by LeRoy Clary
“Gone now?”
“Yes, at least, I can’t see it anymore.”
“Maybe a cabin with a fire or lantern inside. We probably drifted out of sight. Good man. Keep watching.”
The chuckling sounds of the water slipping past the boat were soft as the current carried them down the river. Bats flitted past their heads and mosquitoes whined. A lone hoot-owl called softly from the nearby trees on the left bank. The old man needed sleep as much as Gareth did, perhaps more when his age was taken into consideration. Gareth steeled himself to stay awake at the oars until sunrise.
His attention drifted to memories of life in Dun Mare and Faring. And of Sara, Odd’s lovely daughter. Time passed pleasantly. “More lights up ahead, Tom.”
He saw the blanket move as the old man rose up and looked. “A small village or town looks like. We’ll float past as quiet as a whisper. Careful you don’t let the oars make noise because it can carry a good distance across a body of water.”
Tom lowered his head and went back to sleep.
Thinking of the events so far, as much as Gareth had been scared when the dragon flew off with him, his friend, Faring must have been almost as frantic as Gareth when he saw him dangling below the dragon on that rope. Faring probably ran all the way home and spewed the story to his father that the dragon had flown off and killed him. He’d also tell the story to any teachers he encountered, too. And he’d tell it to anyone else who would listen, but the reality was that none of them could have helped Gareth. Still, there must have been quite a stir in Dun Mare over his strange departure. He smiled at how the old men at the inn would tell and retell the story of Gareth flying off to his demise while dangling below a dragon. Probably the biggest story in village history.
But that chain of thinking soon led him to one of the mysteries that he couldn’t speak to. How had the teachers in Priest’s Point learned of Gareth’s disappearance from Dun Mare so quickly? Nobody can travel that fast, except when flying on a dragon. Even if someone had found a way to travel that fast, that didn’t answer the other question. Why had the white ship chased them?
He digested and reconsidered all the facts until he figured out a partial answer to the last question. Tom had paid a woman in Priest’s Point to sew his new pants and shirt. She knew Tom fished on his boat alone. The larger clothing was obviously not for him. Somehow, she passed that information to the teachers, who were searching for someone his size. After finding out Tom had a passenger matching the general description of Gareth, the teachers must have ordered the white ship to sail after them. The teachers must have paid the ship owner well, or they had offered a sizeable reward. If not, the white boat would not have taken the risks it had. Even poor seamen know better than to chase the fishing boat into an area filled with jagged rocks. The risk for the expensive boat had to be justified with gold.
Tom had concluded the teachers could somehow communicate over long distances. As silly as it sounded, and as quickly as Gareth had dismissed the idea earlier, there was no denying the teachers in Priests Point somehow knew of him, and within a single day. They must also have vast resources of money as shown when they purchased the trading company that bought Faring’s Da’s tannery. He thought about the white boat chasing them through the rocks. Had he seen any teachers on board? He didn’t think so.
Faring’s Da said to always ask why. That seemed like good advice as Gareth continued watching the river and listening to the night sounds. His hand went to feel the lump that was the dragon under the blanket and paused. The newborn of many species are not beautiful. Some are downright ugly. The dragon was loose, limp skin over sharp bones, with a few barbs along the spine and eyes too big for the small head. The sharp teeth could remove a man’s finger with one snap of those jaws. He pulled his hand back to grip the oar, again.
Despite the lack of sleep, he managed to feel better than he had in days. The information fell into place, into nice neat little sections. Not knowing a thing was worse than not understanding the happenings around him. More lights appeared on the shore down river, and the sky in the east brightened with the coming day. “Tom, I see more lights ahead, another village, I think. It’s almost dawn.”
“Take us closer to the far shore so they won’t see us when we drift past. Anything else?”
Gareth eased the boat closer to the far bank with a few strokes of the oars and waited, watching all around as if making sure there was nothing else to report before responding. “The people in the next town will see us after the sun comes up, you know.”
“Can’t help that. I guess we could hold up for daylight, but the time we gain floating down the river ahead of them who’r chasing us would be lost. Besides, with the Brotherhood’s fast communications abilities, by nightfall they’ll have boats up and down this whole river looking for us.”
“Still, if we keep on moving during daylight, and maybe tomorrow night, we’re in Drakesport around dawn, right?”
“Right. If’n nobody snags us first, which they will. Now, ease up on your oars for a bit.”
“Ease up?”
“Stop rowing, I heard something.”
Oars held still, they both listened, and Gareth finally heard the regular sound of the paddling of another small boat. Gareth peered into the darkness upstream. He moved the sleeping dragon and the blanket to the floor, out of the way, and out of sight. A small boat took shape in the dim light of early dawn, long and narrow. It turned and headed directly for them.
Tom said, “Keep your voice down, and a hand on that dagger.”
They waited.
A soft voice called from a few boat lengths away, “There’ll be no need for that dagger. I’m peaceable. Is that you, Captain Tom?”
“That it is. And who might you be?”
“A messenger and a friend. Seth and Irene upriver are also friends of mine. She sent me looking for you with a warning.” The narrow boat pulled quietly to their side, and a middle-aged man with wild white hair smiled as he took hold of their boat to steady his. He pulled himself alongside. “Thought I’d never catch up with you two. Irene said to tell you those men in green robes came asking a fistful of questions right after you left. Then others came. Mean ones. She said to tell you they had two hound dogs sniffing for you. They wanted to speak with Seth, but he was off fishing.”
Tom leaned forward. “They didn’t hurt her?”
The man chuckled and said, “No. No, she’s a tough old bird. They just asked questions about the two of you. She told them that if the Brotherhood brought her boy back to her maybe, she would talk to them, but until then she wouldn’t say another word. She went to cleaning her cabin until they left. Lucky she did, because she palmed the two silvers you left on that chair.”
“Glad to hear she’s well. Now, who are you?” Tom asked.
“Call me Jenkins. Seaman Jenkins, if you prefer, sir.”
Gareth had breathed a sigh of relief at the news of Seth and Irene, even though he didn’t understand much of what had passed between the two men. Unspoken communication had told a tale he didn’t know. His eyes were looking at Tom and then at Jenkins, and he realized there was still more going on than he knew. The current eased both boats downriver at a slow pace, and Gareth wanted to push their boat off from the other and continue rowing, but knew there was more the two men had to say.
“How’d you manage to catch up with us?” Tom asked.
Jenkins used his chin to point to the small double-ended boat he sat in. “This thing’s a modified kayak like they use way up north. Won’t carry much weight, but it gets me there with less effort and a lot faster.”
Tom said, an edge to his voice, “You called me Captain Tom, and addressed me as sir. Have we met?”
“Yes sir, for a time I served under you at Scalene Passage. Manned the rails, port side.”
“Ah, I’m very sorry I didn’t recognize you, Seaman.”
“No reason you would, sir. I was a last minute transfer from the Invincible after she burned. Besides
, you had your hands a mite full while you defeated those ships we attacked. Despite what the board of inquiry said, those of us who were there know you for the hero you are. The queen should have stood up for you instead of listening to her cronies.”
Gareth listened and watched the old fisherman with the bad grammar evolve into someone else. The language and manners grew by the sentence. He heard the air of command now in Tom’s voice, as well as the respect the newcomer paid him in word and manner.
Other thoughts of Tom flashed to mind. How fast Tom had agreed to the adventure of crossing a sea and selling the egg, for instance. Other men would not have been so quick to volunteer, at least not those Gareth had met. None of the men at the tannery would have gone, and Odd would have stayed on his farm. So would the old men at the inn. The teachers never joined any activity.
Jenkins said, “Irene thought it might be a good idea if I paddled on ahead of you, sir. Sort of keep you in sight behind me, but just barely. If you see me get snagged by the Brotherhood or the king’s army, you can maybe escape on foot.”
Tom nodded. “That would be greatly appreciated, seaman. I would also appreciate it if you didn’t call me ‘sir’ anymore. I’m just a fisherman these days. After we reach Drakesport and conduct our business, might there be an inn where we’d meet up with you and lift a tankard of ale to the old days?”
Jenkins pushed off and took a powerful stroke with his double-ended paddle. “The Sleeping Lion’s my usual haunt in Drakesport. But I’ll be the one buying the ale, not you, Captain.”
The dragon under the blanket stirred. Gareth didn’t want the dragon climbing out while Jenkins was nearby and liable to see it. He placed a gentle but firm hand on the neck of the little dragon and received a sleepy snort in response. It wrapped its long neck and tail in opposite directions as if to snare his wrist. Gareth pulled his hand free and gave it a few strokes to keep it calm. He slipped the hand away when he felt the muscles relax, and the dragon slept again.
As the smaller boat darted away downstream, Gareth looked at Tom until he caught his attention. “You have some explaining to do. Or should I say, explain’, Captain?”
Tom motioned for them to shift seats and he retook the oars. “You want the short story?”
“We can start there,” Gareth answered warily.
The oars dipped, and Tom pulled gently. Gareth’s change in attitude didn’t seem to offend Tom, in fact, he seemed amused. Tom smiled wider and said, “There was a time I was in command of a warship in service of Queen Alexandria, which was a few years after King Henry died. We were losing the war, back then. The Tarragon navy sailed north to embargo all our ports. Choke us off so we wouldn’t have food or supplies and have to surrender.”
“You were a military captain?”
“I was the captain if you put it that way. The queen wanted to make me an admiral, but that’d take away my ship and put me ashore. The story is, we were down near Scalene Passage, which is the sea passage between two large islands.” He seemed to drift off as he remembered, speaking soft and low as the sun turned the eastern sky pink. After a long pause, he continued, “We broke out of a fog bank directly in the face of the Tarragon fleet. I had my men ready at battle stations, but we were outnumbered ten ships to one. Three ships of the line and seven fast packets overloaded with troops.”
“Ten to one? Did they sink you?”
“I performed what’s called a strategic retreat. I turned and ran back into the fog as quick as possible. Since I knew where they were and their course, I predicted where they were going. I sailed north and lay in wait behind an island not much bigger than my ship, hoping for better odds. A day later, two of the smaller ships sailed right into my trap. We burned both by lighting an oil slick. Then we made for the Brandon Passage and found a packet ship half our size, but full of crack troops and weapons. It was running alone. We made short work of her and headed full sail for the capital port of Bristol to defend it and the queen from the other seven ships. We joined the fleet and won the battle.”
“Then what?”
“We turned the Tarragon back that day. It became the turning point in the war.” Tom continued, his voice was softer. “At first, the queen was quite pleased, and I believe ready to bestow knighthood on me. Then politics came into play, and high-ranking enemies in court said I was yellow and afraid, and that at Scalene Passage I ran when I had enemy ships in my sights. All true, if you look at it one way.”
“That’s silly. You ran because you’d have lost your ship if you fought. You sank three of theirs and still had your ship there to defend the capital.”
“Well then, I wish you had sat on my board of inquiry instead of those men who did. At any rate, they drummed me out of the navy, and many of those same bastards who accused me of cowardliness later turned out to be working for our enemies. With no pension and my name blackened, I decided to head home to Dunsmuir Town to live and fish as a simple man. I hoped the story didn’t follow me, but no such luck. Still, speakin’ like a poor fisherman born and bred in that part of the world made it easier. The locals accepted me. End of story.”
Jenkins bobbed down river in his small boat. Wavelets twisted and turned him. He often slowed his paddling to keep pace, and he even used his paddle backward a few times to keep Gareth and Tom in sight when he traveled too fast. Gareth looked at Tom in a new light. A sea captain of a royal warship. It didn’t seem possible, but there was the ring of truth in Tom’s simple story. There were things left unsaid, but as Tom mentioned at the beginning, it was the short story.
“So when I’m talking to you, am I speaking to a captain or fisherman?”
The old man turned and cast an almost angry look Gareth hadn’t seen before. He felt himself wilting like a leaf of lettuce left in the summer sun.
Tom spoke, his voice low and hard. “I was both fisherman and captain until my boat sank. A man can be a good captain on a small vessel as well as large.”
“I meant no harm, Tom. But it seems the man I thought I knew has been someone different the whole time. I’m adjusting my thinking, but it will take some time getting used to who you are.” The dragon stirred again, poked its head from under the blanket, sat up and sniffed the air. It made a full turn, looking at anything and everything as it tasted the night air, and flicked its tongue. Then it settled back down and placed its head on Gareth’s lap. So small I can hold it in one hand. I wonder how long that will last.
“In life, things are seldom what they seem at first glance,” Tom said, barely above a whisper.
“So I’m learning.” Gareth decided to let the matter drop. Or at least, stop talking about it, but there was more of the story to know, and when the time was right he’d ask again. Still, he felt somehow betrayed by Tom’s past. Gareth had only known him a few days, but always thought of him as an uneducated fisherman, and a friend. Now with the new information, there was a barrier between them.
They moved quietly down the sluggish river, keeping sight of the small boat ahead, and watching the silent towns and villages slide past. Now and then, a dog barked from shore. Once, they passed another boat so close that they spoke softly to the fisherman and wished him well on his catch.
Dawn came and went, leaving a foggy mist blanketing the river and both shores. The sun looked pale and weak, softened by the shifting mists and rolling fog. Ahead, Jenkins had to stop paddling and wait for them several more times, and he often closed the distance to keep them in sight in the shifting fog that lay over the river. They watched him closely. He acted as guide and barometer for trouble.
Gareth dozed. His thoughts and ideas of who the real Tom might be would wait, but after staying awake most of the night, the new information could wait. He felt the dragon snuggle closer and ignored it. His eyes grew heavy.
“Something’s wrong,” Tom hissed, pulling hard on the oars to slow their boat near the center of the river.
Gareth jerked his head up and looked at the river. Jenkins’ kayak spun and turned sideways to
the current. It made a couple of odd circles before turning to face the right shoreline. Looking to the shoreline won river, Jenkins cupped his hands to his mouth shouted, “What do ya want?” A low bank of fog prevented Gareth from seeing who Jenkins spoke to. Jenkins paddled slowly ahead, keeping his kayak nearly still in the slow current, dipping his paddle backward a time or two. He shouted again, telling someone he had business in Drakesport.
Obviously, he delayed moving ashore, making sure Tom and Gareth were warned.
Tom took the oars in hand and pulled several long, lean strokes that stilled their boat in the current. As Jenkins reached the edge of the river, Tom rowed gently until the boat slowly moved upstream with hardly a sound. Both of them kept their eyes on the kayak disappearing and reappearing in the shifting mists. The fog thinned and separated, finally revealing, at least, ten soldiers waiting for Jenkins on the far shore. One of them stood alone looking animated. He ordered Jenkins to do something, probably paddle faster, but Jenkins seemed reluctant and shouted questions at him.
In the time, it takes to draw a few breaths the mists swirled around them again, and the kayak faded from sight. No cries of discovery and no fingers pointed in their direction. Tom pulled harder on the oars and changed the boat’s direction to head for the opposite bank.
Jenkins had bought them time to escape. They needed to leave the river.
The old man continued to row with long hard strokes. He angled across the river to the far shore and then upriver until they came to a place where a small stream poured into the main channel. Spinning the boat around, he aimed the bow up the mouth of the stream with several hard pulls, gaining speed with each. Once the boat entered the stream, there was no more room for the oars to reach water, but their momentum carried them a few boat lengths. Low hanging branches and thick brush helped conceal the stern as they pulled the boat as far out of sight as possible.
