Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [159]
Two flatboats at the far end of the row must have lain here since last fall, for the ice had opened their seams and buckled their boards, and what caulking hadn’t given way in the winter cold had rotted out in the summer heat. They sat low in the water, weathered and ghostly, and even Fawn’s eye could pick out the Rose, second from the last, because it was the exact same design as the Fetch.
Berry made her way across a sagging gray board and lowered herself carefully to the decaying deck; Fawn and Whit followed. With a creaking of rusted hinges, Berry pulled open the front hatch and peered into the shadows within. She wrinkled her nose, hiked up her skirts, and stepped down into the cold water. Fawn, deciding her shoes could get no wetter, did the same. Whit saved his trousers and waited in the hatch, watching Berry in worry.
Most of the fittings had been removed, including the glass windows in the gaping frames toward the back of the cabin. Blue daylight filtered through, reflecting off the water to give a drowned glow to the space. A lot of warped barrel staves were still left, half-floating, slowly rotting. Some kegs might once have held salt butter or lard; Fawn wasn’t sure if they’d been broken open by humans or a passing bear. Wildlife had been in here, certainly. Berry waded right through water to her knees, back and forth; twice, she reached down and pulled up unidentifiable trash. It took Fawn a few minutes to realize she was looking for bodies—or skeletons maybe, by this time—and was immeasurably relieved when none were found. Berry climbed up briefly through the kitchen hatch to peer around the back deck, then, still in that same silence, made her way to the bow and onto shore where Saddler waited.
“Anything left?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It’s good for nothing but firewood, now. Half of it’s too waterlogged even for that.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “Wain says you’re to have a share from the cave. Plan is, we mean to fix up what boats here will still float, and take the goods we found piled up down to the Confluence.”
“You’ll see that Cap Cutter gets word of his lost boats and men? I expect you’ll catch up with him about there.”
Would Boss Cutter be wounded in his male pride to learn that the lowly Fetch had destroyed the river bandits, when all the Tripoint Steel’s bristling bravado had missed the mark? No, more likely by the time the tale was carried downriver by the keelers, boastful Boss Wain would feature as its hero. Well, Berry would not begrudge it to him.
“Cutter from Tripoint? Aye, we know the fellow. Will do.” Saddler ducked his head. “What don’t get claimed by the old owners’ kin will be sold. Together with our salvage shares, it’s going to add up to quite a bit.”
“I don’t want no share of this,” said Berry.
“More for us, but that ain’t right, Boss Berry. I expect Wain’ll have a word or two about that.”
“Wain can have as many words as he wants. They’re free on the river.” She scraped strands of pale hair out of her eyes.
Saddler shrugged, dropping the debate for the moment. “There’s a couple other flats up the row we got more than one guess on. I’d be grateful if you’d take a look at ’em. Settle an argument, maybe.”
She nodded and let herself be drawn off.
Whit stood on the muddy bank, looking from Berry’s straight, retreating back to the rotting hulk of the Rose. He ran a harried hand through his hair, and said to Fawn, “I had one shoulder for if her betrothed was dead, and another for if he was run off with another gal. But I got no shoulder for this. And she’s not cryin’ anyhow. I dreamed of cutting out Alder, but not this way!