The hammering ceased, and a moment later Rap’s face appeared in the window, a homely face below a mop of brown hair like a tangle of dry ferns. He wiped his forehead with a bare arm.
“Got some carp,” Ogi yelled, holding them up. “And wine!”
“Wine? What’s the occasion?”
“Just thought a working man might like a break. “
The faun smiled his usual diffident little smile. “Great!” he shouted, and disappeared.
Ogi headed over to the fire pit and was pleased to discover a few live embers remaining. He added some twigs and blew up a flame. Then he settled on a boulder and made certain that the wine had survived the journey unharmed.
A gray bird flew in to perch on a twig and eye him with deep suspicion. There were rocks enough to seat at least a dozen more people, so whoever had built it must have had a large family . . . no, the shack was small, so he’d just enjoyed throwing big parties. It was a pleasant spot, though, set in a little dell and sheltered from the tropic sun by a couple of half-decent trees—in Durthing any worthwhile timber soon vanished into cooking fires—but too far from a spring to be a prime location; more private than most.
In a few minutes Rap came wandering out, pulling on a shirt. He was still comically modest about clothing, considering the complete absence of privacy in a sailor’s working life, but a good lad, steady beyond his years. In appearance he was pretty much straight faun, except for his hair and his size, and he had a faun’s disinclination to conform to social pressures. Like being cleanshaven, for instance. He was the only man on Stormdancer not trying to grow a floorbrush mustache like Gathmor’s. He was also the only man in Durthing who wore long pants all the time.
“One of them’s likely Petrel. She’s due. Don’t know the other.”
Ships arriving were always of interest, but the juvenile forest around Rap’s cabin blocked a clear view of the harbor. He, of course, could see through anything, but either the ships were still out of his range or he just didn’t care much. He sat down again and stared at the flickering flames in silence.
The swift tropical dark was settling in all around, and the birdcalls were fading away. Bright smoke and sparks and crackling fire . . . oversexed crickets racketing already . . . It was a pleasant night.
As Ogi cut off the fish heads, he tossed them over his shoulder for dogs or gnomes to find. Likewise, when he slit the bellies, he scraped out the guts on the dirt behind him. Quite likely there would be a gnome child or two hovering nearby already, drawn by the fire.
“Something wrong?” Ogi asked.
Rap had been staring fixedly at the flames. He smiled faintly and shrugged. ”Nothing you can help with.”
“Please yourself. But if you want to talk it out to a friend, I’m available. And despite what you may have been told ever since you were weaned, some imps can keep secrets.”
That brought the little smile again, briefly, and Ogi realized that the wide faun mouth almost never smiled more than that. “It’s just that I’m not finding it easy settling down here.” Yes, that was very odd.
“Durthing’s not perfect,” Ogi said loyally, “but there’s nowhere much better. You’ve gotten yourself a pretty fair house there for just the cost of a few days’ work, and there’s a very wide selection of girls. I know of lots who’d be willing to help you fill it with babies.”
Rap shuddered.
“You get used to the little pests,” Ogi said complacently. Uala had two now and another on the way already. Perhaps twins, the way she was bulging. ”At times they’re quite lovable. Don’t quote me.”
Rap went back to staring at flames.
There was a mystery even about the way the kid had gotten to Faerie in the first place, and it probably involved magic. Ogi was enough of a sailor to dislike talking about that. Still, it was curious.
Ogi often wondered whether that was just another of his odd ideas about propriety, or if he was touchy about his faun legs. There were a lot of things about him that puzzled Ogi. Already the fire was crackling nicely. Ogi began peeling onions. Rap settled on the next boulder, wiping his forehead again. ”Working too hard! Meant to go for a swim.” He hefted the wine jar an tilted his head for a long, hard swig—which was a pleasant surprise to the imp. Maybe getting him drunk tonight wouldn’t be the swine of a job they’d expected.
Rap lowered the flask with a gasp. “I’ll go later.”
“Hey, swimming in the dark . . . All right, smarty, you needn’t smirk like that! “ Ogi did not usually cluck like a mother hen, but young Rap was a newcomer to swimming. “So it’s not dangerous for you—but don’t go too soon after you’ve eaten, okay?” In any case, certain parties had plans for this sailor’s evening, and swimming was not among them. He’d get to those later. ”How’s the builder doing?”
“Come and see?” Rap asked shyly. He jumped up and led the way over to the little hovel he now called home. It was a lot more homelike than it had been two months before, and he proudly displayed his latest achievement, a shutter for the window. It would keep rain out, if not wind. He had no furniture yet except a hammock and a chair, although Ogi had often offered to lend him some money to get settled in. At suitable interest rates, of course.
As always, Ogi wondered why a faun jotunn hybrid had chosen an impish shack. In their homeland of Sysanasso, fauns lived in flimsy huts of wicker and thatch, and yet Rap had selected an ancient log cabin, built by some long-lost imp in this lonely dell. He had seemed surprised that his choice would surprise anyone, muttering something about his hometown being impish even if he wasn’t. To have picked somewhere less isolated would have seemed more friendly.
He had fixed the roof and made the place quite astonishingly clean. Ogi viewed, admired, and complimented. Then they headed back to the fire pit and the wine.
Ogi proposed a few toasts, and got some more of the wine into the kid that way. Then he pulled out the day’s catch and set to work cleaning them.
“Arrivals? “ Rap muttered, peering over his head, apparently at the stringy trees.
“A girl, was it?” he asked softly. “Or a dream?”
“A girl,” Rap told the fire, “but not the way you mean.”
“Son, I’ve tried every way there is,” Ogi said nostalgically. Rap wrinkled his wide faun nose. “A promise, then.”
“What sort of promise?”
Rap shot him a brief, cryptic glance. “A crazy one.” He took another swallow from the wine jar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ”I don’t really want to be a sailor. There’s the nub.”
He wasn’t going to be very popular if Gathmor heard him talking like that. Or any jotunn, for that matter.
“Then you’re fooling all of us, buddy. There was talk you might be made coxswain’s mate when Larg got promoted.” Rap snorted disbelievingly and went back to leaning elbows on knees. He’d rowed to Faerie and back three times now. Men grew fast at his age, and he had a rower’s shoulders already. He was going to need those tonight—for a moment Ogi felt a gloating touch of avarice. Lovely gold! Then he wet a finger and flipped a drop of spit at the griddle. It hissed and danced satisfactorily. He threw on the onions and began buttering the fish with his dagger.
“Gathmor said he paid forty-six imperials for me and the goblin,” Rap murmured. “If I save all I can, how long would it take me to pay it off?”
“With interest, about thirty-nine hundred years.”
“Oh—that soon, you think?”
“Be realistic, Rap! If you were Gathmor, would you let you go? Your farsight’s beyond any price to him. He loves his ship, he’s responsible for his crew—he isn’t going to let you go. “
The faun sighed and fell silent.
His farsight talent made him unique, of course, and yet it was a freakish thing. Stormdancer had not needed it since his first voyage. His subsequent trips had been hard work, with too much rowing and not enough sailing, but completely uneventful.
And the lad had more to him than just an occult knack. He had the makings of a very fine sailor. He was competent and trustworthy. He never complained or picked fights. He did whatever he was told to do as if he were grateful for the opportunity. Even without his farsight, he was not a man Gathmor would readily let slip away. Almost all the unattached girls in Durthing were giving serious thought to the big faun, too.