“I still say,” Holt called after them, “that you should add your halfling status to your image of aspiring knight. Romance, glamour, mystique, all that. Take my advice, Squire. I’m a lot more familiar with the world than you are.”
Bardon stopped. He patted N’Rae’s hand resting on his arm. “Excuse me. This will only take a moment.”
He turned and walked back to Holt. The marione’s face took on a wary look. Without a word, the squire grabbed him by the front of his shirt and the back of his pants, lifted him into the air, and hurled him off the dock. The splash as he hit arced upward, and the water fell on the boards at Bardon’s feet. He put his hands on his hips and watched the churning water.
N’Rae ran to peer over the edge. “Oh, Bardon, what if there are still quiss swimming around down there?”
His head jerked up, and he looked at her.
Didn’t think of that. That’s what I get for acting on impulse.
Holt’s head broke the surface of the water. “Help! I can’t swim.” He sputtered.
“Bother!” exclaimed Bardon and picked up the bludgeon on a rope Holt had dropped. He slung the weapon over the edge of the dock. “Grab hold. I’m certainly not coming in after you.”
Up and down the wharf, men stopped what they were doing and came to watch. Holt latched on to the lifeline, and Bardon hauled him to the side. The marione climbed the rough pilings and cross timbers. Those above could hear him coughing and making guttural noises, snorting and cackling. Two men grabbed his arms and helped him over the edge. He lay on the wooden planks and laughed. He rolled and held his sides and roared. He wiped water out of his eyes, part from the sea and part his own tears.
Without knowing the source of his mirth, the men laughed as well. Bardon remembered one of Kale’s little dragons, Dibl. Dibl used humor to strengthen the questers. A shared joke brought men closer together. A laugh helped to heal both body and spirit. Seeing the funny side of a situation made the situation easier to bear. Bardon grinned at the memory.
“Coarse humor corrupts, but light laughter elevates.” Principle twenty-six.
He watched Holt try to control his laugher, and fail. N’Rae giggled beside him. Bardon laughed. He reached his hand down to Holt and helped the marione to his feet.
“We’re going to rescue Granny Kye,” he said. “Do you want to come with us?”
“Delighted to join you,” Holt answered with a bow. “I’m sorry I missed the hullabaloo this morning when she escaped their tidy little jail.”
“How did you know they have a tidy jail?”
“Oh, I’ve visited Ianna before.”
“And the jail?”
He nodded and winked. “And the jail.”
He offered N’Rae his arm at the same time Bardon did from the other side. She giggled, transferred the minneken’s basket to hang between Bardon and herself, and took both arms.
“I see now why Grandmother and Jue don’t trust you.”
“Jue?” Holt cocked his head at her.
“You,” she answered, coloring. “You as in Bardon. I see now why Grandmother and Bardon don’t trust you. But I still like you.”
“Thank you.”
“But now I don’t trust you either.”
He nodded his head. “Very wise of you, young lady. Never trust a scoundrel.”
Harbormaster Mayfil did not have time to go with them on their errand, but he assured them Magistrate Inkleen would still accommodate them. The magistrate’s secretary said he would not be available until after the day’s court session, which would be several hours.
“I want dry clothes,” said N’Rae after the clerk to the secretary showed them out the door. “And you two smell disgusting and look worse. We should have gone to the inn first.”
Bardon guided them past a group of businessmen crowded around a town crier reporting the attack of the quiss. “The idea was to get your grandmother and the children out of jail as quickly as possible.”
Holt chortled. “I somehow get the impression that Granny Kye is comfortable no matter where she is.”
N’Rae nodded. “She is, you know.”
Back at the inn, the mistress of the establishment firmly refused to launder the men’s blood-splattered clothes.
“I’ll have the stable hands burn them for you, but I won’t make my washermaids put their hands in a tub with the likes of that.”
Bardon felt better in a clean set of garments but decided he had better shop for something to replace the lost clothing before they boarded the Tobit Grander. Holt apparently had no problem producing something else to wear. N’Rae wore the second gown she had purchased in Norst.
She’ll need to go shopping as well. And Granny Kye will want new things for the children. Our purse is going to be depleted before we even set foot in the Northern Reach.
They arrived at the magistrate’s office at four and, therefore, had to sit politely through the afternoon ritual of umbering. Umbering was practiced all over Amara in different styles. In Wittoom, the small repast included fancy treats of small number. In Ordray, the break for nourishment looked more like a full meal. Here in Ianna, the slow, ceremonial serving emphasized the importance of relaxing rather than the food.
They drank heated juices and ate small daggarts and crisp, fresh vegetables cut and layered with a creamed cheese. Bardon’s appetite reflected a skipped noonmeal. The delicacies impressed N’Rae, and she asked many questions about the types of vegetables and the different ways they could be prepared.
“Goodness, girl,” said the magistrate with a laugh. “Where have you lived all your life?”
Bardon moved his foot under the table and managed to connect with her shin before she proclaimed she had lived with ropma. He was proud of her when she smoothly answered, “We lived deep in the country where there wasn’t a great variety of food, but still plenty to keep us healthy.”
Finally, they made their way through the busy streets to the jail. The office shone from its recent scrubbing. A new desk and chair replaced the battered table and stool. A decent young o’rant stood to give them assistance when they came through the door.
“Quite,” he answered stiffly when the magistrate asked him if he was aware of the mess of misunderstanding that the former jailers had managed to tangle around a simple matter.
“Good, then,” said Inkleen. “We will release the emerlindian woman and the children. She now understands the customs of our people and will not repeat her mistake.”
The young jailer didn’t know to whom he should offer the lone seat, the lady or the magistrate. Bardon saw the confusion on his face as he fingered the back of the chair. He caught the man’s eye and looked pointedly from the chair to N’Rae. The jailer’s face relaxed, and he nodded.
“Miss, would you like to sit while I go fetch your grandmother?”
Again, Bardon witnessed the training her mother must have given N’Rae even as they lived among the primitives.
N’Rae curtsied and turned to the elderly magistrate. “I do not wish to be seated. Magistrate Inkleen, would you like the chair?”
He nodded and sat in the humble wooden chair as if it were his elaborately carved seat behind his judge’s bench.
Bardon noted the jailer only had to go directly to the small room off to the side of the office to retrieve the key. After all the events of the day, the quiet interlude while they waited seemed too quiet and too long.
He heard laughing and giggling and the soft tread of bare feet. The six children seemed to be in high spirits. They made plenty of noise in the underground corridor. The jailer came first through the doorway from the stairs. The children poured in after him, and Granny Kye brought up the rear. In her arms, she held a baby. The children hushed and stared at the men.
“I thought you said six,” Holt said under his breath.
“I did,” answered Bardon.
“There are more than six.”
The squire nodded. “I counted. There are fifteen, not including the baby.
”
“I can explain,” said Granny Kye.
“I’m sure you can.”
“Please do,” encouraged the magistrate, not bothering to keep the amused smile from his face.
“The six children had brothers, sisters, and friends.”
“I’m a cousin,” piped up a curly-headed moptop.
“And cousins,” added Granny Kye.
The same child tugged on the granny’s sleeve. “I think I am the only cousin.”
“And one cousin,” the old emerlindian corrected.
“And,” said the magistrate, “when torrents of rain made the day uncomfortable on the streets, they broke into jail.”
“You are so right.” Granny Kye beamed. “You must be the magistrate, since you are the one with such a clear way of thinking.”
Inkleen nodded his head wisely. “And the other two men who have come to your rescue are known to you, so they could not be the magistrate.”
“Yes, that too.”
“Granny Kye, I hereby bestow upon you the charge of these children.”
The emerlindian’s smile grew wider.
“But—,” said Bardon.
“You,” interrupted Magistrate Inkleen, “are a resourceful young man. You’ll manage.” He stood. “There now, that is settled. I wish you a pleasant journey.” The man left.
Bardon’s posture remained rigid as he recounted the children.
N’Rae picked up one of the smallest urchins.
Holt leaned against the wall and howled with laughter.
23
SAILING
The children all wore bright red or yellow shirts. The girls wore blue skirts. The boys wore tan britches. Most of them raced hither and yon over the deck of the Tobit Grander. N’Rae, who had never been on an ocean-going vessel, seemed to think they were all in imminent danger of falling overboard. Granny Kye, who had chosen the outfits so the children could be easily spotted, seemed to think that no disaster could befall her charges. Bardon stood somewhere in the middle of the two views.
Granny Kye sat on the deck, holding the baby and watching the activity around her with glowing eyes. N’Rae held the hands of two small children and roamed the deck, urging the boys to be more cautious. Holt had looked over the situation and decided the mapmaker would be a better companion than anyone who remotely had anything to do with children. The marione and the tumanhofer sought the ship’s navigator and the blessed peace and quiet of studying maps.
As the ship rounded the last point of land and moved into the open sea, the wind caught the sails with a snap. N’Rae and some of the girls squealed. As the sails billowed, cracking with each shift, the young emerlindian gathered the more timid children and hustled them down below.
A seaman hollered at another lad, snatched him from off the rigging, and none too gently shoved him down the hatch. Bardon caught two younger boys and dragged them below.
As he passed the captain, he said, “There are five older boys left on deck. I won’t object to any duties you assign them.”
The captain grinned, tipped his hat, and nodded. “I’ll see to it right away.” He continued through the passageway with a light step, whistling a sea ditty.
Ignoring the pleas for freedom from his captives, Bardon watched the captain’s departure.
You’ve got to admire that man. He took on a party of four that expanded overnight to twenty-one. He doesn’t seem to be weighed down one bit by the extra bother. Of course, his purse is heavier and mine quite a bit lighter. That could be the source of his contentment.
Bardon trudged deeper into the bowels of the ship, hauling his recalcitrant burdens. He had marched with outstretched arms while holding weighted bags as one of the exercises for sword training. The torture produced muscular arms and stamina. Bardon thought he might write a letter to his old sword master, suggesting they substitute squirming boys for the heavy bags.
The ship could not provide cabin space for so many. Between bales of cotton, barrels of blackstrap molasses, and crates of fruit, Granny Kye had arranged pallets. She and N’Rae intended to sleep here with the children. Toward the back, she had the older boys push together a pen of sorts, made out of bits and pieces of cargo. Here she kept the goat she’d acquired to give milk for the baby.
Bardon glanced at the goat and her crowd of admirers. One raven-haired little o’rant girl brushed the nanny. An older, heavily freckled marione girl handfed her. Another girl, a tumanhofer, had her arms draped around the gray animal’s neck and appeared to be singing in the goat’s ear.
That’s going to be one spoiled nanny goat by the time we dock in Annonshan.
He set the boys on their feet, and they scrambled toward the hatch ladder. Bardon snatched the backs of their shirts, twisting them around to look him in the eyes. “You are forbidden to be on deck until further notice. If you behave, I’ll take you up myself. If you don’t, you won’t see the sun or the moon and stars again until we dock at Annonshan. Understand?”
The boys nodded. As soon as Bardon let go, they scampered over a pile of crates secured by heavy ropes and disappeared.
He found N’Rae sitting with several children as they arranged brand-new rag dolls on a secondhand blanket from the inn. “Will you be all right down here, N’Rae?”
“Oh yes, I like taking care of children. And this place feels cozy to me. Ropma cave dwellings felt much like this, dark and musty moist. And their huts were sparsely furnished with crates and logs.”
I can’t imagine living in a ropma hut. How different her life must have been from mine.
He opened his mouth to ask a question but heard Granny Kye calling from behind him.
“N’Rae! N’Rae! Where are my paints?” She swept past Bardon without a word to him and handed the younger emerlindian the baby.
“My easel, my palette, my paints,” she muttered as she rummaged through the bundles lined up and stacked against one bulkhead. “Here! Here!” she exclaimed as she grabbed a duffel wedged in among heavier parcels. “N’Rae, help me pull it out.”
Bardon saw N’Rae looking for a place to put the baby, and he stepped forward. “I’ll help, Granny Kye. Stand over here a little bit.”
“That one.” She pointed unnecessarily. “The one with hard sides covered with blue canvas. Yes, that one.”
No sooner had Bardon shifted the other luggage and pulled that piece free than Granny Kye had her hands on it. She laid it on its side and undid the latches. The children crowded close, waiting to see what was inside.
“What are you going to paint?” asked N’Rae.
Granny Kye answered absent-mindedly as she opened the lid. “Everything. The sky. The sea. The sails. Everything.”
She set aside several brushes and a box containing bent tubes smeared with dried paint. Next she lifted out a flat square wrapped in cloth. Inside, blank canvas stretched over a wooden frame. Granny Kye’s face beamed as she looked at the grayish white surface. She held it up for all the children to view.
“What do you see here?” she asked.
“It’s blank,” said one.
“Sorta white,” said another.
“Nothing,” said the smallest boy.
The granny snatched that child into a tight hug. “No, no, no.” She laughed, then turned him around to sit in her lap and look at the blank canvas. “Quite the contrary, young man. You say there is nothing here? No, no, no. This picture is not empty, but full of possibilities.”
She gathered her painting tools, handing various items into small, eager hands. Those children who were allowed on deck trailed behind her, helping to carry her equipment. She set up her easel and canvas in a place somewhat protected from the wind. Most of the children lost interest as she went through the long preparation of getting the canvas ready.
In the days that followed, Bardon’s party took up a routine. The younger children played among the crates in the hold with N’Rae supervising. Holt swapped stories with the seamen and harassed the mapmaker for tales of his adventure
s. Bromptotterpindosset preferred to spend his time with the officers of the ship or the captain’s maps and logs. Granny Kye painted.
The older boys discovered Bardon doing his forms, the morning exercises that most warriors repeated daily to keep in fighting shape, on the deck early in the morning. He did several sets of a fixed order. The procedure for muscle toning that prepared him to use his body as his weapon looked almost like a ceremony. The ritual generally bored most of the boys except one. Ahnek, an o’rant of about ten years, stood beside the squire and mimicked his motions, quickly picking up the intricate positioning and rhythm of the exercises.
The next set required Bardon to roll, leap, balance, and perform acrobatic feats. More of the boys joined him for this, and he ended up instructing the most eager ones. Not only the boys, but also the sailors enjoyed watching Bardon parry and thrust with an imaginary opponent as he went through his last regimen for the day. By the second morning, all the boys had acquired roughly made wooden swords so they, too, could fight the unseen enemies.
Each morning, after Bardon finished the serious business of his scheduled regimen, he good-naturedly coached the boys. He even instructed some of the small ones on how to best use their weapons. He brought out his darts, and they set up a makeshift bull’s-eye.
“Are darts really a weapon?” asked Ahnek.
“Yes, they are.” Bardon hefted the slim wooden dart, then tossed it. Even with the wind and the roll of the ship, he hit the center of the target. “They won’t bring down a bisonbeck or a grawlig, but they can be used to distract the enemy. Worry them. Get them off balance.”
Bardon divided the boys into age groups and set up a tournament. They had to move their game to a hold below to avoid the wind, but the children threw their hearts into the competition. Even the girls decided to play. Again Ahnek showed the most promise.
Two of the boys took to their sea duties with a passion. Bardon figured when they reached the next port, the boys would ask permission to serve on the ship. And, according to the captain, they would be accepted as cabin boys.