Bayou Moon - Andrews, Ilona [20]
You’ve got to be kidding me. “You can have this boat. You can have the whole damn swamp for all I care. After I get to Sicktree.”
“That’s a very nice crossbow,” the girl said. “And you’re very good with it. But I can shoot you twice in the time it takes you to load it.”
William bared his teeth. “Want to test that theory?”
She smirked. “Are you sure you want to risk being shot? This bullet would make a very messy hole in your chest.”
William pulled another bolt from the quiver.
The girl aimed to the left of him and squeezed the trigger. A feeble click echoed through the swamp. She popped the rifle open and swore.
“I emptied it last night while the two of you slept.” William sighted her. “Vern didn’t strike me as trustworthy. Looks like I keep the boat.”
She lowered the rifle. “May I ask where you’re going to pilot your new boat?”
“To Sicktree.”
“And in what direction do you think Sicktree is?”
William stopped. The stream had turned at least half a dozen times. He knew the swamp settlement sat somewhere upstream, but where exactly he had no idea. The Mirror had no maps of this part of the Edge, but the parts that they did map looked like a labyrinth of tiny streams, ponds, and mud banks.
“I take it, you know the way to Sicktree.”
She smiled. “I do. You should hire me to be your guide. Or you can spend the next couple of weeks blundering around the Mire.”
She had him. William pretended to consider it. “Hire you? I think the privilege of riding in my new boat should be enough.”
“Deal.” She started toward the water.
“There are some conditions attached to my offer.”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“One, if you’re thinking of slitting my throat, don’t. I’m faster and stronger than you, and I sleep light.”
She shrugged. “Fine.”
“Two, you bathe the first chance you get.”
“Anything else?”
William thought about it. “No, that covers it.”
The girl waded through the water, pulled herself into the boat, and dug in the bow compartment.
William watched her.
She pulled a large canvas bundle and dragged it to the side.
“What is that?”
“An inflatable boat. All runners carry them just in case.” She patted the larger boat. “This bad boy is meant to be drawn by rolpies. It’s heavy. The inflatable is light and we can carry it if we have to.”
She pulled the cords, securing the canvas, dug in it, and swore. “Cheapskate. No inflatable—he’s got his sleeping bag stuffed in there.” She rose, stared at the cabin for a long moment, and tugged at the canvas covering its roof. “Are you going to help, Lord Weird? You can, of course, sit on your behind while I sweat, but it will take twice as long.”
He grasped his end of the canvas and jerked. The camo fabric fell away, revealing a shallow, square-nose boat strapped to the cabin.
“A punt.” The hobo girl sighed. “We’ll have to pole it like a bateau.”
William had no idea what a bateau or a punt was, but he didn’t care. It was a boat and it could float, which meant it could get him to Sicktree to the Mirror’s agent who waited for him there. He cut at the line securing the small vessel to the roof.
“Call me William.”
“Cerise,” the hobo girl said. “I’ve got a rule, too.”
He glanced at her.
“No questions,” she said.
Now that was interesting. William nodded. “I can work with that.”
FIVE
THE punt boat glided over the deceptively calm stream. Small speckled frogs perched on the wide queenscrown leaves. Somewhere to the left among the growth, a reed-walker traveled on long legs, emitting a staccato of clicks from his throat to ward off rival birds.
Cerise leaned into the pole, discreetly clamping her jacket tighter to herself. The stiff plastic packet hidden in the lining dug into her ribs. Still there. Tracking down Uncle Hugh took longer than planned—he’d moved and she had wasted two days trying to find his new house. Only four days separated her from the court date. She had to hurry. If she didn’t show up with the documents on time, the family would be ruined. She had to move fast, and fast wasn’t easy with a punt boat and