Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus

He paused. «You've never flown a sloop, did you say? Lad, that's unconscionable! Do you want to try now?»

Pen could hardly contain his excitement. «You'd let me?»

«A sailor like yourself, born to the air?» Hatch leaned forward, his fish breath in Pen's face. «Take the helm, Captain Pen.»

Despite Ahren Elessedil's warnings about the big man, Pen was desperate to fly the sloop, so he put aside his misgivings. It wouldn't hurt to accept the offer, he told himself. He was just going to test his skills a bit, try out the controls, and see if he could manage the vessel. He had flown other airships of the same sort, some much bigger. Skatelow couldn't be that much more difficult.

Gar Hatch backed away, and Pen stepped up to the helm. He glanced down quickly, noting thrusters, lifts, banking levers, and the like, all familiar to him, though located in somewhat different positions than he was used to. The compass was set dead center above the half wheel that managed the keel rudder.

«There you be, young Pen," the Rover Captain declared cheerfully. «A fine and proper set of controls for a fine and proper young sailor. Give her a try, lad.»

Pen did so, easing into things slowly, carefully, setting trim before taking the airship a little higher with the lifts. She nosed upward, but he felt the tension in her hull, then a slight shaking. He frowned as he worked to steady her. It wasn't as easy as he had thought. Everything was the same, but the sloop's responses were less certain than he would have liked. He adjusted the thrusters and felt her shake some more. An effort at resetting trim proved unsuccessful. He eased the power back, glancing over at Gar Hatch.

The Rover's sharp eyes were glittering. «Not so easy as it looks, is it?» he asked, and Pen could see he wasn't expecting an argument. «Flying a sloop is not the same as flying a cat–28 or even a warship with pontoons and rams for stability. A sloop needs tender loving care from a master who knows her needs.»

He smiled, but even through the heavy growth of beard Pen could see the teeth behind. He realized with a sinking feeling that Hatch had been testing him. Knowing how difficult it would be for someone unfamiliar with the sloop to sail her, he had enticed Pen into trying so that he could judge the boy's skills. The Rover was one step ahead of Ahren Elessedil; he knew that Pen had been asked to check up on him, even without having been present at the conversation. Now he had Pen's measure, and the boy had helped him take it.

Gar Hatch stepped forward and took back the ship's controls, easing Pen out of the way without seeming to do so.

«You keep in mind, Penderrin," he said softly, looking over at the boy as he steadied the vessel anew, «that there's only one Captain on this ship. Do that and we'll get along fine. Now out of the box you go. Back down on the deck with the others. That's a good lad.»

Pen left without a word, burning with frustration and shame, so furious with himself that he could have spit. But there was no help for it, and he refused to give Garth Hatch the satisfaction of seeing him react. Fighting to control himself, he stood alone at the starboard rail, his gaze directed resolutely forward even though he could feel the Rover Captain's eyes on his back. He should have paid better attention to Ahren Elessedil's warning. But that was water over the dam. What mattered was how well he remembered the lesson he had just been taught. Well enough, he promised himself. The next time Gar Hatch tried to make a fool of him, things would turn out differently.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon of that same day when Cinnaminson came on deck. She climbed up through the hatchway leading from the narrow sleeping quarters below, stepping into the crimson light of the sunset like a shade. Pen was sitting with Khyber at the aft rail, still stewing over the way he had let himself be fooled by Gar Hatch, when he saw her. He did not know where she had come from or what she was doing there. He had thought that besides the four who had booked passage there were only Hatch and two crewmen. Now this apparition had appeared. He stopped talking in midsentence, causing Khyber, who had not been paying close attention, to look up from her writing and follow his gaze.

She was only a girl, no older than Pen, younger than Khyber, her slender form wrapped in something soft gray and green that might have been a long robe and shimmered like the sea. She looked to have woken from a deep sleep, her short, sandy blond hair disheveled and her face tilting toward the light as if to make certain of the time. Pen thought her beautiful, although he would later revise that judgment to striking, and sometime later to captivating. Her features were delicate, but unremarkable and not quite perfect. Still, they intrigued him. What mattered more was the way she moved, not looking at anything while seemingly aware of all. She glided rather than walked, the soft whisper of her gown marking her passage as she came toward them.

It was when she had almost reached them that Pen saw her eyes. They were milky white and empty, staring straight ahead at nothing. She was blind.

Pen did not know who she was. He did not know her name. What he did know was that he would never forget her.

«Are you our passengers?» she asked them, looking off into a space they did not quite occupy.

Pen nodded, then realized she couldn't see him. «Yes, two of them, anyway. I'm Pen and this is Khyber.» He had presence of mind enough, though just barely, to remember to use only first names.

«I'm Cinnaminson," she told them. «I'm Gar Hatch's daughter.»

She stretched out her hand and waited for them to take it, which they did, one after the other. Her smile was winsome and a bit fragile, Pen thought, hesitant and protective at the same time, which seemed right for her condition. But there was strength to her, too. She was not afraid to come up against what she couldn't see.

«Traveling to the Charnals," she said, making it a statement of fact. «I like that part of the world. I like the feel of the mountain air, the smell and taste of it. Snowmelt and evergreens and ice.»

«Do you always come on these trips?» Khyber asked, looking doubtful about the whole business.

«Oh, yes. Ever since I was eight years old. I always go. Papa wouldn't fly anywhere without me.» She laughed softly, milky eyes squinting with amusement. «I am an old salt, he tells me, a child of the air and sea.»

Khyber arched a questioning eyebrow at Pen. «I am surprised he would allow you aboard at so young an age when you could not see to help yourself. It seems dangerous.»

«I see well enough," the girl replied. «Not so much with my eyes as with my other senses. Besides, I know every inch of the Skatelow. I am not in any real danger.»

She sat down beside them, moving effortlessly to find a place between them, her gray and green robes settling about her like sea foam. «You don't fly, do you, Khyber?»

«No. But Pen does. He was born to airships.»

Her gaze shifted, not quite finding him. «Don't tell my father. He doesn't like it when other flyers come aboard. He's very jealous of what's his.» Pen thought, without having any better reason to do so than the way she said it, that she was including herself in that assessment. «Too late," he told her. «He found out from my uncle and already made a point of letting me know how lacking I am in real skills.» Her smile dropped. «I'm sorry, Pen. I would have warned you if I had known. Papa can be very hard.»

«Is he hard on you?» The smile returned, less certain.

«I am his most important crew member," she said, not quite answering the question. She hesitated. «He wouldn't want me to tell you this, but I will anyway. I am his navigator.» Pen and Khyber exchanged a quick glance. «How do you manage that?» the Elven girl asked. «I didn't think you could navigate if you couldn't see.» The milky eyes shifted slightly toward the sound of Khyber's voice. «I don't see with my eyes. I see with my other senses.» She bit her lip. «I can do things to help Papa that don't require sight.» Again, she paused. «You mustn't tell Papa I told you any of this. He wouldn't like it.» «Why wouldn't he like it?» Pen asked. «Papa worries about outsiders, people other than Rovers. He doesn't trust them.» Nor do we trust him, Pen thought. Not a good situation. «I still don't understand this navigation business," Khyber pressed, her brow furrowing. «Tell us something more about how you help your father.» «Cinnaminson!» All three turned in the direction of the voice. Gar Hatch had turned around in the pilot box and caught sight of them. He looked furious. «Come help your Papa, little girl," he ordered brusquely. «You've sailor work to do.»

She stood up at once. «Coming, Papa.» She glanced down quickly. «Say nothing!» she whispered. She left without another word, walking straight to the pilot box and climbing in. Pen watched to see what would happen and wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed when nothing did. Gar Hatch put his hand on his daughter's shoulder, patted it briefly, and turned back to steering the vessel. Cinnaminson remained standing beside him.

«What do you make of that?» he asked Khyber. «A bad business that we should stay out of," she answered. She regarded him thoughtfully. «I think we ought to cut your hair. That long red mane is too recognizable. Maybe we should dye it, too.» She put down her writing tools and went off to find her scissors.

* * *

They were told at the evening meal that, after dark, passengers were not allowed topside until morning. It was a rule of long standing aboard the Skatelow and the Captain's express order. The reason given was concern for safety, a fall at night from the ship's sleek decking would almost certainly result in death. It was better if everyone but the crew stayed below. Ahren Elessedil assured the Rover that the order would be obeyed, and Pen went to bed with every intention of breaking it.

He woke sometime after midnight and slipped from his bed on cat's paws, brushing absently at his newly shorn hair, grimacing at the roughness of its feel. Hardly anything was left of it; Khyber had done a thorough job. He glanced at Tagwen, who was snoring loudly in the berth above him. Clearly, the Dwarf would not wake. Ahren and Khyber shared a cabin down the hall, so he was less concerned about them. He took several deep breaths to settle himself, then moved to the door. He stood there for a moment, listening, but heard nothing. When he stepped outside, the corridor was empty. Other than the creaking of the rigging and the soft rustle of the mainsail in the almost dead night air, everything was silent. He went down the corridor and up the stairway, stopping often to listen. Having done that sort of thing any number of times before, he was not particularly worried about getting caught, but he did not care to be embarrassed by Gar Hatch again. So he went slowly and cautiously, and when he reached the head of the stairs and found the hatchway open, he stopped yet again.

Above, not far from where he stood, he heard voices. It took him only seconds to recognize whose they were.

«… not fair that I never get to talk to anyone. I don't tell them anything about us, Papa. I just like hearing about their lives.»

«Their lives don't matter to us, girl," Gar Hatch responded, firmly but not unkindly. «They aren't of our people and you won't see them again after this journey.»

«Then what does it matter if I talk to them?» «It matters in ways you don't understand because you are still a child. You must listen to me. Be pleasant to them. Be helpful when it is needed. But do not go out of your way to speak to them. That is a direct order, sailor.»