Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [93]
“Lakewalker camp credit is better,” said Remo. “Bandits can’t knock you on the head and take it away from you. It’s not a temptation to the weak-willed or cruel.”
“It can’t be stolen with a cudgel,” Dag agreed, his mood darkening in memory. “But it can be stolen with words. Trust me on that.”
Remo looked over at him in some wonder. But before he could inquire further, Bo and Hod turned up at the foot of the gangplank. Hod had one of Bo’s arms drawn over his shoulder and was getting him aimed down the middle of the boards.
Dag was surprised to see them. One of the reasons Berry had been amenable to the proposed trip to the mint in the morning, despite the delay to their departure, was that she hadn’t expected her uncle back tonight. She’d figured she and Hawthorn, who had been taken to the mint once by their papa on a previous trip, would use the time looking for Bo while Fawn and Whit went off touring.
Bo was saying querulously to Hod, “I still don’t see the point of making me drink all that water. It just took up space for better bev’rages. And I have to piss just as bad.”
“Your head’ll feel better in the morning,” Hod assured him. “It’s a good trick I know about, really.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see,” muttered Bo, but let Hod steer him over the gangplank. His knees buckled on the jump down, but Hod kept him upright. Despite several hours of following Bo around Silver Shoals riverside taverns, Hod was pretty sober, Dag noted. Hod looked up at Dag and Remo, watching from the roof, and cast them a shy smile. He maneuvered the old man inside, to be greeted with even greater surprise by Berry.
“Well, that’s interestin’,” murmured Dag.
“How so?” said Remo.
“Seems Hod’s got a talent for managing difficult drunks. I wasn’t expecting anything like that. You wonder where and how he learned it, so young.”
Remo’s brows drew down. He was quiet for a long time. “Kind of disturbing, in a way. In light of how he flinches at most everything.”
“Uh-huh,” said Dag, pleased at Remo for following through that far. The boy might make a patrol leader someday after all, if he survived. Remo was open enough again to sense the ripple of approval in Dag’s ground, and his spine straightened a bit, unwittingly.
Dag smiled and slid down off the roof to go find out what Fawn had arranged for their bedding.
14
To Fawn’s bemusement, Remo tagged along on the trip to the mint, which made her wonder what Dag had been saying to him last night. She’d thought Remo had been too terrified of the town to set foot in it. He started the tour with a set look on his face that could more easily be mistaken for disapproval. Which made her wonder in turn what emotions some of Dag’s grimmer looks masked—a Lakewalker bride would not have to guess, she reflected with a sigh. At the last moment, Dag thought to ask Hod if he wanted to come along, which made the boy turn red with pleasure and nod mutely and vigorously.
Disappointingly, the mint was not in operation that day, but in return for a few copper crays a man took visitors around, answered their questions, and, Fawn suspected, kept an eye on them. He certainly eyed the pair of Lakewalkers askance. Even idle, the coin-stamping presses were fascinating, almost as complex as Aunt Nattie’s loom, and much heavier. “Sessile,” Dag muttered, staring at them over her shoulder with profound Lakewalker suspicion of sitting targets. Remo nodded agreement.
On the walk back through town, she and Whit were diverted by a shop selling tools and hardware—not a blacksmithery, as nothing but small repairs were done on the premises, but more like a goods-shed. Most of the items for sale seemed to come from upriver, including a fascinating Tripoint stove cast entirely of black iron, with an iron pipe acting as a chimney to take the smoke away. It was like an iron hearth-oven box turned inside out,