Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [49]
“Your wife”—Berry’s mouth hesitated over the phrase, then went on—“Fawn mentioned the horse. Can he share the pen with Daisy?”
“He could be persuaded, yes.”
“Well, then.” The boat boss’s pale eyes were still flat with caution; Dag thought they would gleam more blue if she smiled. “I guess you’ll do.”
Whit whooped in triumph; Fawn grinned. Dag was infected by their enthusiasm to the extent of a crooked smile. Even Berry’s lips twisted a bit as she made her way back across the narrow board and down onto her deck.
The bleary man had been listening unmoved to the debate, his head canted; the boy had stopped milking the goat and hung over the bow, wide-eyed. “So, Bo,” said Berry to the bleary man, with a jerk of her head toward the three on the shore. “Looks like we got us a Lakewalker oarsman.”
One bushy gray eyebrow cocked up; he spat over the side, but only drawled, “Well, that’s different.” He followed her as she ducked indoors.
“How do we get Copper onto the boat?” asked Fawn suddenly, as if she’d only just noticed the problem. “He’s a lot bigger than Daisy-goat.”
“More planks,” said Dag succinctly.
“Oh.”
“Fawn, I got my glass goods!” Whit began excitedly, staring after Berry. Dag could only think, Pull in your tongue, boy, before you step on it.
Fawn’s brow wrinkled in worry; Dag guessed she was thinking much the same thing. She took Whit by the wrist and lowered her voice. “Come over here like we’re getting Copper.” Dag strolled after, till they were all out of earshot of the boat.
Fawn pretended to be fussing with her saddlebags. “Whit, you went chasing off before I had a chance to tell you something. Berry isn’t just taking the Fetch downstream for a trading boat. Her papa took a boat down last fall, and never came back. No word. She means to go look for him.”
“Oh, we can help—” Whit began.
Fawn overrode this: “Her papa, her big brother, and her betrothed. All gone missing.”
Whit’s face was suddenly wiped clean of expression. After a moment he said, “She’s betrothed?”
“Yes, or maybe bereaved. Even she don’t know which right now. So try for a little, a little…I don’t know. Just try not to be a blighted fool, all right?”
Whit blinked. “Um. Yeah. Well…” He gulped valiantly. “Well, we still need a boat. And she still needs a crew, right?”
“Right,” said Fawn, watching him carefully.
“Girl like that, in a fix like that, she deserves all the help she can get. A good pair of hands. Three pairs. Well, two and a half.” His grin was awkward, unfelt.
“And if you make one more of your stupid hook-jokes,” Fawn added levelly, “I swear I’ll clout you on the ear.”
“Um. Right.”
Dag started unloading saddlebags, thinking, We need some rain. Soon.
They all settled in quicker than Fawn would have guessed. Berry’s uncle Bo accepted Dag’s presence without comment, though her little brother Hawthorn, who was rising twelve but not yet come to his growth spurt, gaped round-eyed and mute, and tended to skitter away when Dag loomed too close. But Fawn and Berry joined forces on cooking dinner, Berry mainly showing Fawn where and how things aboard were cleverly kept, and after eating it Bo and Hawthorn both smiled at Fawn a lot.
Thinking she had better start as she meant to go on, Fawn made sure the washing-up fell mainly to Whit and Hawthorn. As the night chilled and the river mist rose, everyone gathered around the remains of the cook fire in the little hearth, augmented by the light of a rock-oil lantern, and were encouraged to drink up as much of the foaming cider as they could hold.
Whit wandered to peer out the back hatch, then came and settled himself again on his stool with a sigh. “Think it’ll rain soon?” he asked. Of the air generally, as near as Fawn could tell, and with no expectation of a reply.
Bo held out one battered boot and wriggled it. “My weather toe says no rain tonight.”
Whit looked skeptical. “You have a toe that can tell the weather?”
“Yep. Ever since it got busted, that time.”
Berry grinned over the rim of her tankard.