Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [122]
Berry put in at a largish rivertown, too briefly for Bo to wander away and find a tavern, just long enough to learn of another sighting here of her papa’s boat last fall. The news left her frowning thoughtfully and counting out the river miles still left till the junction of the Grace and the Gray; the Fetch was better than two thirds of the way from Tripoint to the Confluence. Not exactly running out of either river or possibilities, but as the distance shortened, Fawn thought she could feel Berry’s tension grow.
Dag begged one short stop at another Lakewalker ferry camp, though Remo stayed aboard and Barr with him. Dag came back soon, shaking his head. “Too small, these camps strung along here. I’d likely do better to wait for Confluence Camp, which is the biggest in these parts. Better chance there.”
Fawn had thought the Grace a big river at Pearl Riffle, but she began to see she’d been naive. It was a lot wider now, and not just because of the rains and the rise. It was also starting to be more bendy, turning in large loops that added river miles without getting them westward much and utterly confusing Fawn’s sense of direction, especially under the thickly overcast skies. But toward the afternoon of the next day, the scudding clouds broke up and genuine sunlight broke through once more. When the chill wind also died, Fawn climbed up to the roof to sit at Berry’s feet and watch the passing scene. The shores turned a sharper gray and a richer brown, glowing soberly, and the water shone a dark, metallic blue.
As the sun’s light grew level and the shadows stretched, they rounded a tight bend to find a familiar keelboat drawn up to a high place along the bank. Smoke rose from cook fires, with the boat’s crew lazing around them. When they saw the Fetch, some rose and waved, and Boss Wain actually ran out to the back of the Snapping Turtle to cup his hands and hail them.
“Hey, Boss Berry! How’s about a mutton dinner in exchange for a tune or three?”
Berry grinned and bent her head to Fawn. “What do you say? Would the cook like a night off?”
Fawn looked dubiously at the rowdy keelers, now adding whooping welcomes to that of their boss. “I don’t know. Is it safe?” Berry had always been with her papa and big brother before, keeping an eye out for her.
“Oh, aye. Wain’s a loud lout, but he’ll keep the line if you do. Not that he won’t push his luck, mind. Doubt he’ll bother you, though—I mean, you have Dag.”
Dag indeed. And Whit, Remo, Hod, Bo, and she supposed Barr, and Hawthorn for the cheering on. Fawn decided to be brave, like Berry. “All right. Sure.”
Berry waved back. “You got yourselves a fiddler, boys!” She leaned on her steering oar to bring the Fetch to shore just above where the Snapping Turtle was moored. Keelers ran out to help tie their lines to the trees.
“What, more Lakewalkers?” Boss Wain cried as they all trooped up to his fires. “What are you doing, Berry, collecting ’em?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she replied, swinging her fiddle-bag. “This here’s Remo and Barr; Dag you know.”
Wain tugged on the brim of his hat in uneasy, respectful acknowledgment of Dag, and promptly begged his attention for a crewman with a hurt foot, if he’d a mind. Dag returned a nod, eyelids lowering and lifting. Nobody brought up the sand bar; maybe Wain was trying to make amends, in which case Berry seemed willing to let him.
“What’s this, Wain, stealing sheep again?” asked Bo, with a nod at the nearest cook fire, where two crewmen were turning a browning carcass on a makeshift spit. Dripping fat made the fire lick up in smoky, orange spurts, and sent a rich aroma into the cool air. Fawn’s mouth watered, and Whit licked his lips.
Wain stuck his thumbs in his braces and puffed out his considerable chest. “I’ll have you know that farmer