“Please,” Leftrin urged her, and it was only when she set her smooth white glove on the rough, stained fabric of his shirtsleeve that he was recalled to the obvious difference in their stations. She glanced down as he looked at her, and he admired her lashes against her freckled cheeks. “This way,” he told her and led her to the rough planks that served as a gangway for the Tarman. The ramp creaked and shifted as they trod it, and she gave a small involuntary gasp and gripped his arm tighter. There was a bit of a jump down from the end of the plank to the barge deck. He wished he dared set his hands to her waist and lift her down. Instead, he offered his arm again for her to steady herself on. She leaned heavily on his arm and then gamely hopped. He saw a flash of white petticoat before she landed safely beside him.
“And here we are,” he said genially.
A moment later, the man landed with a thud beside them. He glanced at the trunks that Skelly was lashing down with the other deck cargo. “Here, we’ll be needing those brought to our cabins,” he exclaimed.
“No private cabins on the Tarman, I’m afraid. ’Course, I’ll be happy to give up my stateroom to the lady for the trip to Cassarick. You and me will have to bunk with the crew in the deckhouse. Not roomy, but as it’s only for a couple of days, I’m sure we can manage.”
The Sedric fellow looked absolutely panic-stricken now. “Alise, please reconsider!” he begged her.
“Cast off and let’s get under way!” Leftrin told Hennesey.
As the crew scrambled to the mate’s commands, Grigsby the ship’s cat decided to make an appearance. He sauntered up to the woman, sniffed the hem of her dress boldly, and then abruptly stood up on his hind legs and rested his orange paws on her skirts. “Mrow?” he suggested.
“Get down!” Sedric snapped at the cat.
But Leftrin was unreasonably pleased when the woman crouched down to accept the cat’s introduction. Her skirts folded onto the deck around her like a blossom collapsing. She put a hand out to Grigsby, who sniffed it and then bumped his striped head against it. “Oh, he’s so sweet!” she exclaimed.
“And so are his fleas,” the man muttered in quiet dismay.
But the woman only laughed softly, a quiet chuckle that reminded Leftrin of river water purring past the bow of his ship.
NIGHT HAD FALLEN. The dismal meal eaten on a battered wooden table from tin plates was thankfully over. Sedric sat on the edge of a narrow bunk in the deckhouse and pondered his fate. He was miserable. Miserable but determined.
The deckhouse was exactly as it was named, a low structure built on the deck to house the men. It had three chambers, if one wanted to dignify them with such a word. One was the captain’s stateroom, where Alise was now ensconced. The next was the galley, with a woodstove and a cramped table with benches to either side of it. And the third room was this, the crew’s quarters. A curtain across the end of it granted some privacy to Swarge and his sturdy wife, Bellin, in the larger bunk they shared there. That was a small mercy, Sedric thought.
He’d avoided his bunk as long as he could, remaining out on the deck with Alise to watch yet more forested bank slip by. The barge moved smoothly and made surprisingly fast time going up the river against the current. The crew who pushed it along made the labor seem effortless. Big Eider and Skelly, Bellin and Hennesey used the stout poles that propelled the barge up the river while Swarge commanded the tiller. The barge moved up the river steadily, avoiding shoals and snags as if bewitched. It was an impressive display of seamanship, and Alise was duly awed by it. Although Sedric could appreciate their skill, he tired of watching and commenting on it long before she did. He left her to her enthusiastic conversation with the barge’s grubby captain and wandered aft, searching in vain for a quiet place to rest. He ended up perched on one of his own trunks, shaded somewhat by the wardrobe lashed down next to it. The crew offered no promise of intelligent conversation. One of the deckhands, Eider, was the size of a wardrobe. There was a woman, Bellin, almost as muscled as her husband, Swarge. Hennesey the mate had no time to chat with passengers, for which Sedric was grateful. Skelly shocked him by both her youth and her gender; what sort of a ship expected a young girl to do the full work of a deckhand? After one visit to the smelly deckhouse, he’d given up all thought of taking an afternoon nap to make the endless journey pass more swiftly. As well to nap in a kennel.
But now it was night, and insects swarmed. They’d driven him inside, and weariness had forced him to his bunk. Around him in the thick darkness, the crew slept. Swarge and his wife had retired to their curtained alcove. Skelly and the cat shared a bed, the girl curled around the orange monster. Skelly was the captain’s niece; the poor girl was his most likely heir and thus had to learn the trade from the deck up. Hennesey the mate sprawled and overflowed his bunk, one muscular arm draped over the side with his hand braced on the deck. The atmosphere seemed thick with the crew’s sweat and the moist snores and occasional grunts they gave off as they shifted in their beds.
