The lady for whom he gathered information from time to time would pay him well for this bit, he thought excitedly. Enough that he could buy that blade he had admired for so long. Enough that he and his grandmother could eat well for weeks to come.
He fastened the message to the leg of one of the odd, fierceeyed birds she had given him, walked back outside with the bird tucked carefully under his arm, and sent it winging off into the night.
TWELVE
Redden Alt Mer and Rue Meridian took Walker along the dockside for several hundred yards, then turned onto a narrow pier bracketed by skiffs. Stopping at a weathered craft with a knockdown mast and single sail and a rudder attached to a hand tiller at the stern, they held her steady while the Druid boarded, then quickly cast off. Within seconds, they were out of sight of the dock, the village, and any hint of land. The Rovers placed Walker in the bow with directions to keep an eye open for floating debris, and went about putting up the mast and sail. Walker glanced around uneasily. As far as he could determine, they had no way of judging where they were or where they were going. It did not seem to matter. Once the sail was up and filled with a steady wind off the sea, they sat back, Alt Mer at the stern and his sister amidships, tacking smoothly and steadily into the night.
It was a strange experience, even for the Druid. Now and then a scattering of stars would appear through the clouds, and once or twice the moon broke through, high and to their right. But for that, they sailed in a cauldron of fog and darkness and unchanging sea. At least the water was calm, as black and depthless as ink, rolling and sloshing comfortably below the gunwales. Redden Alt Mer whistled and hummed, and his sister stared off into the night. No bird cries sounded. No lights appeared. Walker found his thoughts drifting to a renewed consideration of the ambiguity and uncertainty of what he was about. It was more than just the night’s business that troubled him, it was the entire enterprise. It was as vague and shrouded as the darkness and the fog in which he drifted, all awash in unanswered questions and vague possibilities. He knew a few things and could guess at a few more, but the rest—the greater part of what lay ahead—remained a mystery.
They sailed for several hours in their cocoon of changeless sounds and sights, wrapped by the darkness and silence as if sleepers who drowsed before waking. It came as a surprise when Rue Meridian lit an oil lamp and hooked it to the front of the mast. The light blazed bravely in a futile effort to cut through the darkness, but seemed able to penetrate no more than a few feet. Redden Alt Mer had taken a seat on the bench that ran across the skiff’s stern, his arm hooked over the tiller, his feet propped up on the rail. He nodded to his sister when the light was in place, and she moved forward to change places with Walker.
Shortly after, a sailing vessel appeared before them, looming abruptly out of the night, this one much larger and better manned. Even in the darkness, Walker could estimate a crew of six or seven, all working the rigging on the twin masts. A rope was tossed to Rue Meridian, who tied it to the bow of the skiff. Her brother put out the lamp, hauled down the sail, took down the mast, and resumed his seat. Their work was done in moments, and the towrope tightened and jerked as they were hauled ahead.
“Nothing to do now until we get to where we’re going,” the Rover Captain offered, stretching out comfortably on the bench. In moments, he was asleep.
Rue Meridian sat with Walker amidships. After a few moments, she said, “Nothing ever seems to bother him. I’ve seen him sleep while we’re flying into battle. It isn’t that he’s incautious or unconcerned. Big Red is always ready when he’s needed. It’s just that he knows how to let go of everything all at once and then pick it up again when it’s time.”