies clouded and the wind blew up. Pen found the ladder to the roof and crept around the ledge beneath the clerestory to the top of the portico, lying prone to look out. The height gave him a wide view of both town and harbor. Small boats were hurrying back to their moorings, men rowing ashore with their half-day’s catch. Graying wind-waves grew white tops, spume flying from them.
All right, dead calm likely wouldn’t be helpful for escape either, however much Pen fancied it, but this was too much of a good thing. Pen hissed through his teeth much like the wind, and returned to their hiding-chamber.
He took care to avoid being seen by the temple’s few servants, which Godino had described as a groom, a cook-scullion, and a local lad who played acolyte to his divine, equally untutored but valiant in assisting him. Neighborhood women, Pen understood, took it in turns to come to clean and arrange what few flowers or other graces the altars received, before and after ceremonies. Pen and the girls were instructed to lay very low and quiet during these.
That night, the rain rattled the window lattice in gusts. Pen cursed in Wealdean, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
The delay was repaid to him the next day when Godino slipped in to announce he had secured a willing ferryman.
“Safe and secret?” asked Pen.
Godino shrugged. “Jato, I trust. He vouches for his crew.”
“You did let him know there will be some reward to compensate them for their risks when we reach Vilnoc?” And, with luck, something to send back to Godino.
“Of course. They aren’t fellows who can afford charity. Or defiance, so if the risks come down on them, the reward won’t be much use. Keep that in mind, Learned.”
True enough, so Pen didn’t quibble. “How soon can we leave?”
“On tomorrow afternoon’s tide.”
“In broad daylight?” Pen frowned.
“It will be the busiest time. And look less suspicious than putting out at night.”
“Hm, I suppose.” However uncertain Godino’s selection was, it still had to be better than Pen trying to find a boatman blind, with no local knowledge. “I trust you have not told him I’m a sorcerer.”
“He wouldn’t have agreed to take you if I had.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you were a man who wanted to go in secret to Vilnoc.”
“Not that we were escaped captives?”
“No, not that either, for the same reason, though I don’t doubt he figures something smells. But if you think that him pleading he didn’t know would save him from Guild reprisals, you’re more optimistic than either of us.”
Godino offloaded their lunch and swapped out their chamber pot. Pen wondered how private the man had really managed to keep his unwanted guests from the other temple servants. The non-arrival of some gang of rowdies to recapture them—well, try to—was the only clue Pen had, though it did suggest the temple people were either very loyal, or still in ignorance.
I approve of ignorance, Des commented. It cannot fuel betrayal.
“What did Brother Godino say?” Lencia asked anxiously when the door had closed behind the man.
“He was talking about boats, wasn’t he?” said tense Seuka, sitting up. “Did he get us a boat to go on?”
“Yes, and boatmen,” replied Pen. “I was preparing to steal one two nights ago, but this is safer. Bigger.” And without a novice at the tiller. “Plus I won’t have to deprive some poor honest fisherman of his livelihood. There are few enough honest men on Lantihera.”
He wondered if he should try to arm the sisters. Knives of a size they could handle wouldn’t be much use against a war hammer, even in trained hands. Their thin safety lay in their sale value, which was not high. It wouldn’t take much resistance for an assailant to decide they weren’t worth the aggravation and move on to easy murders. Pirates quite preferred weak opponents. Still… “Shall I try to get you some belt knives from Godino?”
“Yes!” said Seuka.
But Lencia looked at him more coolly. “You don’t have one.”
“It was taken from me the first day. I usually used it for shaping quills.”
“Knives would be better than nothing,” she conceded.
Pen was by no means sure. But it might make them feel better, and so just that hair less likely to panic in a tight moment. “I’ll see what I can get.”
Pen continued to think out loud while sharing around the flatbread and goat cheese. “Packing won’t be a problem. Nor water, though we’d best keep that trick out of sight of our crew. It might be well to persuade Godino to give us a little food for the voyage. Which should be short.” His heart clenched in the hope he’d been strangling since his capture as too distracting. “We could be home in as little as three days.”