Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [121]
Remo’s mouth was hanging open. “Oh,” he said.
“And I apologize to everyone on board the Fetch,” Barr concluded valiantly, “for being a walking, talking blight on you for the past few days.”
Dag’s deep voice broke in. “Here’s the offer. I’ll stand good for Barr, Boss Berry, if you’ll let him back aboard your boat to work his passage. In return, Barr will place himself under my discipline as his patrol leader. Barr, if you agree, you can come back on board. If not, you’re on your own.”
Barr stared around the wide, flat, empty riverscape, gulped, and murmured, “I agree, sir.” He looked up. “I agree, ma’am.”
Berry leaned over, skeptically sucking her lip. “You understand, patroller boy, you’re here on Dag’s word. He’s earned my respect, which you have not, and it’s his wallet you’ll be drawin’ on. I don’t know how you plan to pay that debt; that’s between you and him. But I don’t have to put up with you, and if you give me one lick more trouble, I won’t. Clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glanced at Dag, who nodded. “All right, then. You can come on my boat.”
Dag climbed back over the rail, and Barr once more handed up his gear; he and Remo manhandled the narrow boat across the rear deck and tied it down. At lunch, which came up shortly, Barr ate hesitantly, though he left nothing to wash off his plate. Which was his gain, because his first assignment was scullery duty with Hod, which he fulfilled almost wordlessly. It was equally quiet up on the roof when he did his first stint on the oars with Dag and Bo. At dinner he was slightly less ghostlike, actually exchanging three or four unexceptionable remarks besides requests to pass the salt or cornbread.
Cuddling down with Dag that night, Fawn whispered, “What in the world did you say to Barr out in that boat today? I’ve seen frogs run over by a cart wheel that weren’t squashed that flat.”
“Well, I think that’d better be between me and him, Spark. But don’t fret too much. Barr’s resilient. You have to calibrate, see. A reprimand that would have poor Remo trying to fall on his knife is just about enough to ruffle Barr’s hair.”
“Did you, um, persuade him?”
“Didn’t need to. He was ready. Reminds me of how you train a Raintree mule. First you whack him between the ears with a fence post, hard as you can. This gets his attention. Then you can start in.”
“That works on patrollers, as well as mules?”
“Or on patrollers who are like mules. You have to give Barr credit for that two hundred—or three hundred—miles he hung on after his partner, despite all. That boy’s wrong-headed in a lot of ways, but you can’t accuse him of giving up easy.”
“How’d you learn to handle mule-headed patrollers, anyhow?”
His lips twitched against her brow in the dark. “Studied my own patrol leaders, as a youngster. Up really close.”
“That would be, like, face-to-face close?”
“Uh-huh.”
Her dimpled grin brushed his collarbone. “Mule-man. Why am I not surprised? Though I’d have guessed you more for a young Remo.”
“Remo and Barr each have their moments that throw me back in memory. Between the pair of ’em, they put me in a real humble frame of mind toward my old patrol teachers, I will say.”
During the next day, Barr settled in to be a pretty good crewman, as far as Fawn could judge. Topside, both his muscle and his groundsense proved useful, and adding the extra man to the rotation gave everyone a bit more ease, with the