Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [119]
Berry kept Remo on the sweeps with her—possibly, Fawn figured, to avert another grounding, since she encouraged Remo, in a way Bo had not, to offer warnings. At least Bo did not ignore Dag’s laconic remarks. Clearly, river pilot could be another job for Lakewalkers amongst farmers, in addition to medicine maker. When Fawn started sorting through the possibilities with an open mind, it seemed to her that farmers and Lakewalkers offered vast possibilities to each other, for all that Lakewalkers scorned any task that diverted them from hunting malices. Yet someday the last blight bogle ever had to emerge and be destroyed. What would patrollers do when there was no more need for patrols? Not in my lifetime, Dag had said. Maybe Lakewalkers were better off not dwelling on an end none of them would live to see.
She glimpsed Barr’s narrow boat ahead of them a couple of times that day, and what might have been a campfire on the far shore that night, till the rains came again and doused the distant glow. The following day she saw his boat trailing far behind, an ink-stroke on the gray water, before the Fetch rounded another curve and the shifting shoreline hid it.
“Isn’t a narrow boat faster than us?” she asked Dag, peering under the edge of her hand when they were both out on the back deck for a moment. “I’d think he should have pulled ahead. Or stopped somewhere and bought that broke-down horse.”
“He imagines he’s trailing us just out of groundsense range. Which he is—of his and Remo’s. Though not of mine.”
“How long d’you think he’ll follow us?”
“Not much longer. With all his gear we threw into his boat, no one included any food. And I doubt hunting in the rain and dark on shore is likely to offer him much reward, especially without a cook fire.”
Fawn hadn’t noticed Barr’s lack of supplies in the rush. Dag did. And had said nothing. What was he up to?
Dag went on, “Rain again tonight, I expect. Perfect.”
“Perfect for what?”
“Sober reflection, Spark. Fasting is supposed to be good for meditating on one’s sins.” His dour smile faded a trifle. “Barr’s in trouble and he knows it. He’s getting his first taste of banishment. There are reasons in our grounds that Lakewalkers regard banishment as the next thing to a death sentence. If he’s let his bow-strings get as wet as I think, I give him till tomorrow night, tops.”
“To do what?”
“Well, that’ll be somewhat up to him.”
“I dunno, Dag. If I wanted some particular thing, I don’t think I’d leave it entirely up to Barr.”
He gave her a reassuring nod. “I’m not planning to, Spark.”
The narrow boat trailed them disconsolately all the following morning. Around noon, it spurted forward as if in sudden decision. Fawn wondered if this had anything to do with the smell of the baking apple pies wafting in their wake, which Dag had asked for especially for today’s lunch. She and Dag stepped out onto the back deck to lean on the rail and watch as Barr paddled close to the side of the Fetch where Remo held a sweep. Berry and Whit were on roof crew with him, this hour. They all stared down coldly as Barr hailed them. He looked pinched and pale, and nothing like as self-righteous as upon his first arrival.
Berry glowered over the side. “What are you doin’ back here?”
Barr jerked his chin. “It’s a free river.”
Berry shrugged; her frown did not change.
“Remo,” Barr called plaintively, “what is it you’re planning to do once you get to the blighted sea, anyway?”
Remo gave his sweep a long pull. “Turn around. Or keep walking, maybe. Depends on how I feel about things by then.”
Barr winced. “All right. It’s plain you won’t come back with me. I, um, accept that.”
Remo said nothing.
Barr took a fortifying breath. “Can I come with you?”
Remo’s brows flew up. “What?”
“To the sea. Can I come with you?” Barr stared up in something very like pleading.
Remo stared down in unflattering astonishment. “Why would I want you? Why would anyone?”
“I sure don’t,” said Berry.