Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [125]
“M-a-a-a,” bleated the confused sheep, its hooves slipping and splashing in the mud and stones of the bank.
“You shut up, too,” Fawn whispered fiercely. “Now, lift!”
A grunt, a swing, and the last sheep was rocked over the thwart to join its two companions. Twelve cloven feet thumped and clattered, echoing on the planks of the boat’s bottom. Round yellow eyes rolled in long white faces. Fawn leaped to thrust back the front legs of one trying to struggle out again, soaking her shoes.
“We better get in and start rowing,” she said. “You don’t think they’ll try and jump out when we’re out on the water, do you?”
“They might. And probably get their fleece waterlogged and drown, to boot. Sheep are stupider than chickens.”
“Whit, nothing’s stupider than chickens.”
“Well, that’s true,” he conceded. “Almost as stupid as chickens, then.”
Fawn scrambled aboard after Whit, to find that the boat’s end was now stuck in the mud from the added weight. She climbed back out and prepared to give it a push off the bank, only to freeze when a puzzled voice behind her spoke: “Why are you taking sheep for a boat ride?”
She spun around to find Barr standing in the moon-striped shadows of the bare branches, scratching his head and peering blearily at them.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” she hissed at him.
“I was asleep. I got up to piss,” he replied. “Good beer those keeler boys had. What are you doing?”
“None o’ your business. Go back to your bedroll.”
Barr ran a hand over his jaw and squinted at them. “Does Dag know you two are out here?” The absent look of a groundsense consulted slipped over his face. “No, he’s asleep.”
“Good. Don’t you dare wake him up. He needs his sleep.” Fawn stuck one already-wet shoe into the mud and gave them a hard shove off. The skiff slid away from shore.
“If you don’t want Dag to know what you’re up to, then I’m definitely curious,” said Barr stubbornly, beginning to follow them up the bank.
“We’re un-stealing sheep,” said Whit. “Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my idea.”
“Won’t Boss Wain be mad?”
“No,” said Fawn. “He’ll think they chewed through their ropes and ran off. I made sure to leave the ends ragged and all over sheep spit.” She rubbed her hands on her skirts and took up her oar. Unfortunately, Whit’s pull, once they got coordinated, was about twice as strong as hers, which resulted in the skiff turning toward shore unless he waited for her to stroke again. And in the pause the down-bound current pushed them back. Barr was having no trouble keeping up, even with the need to pick his way across the rocks and fallen logs.
“You two are never going to make it upstream against this current,” he observed.
“Well, we’re gonna try, so get out of our way.” Not that Barr was actually in the way, but he was being very annoying off to the side.
Barr continued walking up the bank. Very slowly. A passenger said M-a-a-a.
“You’re not making much progress,” he said again.
“Let’s try farther out in the channel, Whit,” suggested Fawn.
“That makes no sense,” said Whit. “Current’s stronger out there.”
“Yes, but it’ll be more private.”
M-a-a-a. M-a-a-a.
“Dag’d flay me if I let you two babies go drown yourselves in the Grace,” Barr complained.
“So don’t tell him,” said Fawn through her teeth. Her hands were beginning to ache.
After a few more minutes, Barr said, “I can’t stand this. Give over. Come inshore and I’ll take Fawn’s oar.”
“We don’t need your help,” said Fawn.
“Yes, we do,” said Whit, and rowed harder. Fawn splashed madly, but was unable to keep the skiff from turning in.
“No, the stupid sheep’ll try and jump out!”
“Well, go nab ’em. You herd sheep, Barr and I will row.”
Fawn gave up. Barr edged past, and he and Whit pushed the boat out into the river once more. Fawn settled irately on the next seat and shoved a sheep face out of her lap. But she slowly grew consoled as their upriver progress became more visible. Whit’s muscles were on