Olli’s brows lowered as he heard her request. ‘Have you met this scholar?’
‘No, but he was a friend of my father’s. Visiting him was my purpose in leaving Torfell.’
‘I promised Barc I’d keep you safe.’
‘Barc is not my keeper! I—’
‘She’d be safer in Elion than here,’ Lillet interrupted. ‘We all would.’
Risha frowned. ‘Has there been more trouble?’
‘Guardsmen asking questions and extra patrols. Sooner or later they’ll catch up with the traders and learn of Sulba’s disappearance. If they put the two together, it’s a small step to me.’ Olli forestalled her apology with a raised hand. ‘It’s none of your doing. I know that, girl.’
‘But if the guards suspect I was involved in Amos’s death, you’re all at risk if I’m found here.’ Risha leapt to her feet. ‘I can’t stay here! I—’
‘Hold hard, youngster. If you go throwing yourself into the guardsmen’s arms, then my cousin tossed his life away for nothing.’
Risha subsided.
Olli sighed. ‘I’ve always been inclined to get on with living my own small life, but you may as well know that Sulba and I shared the same loyalties. I could get you across the lake. Beyond that … let me think on it.’
8
River run
The fog that drifted off the lake was chill, but Risha’s shudder was due only in part to the cold. She had never been in a boat.
‘On board quickly now,’ Olli muttered.
Following in Keis’s wake, Risha stepped onto the narrow plank. It dipped and shifted beneath her, its movement out of kilter with the dark water below. She swayed and flung out her arms. Keis grabbed her hand to steady her.
‘Stop fooling around, the pair of you,’ Olli called loudly. ‘Lillet, get a move on. And Keis, come back and see to the ropes. It’s a work run I promised, not a leisure tour!’
Risha screwed up her courage and darted up the gangplank. It was a code they had worked out. If Olli called Keis back, it meant there were guardsmen — or spies — on the jetty. Keis gave her a brotherly shove to head her towards the bowels of the boat and she pinched him gently in return. He shrieked as if she’d hurt him and darted away.
Lillet’s clothes were too long for her. Risha hitched the skirt up at the waist and scrambled down the narrow ladder. Last night they’d dyed her hair. ‘It will wash out in a few weeks,’ Lillet had promised as Risha surveyed the results, her rich auburn submerged beneath a lacklustre black. ‘It’s a shame to hide so pretty a colour,’ the girl had added.
‘They used to make fun of me in Torfell. They said my hair was the colour of dead bracken.’
‘Westlarns,’ Lillet had snorted. ‘What would they know? Your colouring is common enough in the south. Your eyes, though,’ the girl had added, ‘they’re less common.’
‘Keis!’ Olli’s bellow tugged her back to the present. ‘Lillet, the bilges if you please.’
He had explained in advance the jobs that he’d set her, choosing those that would keep her largely from sight. The boat bobbed as his weight came on board and Risha heard the rattle of a rope being coiled.
‘You’re under way early.’ The voice held suspicion, but not yet too much. Risha glanced from the cabin’s tiny window and saw, past Olli’s legs, two guardsmen standing on the wharf.
Olli waved at the sky. ‘There’s a chop blowing up. With the wind behind me I’ll make good time, as long as I catch it before it gets too rough.’
‘Where’s your crew?’
‘My daughter Lillet has crewed for me for years, but you know how it is: one day I’ll lose her to some other man. My son,’ he glared as Keis pulled some antic to draw the guards’ attention. ‘Would that he shared his sister’s good sense.’
The guardsmen grinned.
‘There’s a lot of activity around the wharves these days,’ Olli added. ‘Is the lord due in?’
‘Just routine.’ The guard who answered glanced quickly at his companion. ‘There’s just you and your two children making the crossing?’
‘There is.’ Olli paused. ‘Check if you like.’
The second guard shook his head. ‘We watched you board. You’ll be back this evening?’
‘Weather permitting.’
Keis clattered the gangplank on board, in the process contriving to shove them a little away from the wharf. As the boat shimmied sideways, Olli made a show of temper.
‘Keis! Not yet, you young fool! Can’t you see I’m still talking?’ He plucked up a boathook and leant to tow them back towards the jetty.
‘No, on you go,’ the guard said with a wave of his hand.
Olli reversed his movement and the gap of water widened. ‘Lillet, take the helm. And try to teach your brother how it’s done.’
Quivering with nerves, Risha clambered on deck and hurried to where Keis was waiting at the rear of the boat. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said loudly. ‘I already know how. Sailing is for men, not girls.’
Olli muttered something and one of the guardsmen laughed. ‘Good luck to you, boatman,’ he called.
Risha didn’t breathe properly till they’d cleared the wharves and the wind had begun to catch in their sail.
‘Close enough,’ Olli muttered, as he came to stand beside her. ‘But luck would seem to be with you — and the wind as well.’
An hour later, Risha found herself wishing for a little less wind. Away from land, the lake was raised in a ragged chop and the steady slap, slap, slap of the hull as it bucked through the ridges of water set her stomach heaving. Olli settled her between two bales of cloth.
‘Keep your eye on the horizon,’ he told her.
Scudding clouds obscured the sun but she felt better in the fresh air, for all that it was cold. Above her the single square sail stretched taut across a bellyful of wind. Behind, Caledon was reduced to a distant smudge. From the wharves she’d had no idea of how large the lake was. She knew from her father’s maps that they were crossing its narrowest part, but as yet it was impossible to make out the town that stood on the far shore. Tucking herself into a tight ball, she settled to wait.
A hand on her shoulder startled her from sleep. ‘We’re nearly there.’
Rubbing her face, Risha scrambled upright. Long arms of land reached protectively on either flank, sparing her stomach from its earlier queasiness. Leighton was built on the shores of CaledonWater where the River El began its long journey to the sea — that much she’d read. The reality was busier, and noisier, as Caledon had been. Ranks of roofs angled untidily back from the lake, cluttering the hillside, and Risha’s nose wrinkled at the taint of fish guts from the pickling sheds.
Olli manoeuvred around the boats vying for berths at the main wharf and made for a small jetty near the river mouth. ‘River Maid stands at the far end. Keep below for a while. Lillet’s face is familiar enough that yours might be remarked.’
As he brought them tidily alongside, a woman stepped forward to catch the rope that Keis threw.
‘Hail, Wave Skipper. I had a message that you want me to ferry a cargo downriver.’ The voice was musical and low, its accent unfamiliar to Risha’s northern ear.
‘Half the load’s yours,’ Olli agreed. ‘Ale and chandler’s wares; the cloth goes south by road. I’d have off-loaded that first, but the wharves are crowded with picklers.’
‘Like rats on spilt grain,’ the boatwoman agreed. ‘The fisherboats brought in a heavy catch this morning.’ The boat rocked under her weight. ‘Shall we sort the paperwork first?’
Uncertainty flapped in Risha’s chest as first Olli then the bargewoman swung down into the cabin. The woman gave her an assessing look.
‘There’s a stranger hanging about; most account him a spy,’ the woman murmured, ‘and enough loose tongues to ensure him superfluous. How do we complete this exchange?’
Olli nodded towards a barrel that stood empty nearby, his glance at Risha apologetic.
The woman raised her eyebrows. �
�A bale would have been a deal more comfortable,’ she remarked. ‘Make sure you don’t shift your weight once we’ve got you rolling. We don’t want to lose you off the planking.’
Olli’s hand squeezed her shoulder. Risha swallowed her dread. ‘Thank you. For everything.’
He dipped his head. ‘An honour. In you go now.’
Risha folded herself into the barrel, bracing her hands and knees through the quilt that lined it.
‘Luck be with you,’ Olli said, and sealed the lid.
The air inside the barrel smelled of yeast and old fruit. She forced herself to keep calm as the darkness closed around her, the only light filtering in a sharp line through the unstoppered spigot hole. With a lurch she was lifted, the barrel bumping against each stair. When they reached the deck they set her down and she heard the clatter of the first few barrels being rolled onto the jetty. Before she was ready, her own barrel was tipped on its side.
The motion was worse than the boat’s rocking. The barrel ran fast down the gangplank, stopped abruptly then rolled again. She felt sick. The barrel jolted and her elbow cracked against the coopered wood. Tears squeezed from the corners of her tightly shut eyes. She came end-up for a moment before dropping bruisingly on her back. Voices came muffled through the wood as the barrel was levered onto the barge. Soon. She’d be free soon. When they’d practised sealing her in the barrel in Olli’s kitchen it had never seemed so long.
Her barrel spun on its rim, jolted twice and came to a halt. Panting in the muffling dark, Risha waited. There were thuds as other barrels were shoved into place, and the slap of ropes. The barrel rocked and she braced herself, but the motion proved to be the slow jog of the barge poling away from the jetty. Risha counted the minutes. It seemed a long time till the lid lifted and she found herself squinting in a sudden surfeit of light.
‘Up you come now.’ Strong hands hoisted her upwards.
Stiffly, Risha uncurled from her prison and eased the ache in her back. The face that watched her was weathered dark and aged by a maze of fine lines.
‘You’ll be pleased to be out of that, I dare say. My name’s Fenn.’ The woman gave Risha a push towards the hatch. ‘You’d best stay out of sight a while longer. We’ve only just cleared the jetty and there’ll be other boats on the river.’
The cabin of the barge was low-roofed and narrow. It was fitted with a table, bench-seat and rudimentary galley. Judging by the roll of blankets, the bench doubled as a bed. Above, and on the wall opposite, narrow rectangles of glass offered a view out just above deck height. Compared with the barrel it was luxurious. Risha stretched her cramped limbs. No sooner had she recovered from one set of aches and bruises than she seemed to acquire another.
Caught in the pull of the current, the barge moved unhurriedly downriver. Risha knelt on the bench so that she could squint through the weather-dulled glazing, but she could see little beyond the barge’s rail and the end of a stack of barrels.
‘You can come up now.’ Her host’s face dipped into view at the open hatch and was as quickly gone.
Risha clambered up the stairs. The river was wide, trees leaning to stroke the water from gently sloping banks. Both jetty and lake were lost behind them.
‘Have you been on a narrowboat before?’ Fenn asked.
Risha shook her head. ‘On no sort of boat at all until this morning.’
Fenn laughed. ‘It’ll not be just your manner of boarding, then, that’s made you look so green. It would have been a bit choppy on the lake?’ She grinned at Risha’s fervent nod. ‘The river’s an altogether different proposition. Come, I’ll show you the basics.’
With the current towing them, Fenn seemed to steer the narrowboat with a twist of the wrist here and a slight lean there.
‘How do you know where to find the best course?’
‘You get to know the river,’ the boatwoman answered. ‘See how the water is woven of different colours? Each tells a tale of how the river runs. The channels shift each season, along with the sandbars. You can scout them tomorrow: if we run aground, your arms will learn the handling of the pole, and that’s no gentle task I warn you.’
Risha was happy to sit half-listening to Fenn’s talk while her mind drifted slowly into channels of its own. So much had happened since she’d left Torfell; too much, too fast, since she’d reached Caledon.
‘How well do you know Olli?’ she asked, at a pause in Fenn’s remembrance of a river journey made on the dark side of winter.
‘Well enough.’ Fenn eyed her sagely. ‘Are you hungry?’
Risha frowned. ‘A little.’
Fenn reached into a box near her foot and handed over a coiled line. ‘Plenty of fish in this river. There are worms in the bucket there. Skewer one on the hook and drop the line over the side. Don’t let out too much; you don’t want it to snag.’
Whether or not it had been the woman’s intention, Risha was thoroughly distracted by the first insistent tug on the line. The bargewoman smiled broadly as Risha scooped a silvery fish from the water. Over the next hour she lost three and caught five. Fenn fried them on a tiny hotplate and they proved succulent and sweet.
As light began to drain from the day, Fenn eyed Risha thoughtfully. ‘You look better than you did, but still as if you could stand a good night’s sleep. Take the berth. I’ll sleep up here.’
Grateful, Risha wrapped herself in a blanket and stretched out on the bench. There were things she should think about: what she would do once they reached Elion; what Olli had meant by his cryptic remarks about loyalty and honour; whether Barc was truly the friend that he claimed. The light that filtered through the narrow window flickered and danced across the low ceiling. Risha’s eyes followed its waltz: twisting, sliding, dark and bright. She was too tired to untangle her thoughts, too tired … she tumbled so quickly into sleep that she scarcely registered Nonno’s questing thought.
The following days settled into a pattern determined by the river. Fenn was an entertaining companion, her store of stories drawing them downstream as steadily as the river’s current.
Wherever the trees that cloaked the river thinned, Risha stared mesmerised across the rolling downland, so different to the rugged slopes of her childhood. Sometimes there were men working in the lush summer fields. Once they passed a herd of grazing horses, their heads lifting as the barge drifted by. Several raised their tails like flags and raced them along the bank. One evening at dusk they rounded a bend and surprised three boys fishing in a quiet pool caught in the river’s curve.
Risha was absorbed by the changing landscape and by the river itself, which grew broader and stronger as they travelled west. Her nights were less mellow, stalked by hazy shadows both real and imagined. Twice she woke to Fenn’s soothing hand on her shoulder, and both times came close to confiding her tale. But, like a stone in her heart, the lesson Amos had taught about trust stopped her tongue.
Late in the morning of their third day they passed a sturdy jetty with a handful of river-craft tied alongside. Fenn raised a hand to one of the boatman. ‘Taking the easy route, Kell?’
The man gestured towards the channel that angled inland from the river. ‘I’m too old to risk either my hide or my cargo,’ he called. ‘Good luck to you, River Maid.’
Soon after, Fenn fetched a rope and tied it around Risha’s waist. ‘We’re not far from where the Little El comes to join her big sister and, as you might expect of sisters, they can’t get together without squabbling. I’ve run the rapids often enough,’ she added, securing the other end of the rope to the rail that ran around the cabin roof, ‘but it doesn’t do to be complacent. I wouldn’t want you swept overboard.’
The boat’s speed increased, its movement becoming rougher as flecks of white began to scuff the water ahead.
‘Here we go!’ Fenn warned.
Risha squinted against the sunlight skipping across the broken water. A moment later they were in the rapids. Fenn tossed the craft left and right, hurtling them past rocks that reared upw
ard. A wilder note joined the river’s voice and Risha saw the tributary — why it was called the ‘Little’ El she could only wonder. A roiling mass of water marked the spot where the two currents met. A moment later, it had them.
Spray drenched her as the barge was tossed up and sideways, losing paintwork to a boulder. As Fenn flung them back the other way, Risha lost her grip on the rail and slithered backwards along the deck. The rope around her waist snared her. Gasping for breath she scrabbled for a handhold. Her fingers had barely found purchase when a sheet of cold water slapped into her face. She coughed and choked but held on. There was a shout from behind and the barge was tossed first left then right, graunching over a water-smoothed rock and narrowly missing another.
Hooking an arm over the railing, Risha hauled herself to her feet. The barrels were coming loose. She made a grab for the net of cargo ropes. Fenn called something but the river’s roar was too loud. Risha set her feet wide and concentrated on securing the barrels. She was nearly done when a shout from Fenn made her look up in time to see the river disappear in front of them.
‘What—’
‘Hang on!’ Fenn cried, as they pitched forward and down.
Risha’s stomach seemed to make the drop several seconds behind the rest of her. As they hit the foot of the fall the barge nosed in and under, sending a cold wave sweeping the length of the deck. Her fingers clutched reflexively at the ropes as her feet were dragged from beneath her. Coughing, eyes tight-clenched, Risha clung on.
When the spray cleared and she’d drawn breath, she swiped her sopping hair from her eyes and climbed damply to her feet. The barge was rocking gently in a wide, flat pool, the fall over which they’d plunged showering them in a fine mist — though it could hardly make them wetter.
Fenn was grinning broadly. ‘Your first river run is always the one you remember,’ she said. ‘You can untie now.’
‘Why didn’t you warn me?’ Risha demanded. Her fingers were shaking, so that Fenn had to help unknot the rope about her waist.
Cattra's Legacy Page 6
