“He should, if anyone does,” he replied. “But he doesn’t.”
Then they were inside the Hold, most of the glowbaskets thriftily shut, just enough half-open to show them the way to the stairs.
“You must take Clostan with you the next time you buy clothes,” she told him as they hurried up the stairs to their level.
“When I’ve you to help me choose now?” He snorted at the very prospect of having anyone else.
They had to save their breath for the stairs and arrived, panting and gasping, at the top, Kasia giggling as Robinton handed her into their room, then firmly closed and locked the door. Not even F’lon would have the nerve to bother them here.
Dawn saw them sneaking out of the Hold, carrying their sailing gear and running, hand in hand, down to the wharf where the sloop was awaiting them. They could see bundles of sleeping folk, sprawled across chairs or tables, and some under, as well. Banners flapped lightly over the few booths still left in the Gather square. As they were stowing their gear, laughing and giggling at evading any notice, Robinton glanced up at the Hold heights. No dragon was indolently sprawled there.
Robinton couldn’t remember if he’d said good-bye to his mother. He thought he must have, for he knew he had remembered to express his gratitude to Kasia’s parents.
While Kasia went aft to take her place at the tiller, he untied the painter as Captain Gostol had shown him, jumped lightly to the bow, and pushed the sloop away from the thick piles. Then he went to hoist the sail, which immediately began to fill. Kasia trimmed the sheet until the sail was nicely taut against the wind, and he made his way astern to sit beside her in the cockpit.
A fisherman, coming up from the cabin of one of the larger ships, waved lazily at them as they made their way across the wide harbor and out into Tillek waters. He was the last person they saw for eight days and nights.
Their world became the sloop and the water and the sky, which, for the first three days, was brilliantly blue as only autumnal skies could be in that latitude. Not that it mattered to them what the weather was like: they were with each other. Among other things, they both loved freshly caught and instantly fried fish. Sometimes Robinton caught while Kasia cooked; other times she did the fishing and he the frying.
Then the weather deteriorated, and in the teeth of a gale that came up with ferocious speed, Kasia yelled for him to lower the sail and tie it tightly and secure the boom. Finishing with that task despite the lashing rain and the mounting seas, he went below and got out their heavy-weather gear, dressing quickly in his so he could hold the tiller while she put hers on. When he came on deck again, he dropped his load and dove to help her with the tiller. It was some time before she could release it and don her weather gear, her face pinched with the cold of the rain that battered at them as they dipped and rose with the high seas. The waves broke over them time and again, and at Kasia’s bawled order, Robinton managed to reach a long arm for the bailing bucket.
More water poured in to take the place of what he had thrown overboard, but he kept bailing with one hand, while with the other he assisted her hold on the tiller. The little sloop rode to the frothy height of immense waves and then slammed down into the troughs, shaking them to the bones. He knew his teeth were chattering with the cold and could see through the driving rain that she had her jaw clamped shut, lips pulled back, giving the appearance of snarling into the storm. She lay half across the tiller, fighting to keep the sloop’s bow headed into the waves. He knew without her having to tell him that one broadside would capsize the ship and spill them into the cold, cold sea. They didn’t seem to have much chance of surviving this storm; they’d certainly be better off if they could remain in the ship and afloat.
Somehow, sometime, when the lowering skies had lightened, the wind dropped and the pressure on the rudder eased. They flopped limply across each other and the tiller bar, gasping in the air.
“Quickly,” she said, pointing at the mast. “We’re in the eye of this storm and must take advantage of that. Hoist the sail halfway up the mast. There’s the coastline, and we should find somewhere to shelter for the rest of the storm. There’s got to be a cove, an inlet, somewhere to anchor.”
Her urgency lent him the burst of energy to do as she bid. Then he helped her hold even that little bit of sail against the force of the wind and keep the rudder headed toward the black bulk ahead of them.
They almost missed the entrance to the cove even with the prow of the ship pointed at it. Then Kasia let out a whoop of triumph, grinning with disbelief as the sloop passed the mouth of the inlet and left the fury of the sea behind them. Sheltered by the stony arm, the sloop rolled less wildly as the waves carried it toward the indistinct mass of cliff.
They both looked about, deafened by their hours in the storm winds, not quite certain that they had reached a safe haven.
“The anchor . . . Rob . . . drop it. We can’t . . . run . . . aground,” she said, gesturing to the bow. “May be rocks anyway . . . no matter.”
He dropped the anchor, saw the line run out, then the forward motion of the sloop stopped. He could hear her timbers creaking as she answered the motion of the sea and then swung about on her tether.
Kasia was draped, at the end of her strength, across the tiller bar. He had little strength left himself, but the need to get his beloved below, to what warmth they could contrive, was foremost in his mind. And he did, half dragging her the short space from the seat to the cabin, slamming open the hatch, hoping that the waves had not seeped through and flooded their one refuge. He almost tumbled her down the stairs, but they both made it. She pulled herself into the bunk while he struggled to close the hatch.
She was shaking violently when he reached her. Somehow he got the sodden clothes off her coldly mottled body and rolled her into the furs. She groaned and tried to say something but hadn’t the strength.
“Hot, must have hot,” he mumbled, trying to make his frozen fingers cope with striking a match to the charcoal-filled brazier that did duty as cooker. Sometime in the past he had filled the kettle with water for a meal that he had never had a chance to cook. Now he waited anxiously for the water to warm enough so he could make klah. He’d heat the last of the fish stew they’d made—how long ago? He could hear chattering and realized that they were both doing it. He swung around to the bunk and rubbed her body as vigorously as he could to stimulate circulation. He nearly burned his finger, touching the top of the kettle to see if the water was hot enough to be useful. He had his answer and sucked at the burn while he poured water over the powdered klah, gave it a swirl, and fumbled to open the sweetener jar. Sweetening was good to offset shock and cold.
He took the first sip—to be sure it wouldn’t burn her mouth. Then, pulling her up against his body as he leaned wearily against the bulkhead, he held the cup to her lips.
“Sip it, Kasia, you’ve got to get warm.”
She was so cold she could barely swallow, but she did, and he coaxed sip after sip into her. When she craned her head around, making noises in her throat, her bloodshot weary eyes pleading, he drank, too. That cup drained, he made another and then put the soup kettle on to warm. He had all but fallen asleep when the steam hissing from under the lid woke him. He caught the pot before the pressure flipped the cover off.
It couldn’t have been a long rest, but it had been enough for his resilient young body, and he poured soup into two cups, put the water kettle back on. He’d towel her down with warm water. That might help.
He took half of his cup of soup, in between struggling out of his wet weather gear and finding clean, dry, warm clothing from the cupboard. He got out the warmest things Kasia had brought with her and the heavy woolen socks. These he put on her feet, after chaffing them until she moaned and tried to draw them away from him. They were pink with his ministrations.
Now he had warm enough water and soaked a towel, passing it from one hand to the other before he pulled back the fur and laid it against her chilled legs for a few momen
ts, coaxing warmth back into them.
The blueness was leaving her skin by the time he got her to drink all her soup, but she lay limply under the fur, drained by even the slight effort required to swallow. Under them the little ship rocked gently, pulling at the anchor chain, then following the sea, pulled back again. He got in the bunk beside her, covering them both with the other fur and, at last, allowed himself the luxury of sleep.
An urgent need to relieve himself was what brought him back to consciousness. He couldn’t move easily, partly because of the weight of Kasia across him and partly because of the resistance of tired muscles. It took him a few moments to remember why he had slept so deeply. Startled, he looked out the little round porthole and saw a shadowed shore through the mist that swirled on the surface. Little waves splashed against the side of the ship, and she rode easily on the anchor.
Trying not to groan as he forced abused muscles to work, he slid out from under Kasia and all but fell off the bunk. Kasia didn’t move, but her face wasn’t quite so white and her lips were no longer blue-tinged. He tucked the fur about her firmly and staggered up the steps, throwing open the hatch. The air was chill and dank with fog, and the deck was littered with sea wrack. He went hand over hand from the cabin housing to the rail to get to the side and relieve himself. And it was indeed a relief.
Curious, he peered through the fog to see where they had fetched up, but he could see little detail on the shore—if there was a shore. Some of the inlets were nothing but shallow pockets eroded from the cliff by the sea. Whatever! This one had saved their lives.
He went below again.
The brazier had gone out; the charcoal was all ashes. He got more and started another fire, warming his hands as the charcoal began to burn. Kasia moaned, stirred, and then coughed. Fearful of fever, he felt her forehead but it was cold. So were her cheeks. Too cold.
He filled the kettle from the cistern and put it to heat on one side of the grill over the charcoal, then set the soup kettle on the other half. Panting from even that little bit of exercise, he sat on the edge of the bunk and took deep, slow breaths. A shiver ran down his back, and he recognized that he was almost as cold as Kasia.
When the klah was made and the soup warm enough to be helpful, he roused her, stuffing pillows and the carisaks behind her for support. She turned her head restlessly, batting at him, and coughed again, a little, almost apologetic bark.
“Kasia, wake up. You need to eat, love.”
She shook her head, her expression petulant even with her eyes firmly shut.
He talked her eyes open and made her drink, and she gave him a weak little smile and then went back to sleep again.
That seemed a very sensible idea, so he finished his soup and climbed back under the furs. Her arms were cold under his hands and he rubbed them, breaking off only when even that effort proved exhausting.
They slept again.
Robinton began to feel real concern when the second long sleep revived him but seemed to have little effect on Kasia’s terrible lethargy. And the cold was increasing. The wooden hull offered no protection to the cold’s insidious draining of their body warmth. He had dressed her in the warmest clothes and heated the kettle time and time again, wrapping it well and settling it securely near her feet, which, in spite of the heavy socks, were like ice to the touch. He forced her to drink, and when she complained that her stomach was bursting with all he made her drink, he found a way to hold her over a bucket to relieve herself.
The fog had lifted enough for him to see that sheer cliffs surrounded the little cove, with no discernible track up them to find help. But he did not feel confident in himself to sail the ship out into the sea. Also, he had absolutely no idea where they were: on Tillek’s coast or the bleak western end of High Reaches, or if they’d been blown farther down the coast of Fort.
He gave them both another day and when that dawn rose frostily clear and even klah gave him no warmth, he roused her to give him what instructions she could from the bunk.
“If I leave the hatch open, can you see enough to tell me if I’m doing anything wrong?” he pleaded with her when she seemed unable to grasp his concern. They had little food left, almost no charcoal, and without that small heat to warm the cabin, they would surely freeze in the night.
“They’ll come. Search,” she murmured.
“They won’t see us. We’ve got to stand out to sea where the sail will be visible.”
“You’re able for that, Rob,” she said with the hint of a smile. “You can do more than you think you can.”
“Then so can you,” he said bluntly, fear driving him.
She shook her head sadly and closed her eyes again.
He watched her, thinking of how valiantly she had fought the storm. But now the storm was over, and she looked to him, her spouse, to keep his promise to care for her. Only he hadn’t thought he’d be put to such a test quite this soon.
“All right, if that’s the way it’s to be, I’ll just have to do.”
With fear making his feet heavier, he thudded up on deck. The surrounding cliffs had an ominous look about them. What had been a refuge now seemed a prison.
“We’ll just have to get out into the open sea,” he told himself. “I can do that much.” He licked his finger and held it up but felt only the faintest touch of a breeze. Fortunately it was blowing down from the cliffs and out to sea. They had been mighty lucky to have thrown the anchor down when they did, for the ship would have been mashed against the cliff had it sailed much farther.
He couldn’t make up his mind whether to hoist the sail first, or the anchor. At last he decided that if the sail was up, the ship might move toward the open sea once the anchor let it.
He managed both, but was panting by the time he reached the cockpit and took the tiller bar in his hands.
“I’ve hoisted the sail, Kasia, and the anchor, though I could blow and get more use of the sail.”
She murmured something that sounded encouraging, and sure enough, the little ship slowly eased forward and passed the sheltering arm of the cove. The sea was almost too calm when he saw its vast expanse. Once the ship was clear of the shelter, though, the breeze picked up and the sail filled.
“Right or left, Kasia? I’ve no idea where we are.”
“Starboard . . . right, Rob. Go right.” He had to ask her three times to repeat her instructions more loudly so he could hear her weakened voice clearly.
“I’m shrieking nowwwww,” she protested, and her face came into his range of vision as she lifted herself off the bunk.
That was better, he thought, than lying there like a cut of wood.
“Right,” he roared back at her. “I’m going right. Starboard.”
And almost immediately had to correct the ship as he saw the jagged reef he had been about to sail into. Panic gripped him, and he struggled to keep his bowels from loosening.
“Stupid dimwit,” he admonished himself. “Watch where you’re going.”
When he judged they were well enough past the rocks, he changed his seat and threw the tiller over to port—he remembered that much of Captain Gostol’s afternoon lesson on how to tack. And then he grabbed for the sheet to keep the wind in the sail.
The speed of the sloop picked up, and he rather enjoyed the pull of sheet and tiller in his hand. At least he was doing something.
It was midday, to judge by the sun’s position, and the high cliffs along which the ship sailed were totally unfamiliar to him.
“We’ve got nothing but cliffs, Kasia. Where could we be?”
He saw her raise up and shake her head. “Keep on.”
So he did, until the pleasure left the occupation and fatigue began to run along both arms as the sun dropped slowly in the awesomely vast western sea. The cliffs continued unbroken. Had they found refuge in the one cove along this entire coast? Would they find another one for tonight? He doubted he could stand a longer watch. And he ought to eat something and be sure that Kasia did.
&nb
sp; “What do I do, Kasia? What do I do?”
“Sail on,” she cried back at him.
The sea was calm as night fell, and the breeze died also. So, lashing the tiller as he’d once seen Captain Gostol do for a quick moment of relief, he clattered down into the cabin, startling Kasia awake.
“There’s nothing but cliff,” he protested as he started the last of the charcoal. He’d have to feed her something. It had been hours since the last cup of soup and some hard crackers he’d found in the cupboard. He’d have to have klah to stay awake.
“It will have to give to beach soon then, Rob. I’m so sorry, love. So very sorry.” And she wept piteously.
He comforted her while the water heated. “You kept us afloat all during the storm and used up all your strength, my love. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. We can’t have the furs all wet on you.”
His cajolery made her smile and sniff, and brush away her tears. “But I can’t do anything to help . . .”
“That’s all right. I’m fine. I just don’t know what I’m doing.” He imbued the complaint with as much humor as he could. Then he left her with more soup and took his and the klah up to the cockpit.
The night was clear and very cold. But the wind picked up, blowing almost steadily from the south and that, he felt, was to their advantage. Surely, if they got close enough to Tillek, there’d be fishing ships out on a night like this. Or maybe even someone looking for them.
“No, you two got yourself into this. You can get yourself out of this,” he told himself firmly and dragged the heavy-weather gear more tightly about his body, trying to keep warm. “Got yourself in, get yourself out.” He turned the cadence into a chant, rocking from side to side, which eased the numbness in his buttocks. The chant went to his feet, and he stamped them in turn. And he sang and stamped and rocked and thumped the tiller bar with his hands, inventing new rhythms and altogether enjoying the activity when he suddenly realized that something was coming out of the darkness ahead of him, large and white, and someone was yelling.
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