Dragonlinks (33 page)

‘No crew can be found for the trip on coronation day, so I've said that I have a man of my own.'

‘Where is he?'

‘You're him.'

Daretor did a double-take.

‘But what about the dragonlink? We have not yet found the dragonlink.'

Jelindel patted her pouch. ‘It's here. The man who wore it had more honour than the linkriders we have met already. He gave it up quietly, and even seemed relieved to let it go.'

‘You are amazing!' Daretor exclaimed.

Jelindel held the tankards as Daretor ducked behind a
stack of shell boats to change into the sandals and blue drawstring pantaloons of the aqueduct boatmen that Jelindel handed to him. When he returned she pushed forward to Zimak and held out his tankard.

‘Here's a charge for your voice!' she called, and Zimak took a deep gulp before handing it back.

Daretor tossed his clothes into the shell boat before selecting a pole from a rack on the wall.

Jelindel emptied Zimak's tankard into a drain and set it down, slowly counting to eighty and watching Zimak out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to swoon in slow motion, held up by the people crowded around him. The farsight fell from his fingers. Again she pushed forward and pulled him away from the edge, snatching up her farsight as well.

‘Giddy, aye, I've lost my legs yet I've had barely four tankards,' he said as she put his arm around her shoulder.

‘Daretor says you've toasted the Queen's health two dozen times,' Jelindel cried out above the din.

‘You're juss jealous … o' her beauti … full, ah …'

‘Come on hero, over to the water and dunk your head.'

‘Mus … be well. Big revel. Big ass, er … big assignment … tonight.'

‘I think you mean assignation. Come on, down these stairs and step here.'

‘Wooo, tower's falling!' he cried as he stepped into the shell boat.

‘Nothing's unsteady, that's your own legs wobbling. Lie down and sleep now, you'll be as fit as a bull in spring by tonight.'

‘Jaelin, I've never set foot on one of these things in my life,' pleaded Daretor.

‘Just stand there and look bored – and hold the pole up straight. I watched a boat leaving yesterday. There's nothing to do that we can't learn.'

Jelindel sought out the clerk of the quay and got him away from the edge of the aqueduct long enough to pay his fees and bribes, and to get an official stamp on their scroll of passage.

‘Ye have a qualified boatman, then?' he asked.

‘That's him,' Jelindel said, jerking her thumb back at Daretor.

‘Ah – don't know him.'

‘He's from the Hamarian aqueduct in the southern Garrical Mountains. I'm told it's faster and narrower than this one.'

‘I've not heard o' that one.'

‘I want to get to Headport alive. Would I lie to try to get myself killed?'

‘Aye, all right. Hurry along then. The parade's passing and one doesn't see a coronation parade every day.'

Jelindel got into the boat. She cast off and the craft began to move with the current. Daretor knelt in the bow area, nervously prodding at the stone walls of the aqueduct.

Jelindel looked back and waved confidently to the clerk of the quay, who was looking after them. He waved back and turned away.

‘This is moving faster,' said Daretor.

The boat was moving at the speed of a cantering horse, and Jelindel was torn between binding Zimak to the boat and allowing him to float free if they capsized. As she tied their bags and packs down she remembered that she was still wearing the mailshirt, which would weigh her down if they were pitched into the water. What to do?
Take it off or leave it on? Decisions, decisions, she thought to herself, then decided to hope that nothing would go wrong.

The aqueduct curved and the quay was lost to sight. Jelindel sighed with relief. The boat continued on its way, and Daretor managed to keep the craft straight. Suddenly the aqueduct emptied out into a vast lake.

‘Now what?' asked Daretor.

‘Um, I don't know,' admitted Jelindel.

‘Those red things on the water are in a straight line. Perhaps we should follow them.'

The pole just reached the bottom, and they steered across the lake following the red buoys. Again the current picked up, then they went down a slipway funnel of stone and the speed increased until they were moving faster than Jelindel had ever moved in her life.

Jelindel realised that she was screaming and Daretor was kneeling in the bows with his head down and his fingers digging into the padding. Zimak was fast asleep, oblivious to everything.

The boat was half full of water when they finally settled into another small lake. They bailed it out, and entered the next aqueduct. Slowly Daretor developed a method of keeping the boat in the middle of the aqueduct. There was a rhythm, he proudly explained to Jelindel.

‘Not too bad for a landlubber,' he boasted.

‘I'll leave it to you,' she replied.

Several hours passed. By now Daretor had become too weary to continue and Jelindel had to take over. Within a further half hour she was in turn exhausted, but Daretor was rested and able to take over by then.

What hurt worst of all was the way they had to wave cheerily to those on the stone quays that they passed. They were soaked and chilled by the constant splashing and spray, made worse by the chill mountain air rushing over them as the shell boat hurtled along.

As they passed across yet another lake Jelindel discovered the tentcloth splash baffle, neatly folded in a locker at the bottom of the boat. While enduring Daretor's curses she wrestled the baffle into place. The ride became more tolerable, and presently the air warmed as they descended through the mountains.

‘We can't travel like this in the dark,' Daretor called back as the sun dipped below the peaks.

Jelindel rummaged in a locker, and found a shielded lantern packed beside a tinderbox. By good fortune both had survived the earlier dousing from their amateurish boatcraft. After some time and many curses she managed to light the lantern.

The aqueduct's current slowed. They entered a wider canal with reeds and bullrushes growing along the sides. They soon realised that the light was essential when the boat rammed into a tangled mat of ribbon reeds. The strut for the unused deepwater rudder at the back became snagged.

Daretor jumped aft with his sword drawn.

‘Steady!' warned Jelindel.

‘I've little experience in boats, Jaelin, but I think I can master this one!'

The boat rocked and Daretor rode the motion with a newly practised shifting of his body weight. It was when he hacked down with his sword that his weight tilted the boat too far.

Daretor's arms went out to steady himself, but in that moment he lost his grip on the sword – which had wedged into a rotting log beneath the surface. He jerked over to retrieve it and the darkening waters swamped the splash baffle.

‘Daretor!' Jelindel screamed. ‘Stop it! We'll capsize.'

The boat rocked back as he eased the pressure. He placed his leg over the side and into the water until it stopped against the log, then heaved. His sword came free at once and the boat rocked right back until the water poured in through the splash baffle's access.

Jelindel clung desperately to the thin wooden railings as Daretor lost his grip and fell into the reed-choked water, his arms flailing.

The boat rocked back again, with water now sloshing about inside. For a moment Jelindel thought it was sinking. She had to save Zimak, she thought in alarm. If he should drown in a drug-induced stupor, she knew she would be responsible for his death. She unhitched the cord holding down the splash baffle to drag him out.

Daretor's head appeared for a moment, covered in reeds. ‘Jaelin, can't swim!' he gasped as he thrashed about.

He can't swim! Jelindel immediately reached out for him, lost her grip and rolled out of the boat as well.

Jelindel could not swim either, and worse, she was wearing the chainmail beneath her sheepskin. She breathed water for a moment as her feet kicked against the submerged willow log, then she felt her hand wrenched. The cord of the splash baffle was tangled around her wrist. She dragged herself back to the surface.

‘Daretor!' she spluttered as her head broke the surface beside the boat.

She caught hold of the side, then moved hand over hand along the boat's gunwale until she reached the middle. Daretor was nowhere to be seen. He's gone, she thought frantically. I've lost him. He's dead.

Then something gripped her leg and gave a sharp tug. Horror-stricken, Jelindel clung tightly to the boat. It rocked wildly as something tried to drag her under. Daretor surfaced and squirted a mouthful of water at her, then he stood up until his waist was clear of the water.

‘But I don't need to swim when I can walk,' he added to his earlier cry.

Jelindel hauled herself back into the boat and lay there panting and shivering.

‘Daretor, that was the most foul of tricks –'

At that moment the boat tore free of the ribbon reeds and began to drift with the current.

‘Hie, wait,' called Daretor.

Jelindel seized the pole and held it out to him. Daretor was pulled off his feet and free of the bank of ribbon reeds.

‘My sword, it's back there!' he cried.

‘Damn your frackard sword! We'll buy you another, we'll buy you two! Hurry, climb aboard before something else happens.'

Daretor hauled himself along the pole to the boat, then up and over the gunwale. Jelindel held her breath and clenched her teeth as he flopped into the boat. His weight rocked it down to the waterline but it did not cap-size. The boat was by now gaining speed as it was swept along with the strengthening current. Jelindel slumped back, in relief, and was amazed to see that the flame in the lantern had survived all the dousings of the minutes past. Whoever had designed its housing was a genius.

‘If you want to play tricks,' she panted, ‘throw mud next time we're on the bank. Don't muck about in the boat.'

‘Gah, a small revenge for tricking me,' Daretor chuckled.

‘What?'

‘Into playing poleman.'

‘That petty revenge nearly had us stranded on that reedbank while Zimak drifted off with the boat.'

‘You could have snared it with a binding word,' he countered dismissively.

‘According to my new books, dryland magic doesn't work well over water,' snapped Jelindel. ‘Besides, I've not practised the form of a snare-word yet.'

Daretor simply said, ‘Oh,' and looked sheepish. She doubted that he really regretted anything.

Little of their spare clothing was dry after the incident at the reedbank, and the miles that followed were cold and miserable. Reculemoon and Blanchemoon marked off the hours in the sky as they travelled, and the sky was cloudless. The quays that they passed were lit by torches and signs in the darkness, and villages were distant scatters of light set further back.

At long last a larger mass of lights appeared in the distance ahead, and by now the water had slowed to the speed of a leisurely walk. Upon reaching the town of Headport they got the boat to a quay and tied up, but only after a great deal of floundering and splashing. When a wharfjack asked how they had enjoyed the trip, Jelindel replied that it had been so quiet that one of their number had fallen asleep.

‘Never heard the like,' the wharfjack said, amazed. He returned to his station shaking his head.

They lifted Zimak out of the boat and carried him over to another wharf where the river barges were moored. One of the barges was due to leave just as Jelindel called out to the master, and they struggled up the gangplank carrying Zimak and their packs. Jelindel had sealed their papers in a roll jar, and she quickly uncorked it and ran back ashore to get the stamps for their entry to the long, meandering Kingdom of Serpentire.

They were in motion by the time Blanchemoon and Reculemoon were coincident at two hours before midnight, and they passed the border obelisk into Serpentire just beyond the town walls.

Jelindel tipped the cook of the big barge to let them dry their clothing by his hearth, and he lent them blankets from the store. Daretor and Jelindel were asleep within moments, lying beneath the stars while Zimak snored nearby.

Zimak woke as dawn broke over the Serpentire Plains. He did not appreciate the wonderful, luminescent splashes of colour above the green, fertile plains – which told him that the mountains of Passendof were long, long gone.

‘What! Where are we? Where the hell is this, then?' he wailed.

‘You're still alive,' muttered Jelindel irritably, every muscle in her body aching and the rough blankets itching her skin.

‘What? What do you mean?'

‘You were invited to the chambers of the new Passendof Queen last night –'

‘Damn you, Jaelin! How did you know that?'

‘Magic. Magic also told me how many swains that lepon of hers has eaten.'

Zimak swallowed, tried to find words, failed. He realised that apart from his cap he was naked under the blanket. He swept off his cap and flung it into the water, then hunkered down with his back to the bows.

‘How long have I been drugged?' Zimak demanded.

‘All night and half a day,' Daretor informed him.

‘We can't have come so far in such a short time.'

‘Look around you, dummox,' Daretor said, sitting up stiffly and waving an aching arm at the horizon. ‘These are the Serpentire Plains. We rode the aqueduct down from the mountains in a single half-day and night.'

‘Aqueduct? What aqueduct?'

Explanations took quite some time. Jelindel fetched their now-dry clothing from the galley and they dressed amid the bales and sacks that were the cargo.

‘Who undressed me?' muttered Zimak.

‘Daretor,' Jelindel snapped back.

‘She didn't want to look down on the out-of-work,' Daretor added.