High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [92]
Her smile dropped. “I’m sorry, Pen. I would have warned you if I had known. Papa can be very hard.”
“Is he hard on you?”
The smile returned, less certain. “I am his most important crew member,” she said, not quite answering the question. She hesitated. “He wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but I will anyway. I am his navigator.”
Pen and Khyber exchanged a quick glance. “How do you manage that?” the Elven girl asked. “I didn’t think you could navigate if you couldn’t see.”
The milky eyes shifted slightly toward the sound of Khyber’s voice. “I don’t see with my eyes. I see with my other senses.” She bit her lip. “I can do things to help Papa that don’t require sight.” Again, she paused. “You mustn’t tell Papa I told you any of this. He wouldn’t like it.”
“Why wouldn’t he like it?” Pen asked.
“Papa worries about outsiders, people other than Rovers. He doesn’t trust them.”
Nor do we trust him, Pen thought. Not a good situation.
“I still don’t understand this navigation business,” Khyber pressed, her brow furrowing. “Tell us something more about how you help your father.”
“Cinnaminson!”
All three turned in the direction of the voice. Gar Hatch had turned around in the pilot box and caught sight of them. He looked furious. “Come help your Papa, little girl,” he ordered brusquely. “You’ve sailor work to do.”
She stood up at once. “Coming, Papa.” She glanced down quickly. “Say nothing!” she whispered.
She left without another word, walking straight to the pilot box and climbing in. Pen watched to see what would happen and wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed when nothing did. Gar Hatch put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, patted it briefly, and turned back to steering the vessel. Cinnaminson remained standing beside him.
“What do you make of that?” he asked Khyber.
“A bad business that we should stay out of,” she answered. She regarded him thoughtfully. “I think we ought to cut your hair. That long red mane is too recognizable. Maybe we should dye it, too.”
She put down her writing tools and went off to find her scissors.
They were told at the evening meal that, after dark, passengers were not allowed topside until morning. It was a rule of long standing aboard the Skatelow and the Captain’s express order. The reason given was concern for safety, a fall at night from the ship’s sleek decking would almost certainly result in death. It was better if everyone but the crew stayed below. Ahren Elessedil assured the Rover that the order would be obeyed, and Pen went to bed with every intention of breaking it.
He woke sometime after midnight and slipped from his bed on cat’s paws, brushing absently at his newly shorn hair, grimacing at the roughness of its feel. Hardly anything was left of it; Khyber had done a thorough job. He glanced at Tagwen, who was snoring loudly in the berth above him. Clearly, the Dwarf would not wake. Ahren and Khyber shared a cabin down the hall, so he was less concerned about them. He took several deep breaths to settle himself, then moved to the door. He stood there for a moment, listening, but heard nothing. When he stepped outside, the corridor was empty. Other than the creaking of the rigging and the soft rustle of the mainsail in the almost dead night air, everything was silent. He went down the corridor and up the stairway, stopping often to listen. Having done that sort of thing any number of times before, he was not particularly worried about getting caught, but he did not care to be embarrassed by Gar Hatch again. So he went slowly and cautiously, and when he reached the head of the stairs and found the hatchway open, he stopped yet again.
Above, not far from where he stood, he heard voices. It took him only seconds to recognize whose they were.
“... not fair that I never get to talk to anyone. I don’t tell them anything about us, Papa. I just like hearing about their lives.”
“Their lives don’t matter to us, girl,” Gar Hatch responded, firmly but not unkindly.