The longboat pitched and tossed over - after all, the storm hadn't been all that long - and Gilbert and Angelique were still looking rather green; but they managed to summon up the energy to wave good-bye to the retreating ship. The sailors raised a shout and waved back. I didn't doubt that a sourpuss or two among them might remember who had gotten them into the storm in the first place - but to most of them, I was only the hero who had saved them.
Then the ship slipped below the horizon, and I turned back to rowing. We didn't even need the sail; the waves were carrying us toward the island on their own. I needed the oars mostly to steer. Then the bottom rose up to meet us, and the longboat ground into the sand. I jumped out, trying to remember that my jeans would dry out, and threw all my weight against the bow. Gilbert muttered something about incompetence, dragged himself over the side, and all but fell into the water. I leapt to help him up.
"I thank you, Master Saul," the squire gasped. "Aid me to stay upright, here." With my help, he tottered toward the bow.
"Look," I said, "seasickness is sickness, no matter how you slice it! You're in no shape to . . ."
Gilbert grunted as he yanked on the bow, and the longboat slid up the shingle till its forward half was clear of the water. Gilbert leaned against the side, gasping and swallowing.
"... exert yourself," I finished. I tried not to stare. Gilbert slumped, hanging onto the side of the boat and gasping like a beached whale.
Angelique was over the gunwale and at his side in a second, although she was still looking somewhat bilious herself. "Are you? ...Courage, valiant squire! It ... it will ... pass."
Gilbert hauled himself upright. "I draw courage indeed, from your gallant example, maiden." He forced himself to step away from the side of the boat, but kept a hand on the gunwale. "Into what ... manner of country are we come, Wizard?"
"Rock and scrub, mostly." I frowned, looking around me. "Not exactly the most hospitable beach I've ever seen." The beach itself was gravel, turning quickly into flat, shelving rock that mounted upward in steps, like the seats of an amphitheater, toward a fringe of grass adorned with the occasional stunted, twisted tree. Its cousins grew here and there about the rocky shelves, interspersed with boulders and thickets of scrub.
"Are there ... any folk about?"
"Not that I can see." I cocked my head to the side, listening for the mewing of the gulls. "Nor hear, for that matter."
Up high, a goat leapt down onto one of the rock ledges and let out a bleat.
I grinned. "Well, there's life, at least. Come on, folks. Let's see if we can find a spring. We deserve a little R & R before we shove off for Thyme's island."
"Aye," Gilbert agreed, "water." He pushed himself away from the boat and stumbled after me.
Angelique, whose pride ran in different directions, was quite willing to lean on Gilbert's arm, especially since she wouldn't tax his strength any, not weighing anything.
Jealous? Who, me?
The Rat Raiser brought up the rear, frowning as his eyes flicked from side to side; he didn't trust the outdoors. If the Gremlin was still around, he gave no sign.
Perhaps with good reason; we hadn't clambered up more than three stony shelves before a dozen men stepped out from behind rocks and bushes, gathering silently in an arc before us, arms akimbo. I stared, totally taken aback.
Then I whirled, thinking about the longboat ...
Another man stood by it, and six more stood along the gravel beach between us and our transportation.
"I think," I said slowly, "we've definitely got the wrong island and I think we've been trespassing."
The Rat Raiser grunted. "I might have known. Where there are goats, there are people."
"Let us have at them," Gilbert groaned, pulling himself together. I glanced at the squire. If Gilbert had been in shape, I might have chanced it - but even without him, I could unleash Frisson ...
"Wizard," the poet said, "let me speak-"
"Nay, do not!" the Rat Raiser said sharply. "Work magic so near to Allustria, and Queen Sue - the queen will know our placement to the inch!"
"I think she's already pretty close," I said, "but I hate to shed blood when it isn't necessary."
"It is not," Gilbert said. "Smite them down with a blow; stun them, no more. But if you wait, we may be so beset that you cannot choose your verses with care."
"A point," I admitted, "but I notice none of them is holding weapons."
They weren't. Each of them wore a knife as long as his forearm, but all the knives were still thrust through the peasants' beltsthough their hands, clapped to their waists, weren't exactly far from the hilts. They were broad-shouldered, thick-chested men, dressed in belted tunics and loose pantaloons, with brightly colored kerchiefs tied around their heads. Their faces were swarthy and hard, and most of them wore mustaches that drooped down around their mouths. if I had been the kind to judge by looks, I would have thought they were pirates.
"No fighting," I decided. "We're not enemies yet." I pursed my lips, gazing at the man directly in front of me, who stood a little in advance of his comrades, and made up my mind. "You folks stay here." I stepped forward, ignoring Gilbert's shout of alarm, and inclined my head in greeting. "Sorry to intrude-but we didn't have much choice. There was a storm, you see"
"Indeed. We saw." The man's voice sounded like a hacksaw chewing through old iron. Even so, I looked up in surprise. The words were heavily accented, but he spoke the language of Allustria. "We saw, too, that the ship left you in your longboat and sailed away. What plague do you carry, that the sailors should wish to be rid of you?
I stared at the man. Suspicious, weren't we? I glanced at the hardfaced peasants to either side of him, remembered the ones behind us, and decided on the truth. "We are enemies of Sue ... of the Queen of Allustria. Are we also enemies of you?"
The man's brow drew down in a scowl, and his whole body tensed, but he said, "Mayhap - though it may also chance you are not." Then he stood still, just glaring at me.
My mind flipped through alternatives and decided I didn't want the ball in my court. I held my best deadpan, looking right back in the man's eye.
It did as much good as anything. Finally, the peasant nodded and turned away. "Come," he said back over his shoulder. "This is a matter for the duke."
The castle he took us to was hundreds of years old, to judge by the weathering and the thickness of the crust of salt spray. It was squat and thick, with Roman arches and thick, Doric columns. If I'd been in my own world, I would have guessed that it had been built by adventurous Normans, and would have called it Romanesque. For all that, though, it wasn't especially menacing. It was made of some light-colored stone that had a touch of red in it, warm with the stored sun-heat. It might be forbidding, but it wasn't gloomy. Its owner was very much like it.
The duke, as it turned out, was somewhere in his fifties, grizzled but still powerfully built, looking about as aristocratic as a rugby serum. Certainly he fitted right in with his men-except that he was wearing a midnight-blue robe decorated with the signs of the zodiac and girded with a belt that held a heavy-looking broadsword. He carried a six-foot staff made of some hard, gleaming wood, so dark as to be almost black, carved into the form of a serpent. Instinctively, I braced myself; the astrological gown was neither black magic nor white, but the staff was definitely tending toward symbols of evil. In European culture, the snake was, if not always a sign of Satan, at least usually a sign of menace.
"I am Syrak, duke of this island," the martial magician said.
"Who are you, who come unbidden to my shore?" I decided on the most general truth. "We are wayfarers, seeking to come to an island near Allustria, milord."