Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [34]
“Let’s pray not,” said Bear.
“But those other men,” I said, “from the boat, they went into town. I saw them pass through the Landgate.”
“What of it?”
“Might they not go to a tavern?” I pressed. “Might not those brotherhood men go to such places and ask for you? And did you not once say to me that you were like a cardinal in a flock of ravens?”
In the darkness I heard Bear laugh. “Ah, Crispin—Saint Benedicta of Milan—she who looks after students—surely has blessed you. I daresay you are right and I’m wrong.”
“Then shouldn’t we keep watch?”
“We should. As an act of penance for my mindless ways I’ll stand the first part. I’ll wake you in good time, and you, in turn, can wake Troth.”
“Who will I look for?” asked Troth.
“Three men, I suppose,” I said.
Having agreed, Bear hauled himself up. As he did, he put his hand to his head. “My hat!” he cried.
“Where is it?”
“I left it at the inn.” He looked the picture of misery. “I’ve half a mind to fetch it.”
“You mustn’t,” I said.
“God’s truth,” he agreed. “But it gives me reason—someday—to return.” That said, he went to lean upon the deck walls midship so he could observe the shore. I watched as he stood there, slumped, thinking, I supposed, of his precious hat. Then Troth and I lay down and gave ourselves over to sleep in rhythm to the gently bobbing cog.
Troth dozed off first. I lay awake, staring into the sky and the multitude of stars. “All will be well,” I kept saying to myself. “It will.”
24
EXACTLY WHEN IT WAS that Bear woke me I don’t know. With the bells having been stolen from Rye’s church, it was hard to know the time. Regardless, he woke me with a shake, saying, “By your leave, lad, it’s your watch now.”
Though sleepy, I forced myself up. “Did you see anything?” I asked.
“Only the stars and moon,” he returned. But as he lay down, he placed Benedicta’s dagger by his side.
I stumbled to my feet and went to the place where I’d seen Bear keep his watch. Once there, I leaned upon the deck walls and looked toward the beach. The fire had gone out. Not so much as an ember glowed. Such light as there was came from above—just enough to vaguely see by.
I had not been there long when Troth joined me. “It’s not your time,” I said.
“I could not sleep,” she replied.
We stood quietly, side by side, looking at the darkness.
“Where is Flanders?” asked Troth.
“I don’t know,” I said, even though I recalled Bear saying the Flemish were a mercantile people and that he did not trust them.
“Will we be able to come back?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
The way we go.
“Will we be safe there?”
“Safer than here.”
After a long while during which neither of us did more than breathe, she said, “Aude told me you were good.”
“How would she know?”
“Aude knew everything. Crispin … I’m sad.”
“Why?”
“I’m leaving her.”
“Perhaps … perhaps she is in a better place.”
“Where?”
I thought for a moment, then said, “That place you spoke of, beyond the edge of the world.”
For a while Troth said nothing, though in the darkness I could hear her breathing hard. It was as if there was some struggle in her. From the folds of her clothing she pulled out the sprig of hawthorn tree she had taken. She held it over the water as if to drop it.
“You should keep it,” I said.
“Why?”
“It binds you to your love.”
She gazed at it, and then put it back in her safe place.
We spoke no more. Teased by the river swells, the cog heaved gently. Standing there, staring into the night, I dozed. I woke with a start when I heard Troth say, “Crispin, three men have come!”
“Where?” I whispered.
“There,” she said, pointing toward the dim shore.
Gradually I perceived what she had seen. Three men were walking along the beach. One of them held a small torch, hardly more than a fist of fire. But it was enough light for me to recognize the man we had met beyond Great Wexly: the archer who had wounded Bear.
On the instant, I ducked. Troth did the same. “Is that them?” she asked me quietly.
“Yes. Stay low,” I said and eased myself up,