Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [53]
“It might get us on that ship, but not in a way that will be useful,” Gerard agreed.
“Boat, not ship.”
“Whatever. How do we sneak on board?”
“Like this.”
Newt pushed the silver band up his arm and replaced his sleeve over it. Then he reached over and grabbed a rough-hewn sack and hefted it over his shoulder so that it hid his face from casual observation without blocking his own ability to see where he was going. He stood up and walked out from behind the bales and into the crush of villagers without waiting to see if Gerard was joining him.
“Idiot!” Gerard muttered, but covered his own band, grabbed a sack of his own, and followed.
“Walk slower,” Newt said when Gerard caught up with him. “Casual, like you really don’t care if you get where you’re going ’cause you know you’re going to.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Trust me.”
The two of them moved up the ramp onto the boat, Gerard having to duck under a timber pole that was being swung around and raised in one smooth movement. He recovered in time to see Newt moving toward the hold, where materials were being deposited.
“Breakables,” Newt said to the man reaching up to take the sack from him. “My head if I don’t set it down m’self.”
Gerard blinked. He knew it was Newt’s voice. He saw Newt’s lips moving as the words were spoken. And yet, somehow, it didn’t sound like Newt at all. The tones were broader, rougher, a little deeper—much closer to the way the other villagers sounded, now that he thought about it.
Not trusting himself to manage the same trick, Gerard lengthened his stride to catch up with Newt, following him down the ladder into the hold with his own sack.
The ladder was short and the hold was dark. They had to wait a moment for their eyes to adjust.
“Over there,” a voice told them, and Gerard jumped. But the clerk, having given them directions, was more interested in ordering the ongoing flow of boxes. He turned his back and paid them no more attention.
Newt set his sack down carefully between two boxes, and, without pausing, disappeared into the deeper shadows of the hold. Gerard did the same, feeling far too exposed despite the fact that he knew, intellectually, that if he could not see Newt, then no one would be able to see him, either.
A tug on his arm guided him down to the floor, where Newt was already settled, sitting cross-legged with his back against the wall.
And there, barely breathing for fear of being overheard by the workers still loading and counting off boxes, they waited.
Eventually, the last box was sent down and marked off. The clerk finalized his accounting and climbed up the ladder. He secured the trapdoor firmly behind him.
The entire hold was plunged into total darkness.
“It worked.” Newt sounded far too surprised for Gerard’s peace of mind.
“Not yet, it hasn’t. We still have to get there. And get off the boat without being seen. And then—”
“You can’t ever accept a moment for what it is, can you?”
“In other words, you have no idea how we’re going to manage any of that, either, do you?”
“The same way we got on, only in reverse,” Newt said matter-of-factly.
“And getting off the island again, once we find Ailis?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Newt admitted. “We’ll figure something out.” Gerard sensed Newt shrugging. “That’s assuming Morgain doesn’t kill us in the process. Or turn us into snails. Or…”
“I get the point,” Gerard said. There was something being shouted outside, and a sudden lurch around them. The ropes had just been cast off. They were under way. He crossed his arms over his knees, rested his chin on his arms, and did the only thing he could do.
He went to sleep.
Arthur paced at the far end of the room, dictating a letter to be taken to the Marcher Lords who had threatened to rebel,