Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [50]
The Torch gave a frigid smile. “Charming. Remind me not to come calling on your parents.”
“They’re my parents. Cauvin’s are dead,” Bec corrected, pulling himself up to his full, scrawny height. “And you’ve got no right to insult his or mine. You’ve got no right to be anything but grateful that me and Cauvin came out here to take care of an old geezer like you.”
To Cauvin’s surprise, the Torch said nothing at first, merely narrowed his eyes and gave them both the once-over before asking, “Did all go well with Sinjon at the Broken Mast?”
Cauvin had a score of answers for that question, but before he could utter even one of them Bec asked—
“Are you a seaman?”
Cauvin clamped a hand on Bec’s collarbone and hauled him backward as he hissed, “Froggin’ shite, Bec, don’t go asking him questions like that!”
The warning came too late. Lord Molin Torchholder gave another of his icy smiles. “I’m naught but a dying, old man. Once I was a priest of a great god, a builder of great temples, and a friend of emperors, but I was never a sailor.”
“Then why did you send Cauvin to the Broken Mast? They’re all seamen—”
Bec couldn’t finish through the shaking Cauvin gave his shoulder.
“Let me guess: You procured the box without difficulty, brought it home, opened it, and attracted the attention of the boy? One thing led to another, and you brought him here because it was that or he’d tell his tales to his father?”
“Something like that,” Cauvin admitted. He pinched Bec’s shoulder hard, then released him. “He talks a lot. Mostly he lies.”
“That’s not true! I don’t lie. You know I don’t.”
“The boy’s right,” the Torch purred. “On both counts I imagine, else you wouldn’t have brought him out here.”
Chapter Six
“Cauvin?” Bec whispered as his brother headed for the door. He put himself in Cauvin’s path, and though Cauvin never seemed to see him standing there, he very carefully avoided him just the same. “Cauv … ?”
Bec raised a hand while Cauvin was still in reach. His fingers got within a handspan of Cauvin’s shirt, then his arm dropped back to his side. When his brother’s chin was down and his shoulders were up around his ears, it really was wiser to leave him alone, even if that left Bec by himself with a scary-looking old man.
“Follow him,” the raspy voice commanded. “Make yourself useful. Tell that young man to get himself back in here. There’s work to do. I haven’t got all the time in the world. I need someplace to write, someplace to sit. Follow him, boy!”
Bec stayed put when he heard Cauvin unharnessing the mule. Then, satisfied that his brother wasn’t going to abandon him entirely, he swallowed the dry lump in his throat and turned to face the old man. “My name’s Becvar; you can call me Bec. I’ll call you Grandfather ‘cause you’re too old to be anything else. Cauvin’s angry, and when Cauvin’s angry, he gets stubborn, just like the mule, an’ he’s bigger than both of us together—even if you could walk—so, there’s no changing his mind.” The ruins rang with the sound of an iron-headed mallet striking stone. “He’s angry at both of us, anyway, for talking faster than he could listen. If you’re going to talk that fast, you’d better talk to me.”
“Nonsense. Cauvin’s the one they sent, their best answer to my prayers. There’s work to do … and money for his efforts at the end of it. Ten times what he earns in that stoneyard. Run along and tell him that.”
There were insults lurking in the old man’s words, insults directed at him, at the stoneyard, and maybe even at Cauvin. Bec wouldn’t stand for insults. He folded his arms across his chest. “Run along and tell him yourself.”
When stubbornness was the lesson, he’d had very good teachers.
The old man raised his staff and pointed it in Bec’s direction. It was a thick, blackened thing with a big lump of honey-colored stone stuck on top and ashes clinging to its bottom.
“Do as you’re told!”
There wasn’t much sorcery on