"Close to both," said Meb, going into the small croft. Half a dozen familiar young men's faces stared at her. Several had boar-spears at the ready. "Hush."
The sight of her and her puppy made the points drop.
The two of Hallgerd's older boys—men now, hugged her. She was surprised. Touched. "What happened to your hair!" demanded Hrolf, the older brother.
Meb realized she'd actually forgotten all about it. And giving it to a merrow would not impress them. They'd call her an idiot . . . "It's a long story. Have you got a boat?"
Hrolf nodded. "Not much of a one. We pay the owner half the catch. But it was better than staying on in Tarport."
They all looked thin. And there were no women here, although at least two were married. Mikka bit his lip looking at her. "That's . . . a gleeman's cloak. Why are you wearing trousers?"
Meb hugged him . . . and whispered in his ear. "You just forget I am Meb. I'll forget about telling Morin what you were up to with his wife on the dunes." Then louder, she said, "I'm an apprentice gleeman. I need you all to pretend that I am a boy to my master . . . or I will be out of a job."
Hrolf put his calloused hand on her shoulder. "We could feed you. The ban on putting to sea has made things tough. But you're my little sister."
Well, Finn had said that she could be generous. She put some silver on the table, more than most of them had likely seen in their lives. Fishermen earned coppers, not silver. "I need you to pretend that I'm not your sister, and I need a boat. Tonight."
They stared at the silver. That was a couple of years' worth of hard fishing on the table. Enough for a boat, probably. "We dare not. Lord Zuamar has stopped any vessels sailing. And not at night!" said weak-chinned Morin.
"So you'll just sit here and starve." She added some coins. "Count them. My master has offered the same again for him to be taken to Pallin. But we must sail tonight. They're looking for us. And they won't pay anything like this if you turn us over to them. More than likely they'll just kill you."
"They've been killing and burning already. Lord Zuamar's gone mad, I think," said Hrolf.
"Stark raving," said Mikka. He had started splitting the silver up into piles. "That's twenty-one marks each and the same for the boat."
Meb took out another few coins. "And the same for the skipper. I haven't got much more, here. But deliver us to Pallin Isle and we'll double it. Every man's share, and the boat and the skipper."
She was speaking their language—the shares by which the fishermen worked—one for the skipper, one for the boat, and one for you. A straight offer of money, they might have balked from. But not a fisherman's share. She was one of them.
"There's a good wind blowing. And the tide's near full, too," said Mikka.
"We could stay away a week or two," said another one of the men. "Let things blow over."
Morin shook his head. "It's not safe. Lord Zuamar has gone mad. He's burned whole villages for less."
"What's left here to burn?" asked Mikka. "That's enough money for a boat of our own and we can be a long way from the shore by dawn. Where is this master of yours, Meb? Or is he disguised as the dog?"
"Just here," said Finn from the doorway. "Come and look out there. I think you need to put to sea as fast as you can."
There was a fire on the distant hills.
"He's burning out a village up there, for no reason at all. Ask the Scrap. We've seen what is happening. He's killing everything alive."
Hrolf stood up. "Come, lads," he said. "Get your oilskins. There is rain on that wind. That'll make it hard for any dragon to see us, but it'll make it a wet, wild night out there." He scooped up his share of the silver, and another two shares.
Meb's eyes widened slightly. So he was the skipper now. The skipper saw to the finances of keeping the vessel intact and seaworthy—hence he got the boat share too. And once the skipper had made up his mind, the rest of the boat crew would go along with him.
A few minutes later they were clambering on board a fish-reeking small two-masted vessel. Meb looked rather disdainfully at it. It might be better than being a crewman and living back in Tarport. Maybe. She could see that the fat-bottomed yawl—even in the broken moonlight—had plainly seen better days. On the other hand, it was quite adequate for taking them across to Pallin. "Look lively, lads, let's get her out of here, and into the open water," said Hrolf.
It was only when they were out, over the bar, that someone said, "Where's Morin?"
"Dunno. He went to pick up his sou'wester . . ."
Mikka spat. "He wasn't keen on this anyway. Likely he's taken your silver and run to tell the guard on long hill, gleeman."
"What can we do? We'll never catch him," said one of the fishermen in a panicky voice.
"And he won't find anyone sitting on long hill either," said Finn. "I . . . paid them a visit. It seemed they'd see the sail with you putting out to sea. They're tied up and not watching anything. So I'd say make sail. Let's run as fast as your noble vessel will manage."
Hrolf snorted. "Without half a gale to fill her sails, she's not much faster than a spavined donkey on a steep uphill. But there is no turning back, anyway."
They continued to draw away into the darkness, with only a betraying sparkle of phosphorescence in the fishing-boat's wake, and, when the cloud did not hide the moon, the darkness of the old patched sail against the sky.
The wind carried the sound of a horn from the shore.
"He's found someone," said Finn.
"Aye," said Hrolf from the tiller. "It's a question of if they can find us. I'm shifting course, gleeman. We'll make for Starsey. Morin knew were going to Pallin, and we can run more directly before the wind."
Meb knew her half-brother well enough to pick up the fear in his voice.
Fionn watched the sky. The alvar might have a few of their own vessels—much faster than this little scow—stationed at Tarport. But it would take them an hour's sailing just to get to Cliff Cove. Starsey, Pallin and Morth Islands lay on the edges of the huge ancient underwater caldera that he was heading toward. The shortest route was between the cliffs of Morth and the reef at Pallin—but there was a vicious tide-race with a maelstrom. So they'd have had to take the route around between Pallin and the lesser islands and Starsey. That was a good ten hours sail at the best speed the little yawl could manage. The alvar swan-ships were capable of twice that speed, but they'd have to put to sea and find them first, and rain-squalls and the false assumption that they'd headed for Pallin could make that a tight chase. But once Zuamar began the chase, it would be over all too quickly. There were times when Fionn could become severely irritated with the limitations he had to operate under. But they were as much part of him as his black scales.
Vorlian of Starsey—Fionn suspected—would not take kindly to Zuamar flying too close. Of the other two dragon-overlords he was less certain. If they got to land, well, Zuamar could ask for the fugitives to be returned to him. But to actually trespass would almost certainly lead to a fight.
So now it was down to a wet night and plowing steadily through the ocean's billows.
Meb and the pup sat against the tiller-house. It was there or in the crowded fo'c'sle, and this at least had fresh if wet air. She had time now to ask after the rest of the village, and just how they'd ended up back at Cliff Cove.
"It all came down to Wulfstan," said Hrolf. "You know he used to do the dickering for our fish?"
"Yes. He drove a hard bargain," said Meb, remembering the shouting and performance.
"Huh, hard bargain, my futtering left toe up a mackerel's arse. Turns out he and Roff had a scheme going. The buyer was Roff's cousin. Roff would go to Tarport and they'd agree a price. Then the buyer would show up and Wulfstan and him would put on a good show for us. And he'd get our fish at half the going rate. Wulfstan and Roff got a good cut. So when we went to town after the raid, Wulfstan got us sites on some boats and we were all going to stay together. Stick together in the big town, see. Most of us got a day's fishing as soon as we got there. Only Maric got hired to carry stockfish to the same dealer. And he saw what was being paid. You know Maric. Could never keep a still tongue in his head. He came back and told Wulfstan in front of everyone what an idiot he'd been. Of course Wulfstan held he'd been cheated by that rogue of a trader. Anyway, Roff was missing. Hadn't come to town. We didn't like the fellow much—but you were missing too. All the others were accounted for, either in Tarport or dead. So Mikka and me, we put two and two together. I'd had words with the bastard piece of shark-shit before about him pestering you, and we thought we'd go and have another look. Maric and Tam came along. We found him—and a sack of money. Not you."
He took a deep breath. "He'd been cut up real bad. Kept telling us he swore he didn't know where you'd gone. He didn't even know who we were. He was dying, see. Frightened us witless. Kept asking for his cousin—the fish dealer. And offering us the money to stop hurting him. We weren't doing anything to him. He was just delirious. But bits came out that didn't add up. We carted him back—and Wulfstan got the idea we'd done it to him. And then the entire mess came out—with half the village still standing by Wulfstan." He spat. "They were all for having us hanged. Except that someone pointed out that wounds don't turn pus-filled in one night, and Roff was going rotten already. The Tarport Councilors got one of the alvar involved, and they laid a truthspell on us, which worked out well for us. But Wulfstan and the fish-buyer got leaning on people, saying that they weren't to hire us." He grinned, teeth white in the darkness. "There wasn't much work there anyway, and the town was all in an uproar about the burning of the tax hall. Have you heard about that? My word, it had them behaving like mad hornets, and it was hard for everyone, especially newcomers. Lord Zuamar was even searching ships himself."
Meb blushed in the darkness. "Go on."
"Not much more to tell. See, we had Roff's bag of coins. We figured Wulfstan had the rest—so that might, fairly, be ours. This old tub was laid up, and even if we did not have enough money to buy her, we got a working share. We weren't much welcome in Tarport, so we came back here. It was good place for most of my life, until the raiders came. And we know the fishing banks here. Don't around Tarport. A few of the others came along later, because Tarport is no easy place to live. The fishing wasn't bad, and it beat paying to live in town, even if we do have to carry water."
Dawn saw the green bulk of Starsey ahead with the cliffs of Pallin point to starboard and the lookout keeping a very nervous watch for any smaller islands and rocks. It was a blustery cold morning—and they could see the white hope-sails of the alvar craft, not more—by Fionn's estimate—than two hours sail behind them.
It would take their yawl longer than that to gain the shore.
The fishermen could see that too, by their expressions. Fionn bit his knuckle and calculated. It was a complex equation of the current and the wind. It might not work. On the other hand he had no real use for the rubies anyway. He'd already returned some to the stream from whence they had come, and as long as the rest were scattered it would still achieve his purpose. "I need some net-floats," he said to Hrolf. "As many as you have. And if you have a pot of tar, make it hot. And take a bearing on the second peak of Starsey and steer towards that. The one to larboard."
"We'll lose a few points on the wind," said Hrolf.
"Hopefully cost us less time than what I will do will lose them," said Finn, jerking a thumb at the sails of the closer swan-ship.
Hrolf nodded. "Mikka—you and Peg get cutting the floats off the big net. There's a pot of tar in the for'ard hatch. The brazier's burning already."
Soon Fionn was sitting with a pile of red floats, and sticking rubies to each with a spot of tar. Mikka—once he'd worked out what was going on and stopped swearing in amazement—took a close look. "You're going to toss them overboard?"
"Yes. I'm hoping the alvar will choose to gather them rather than letting them scatter across the beaches of the islands."
"That'd be some find for a beachcomber!" He peered at the float. "I'll get you a bit of ballast-stone to shove in the top-line hole. It'll keep them the right way up."
Meb looked at the line of red floats drifting away in a line behind them. They seemed very small in wideness of the white-capped ocean. Surely the ships following would not see them? Or stop to find out what they were? She wished that the sun would come out and make those rubies sparkle like fire.
And behind them it seemed that the clouds were set to oblige her. It was amazing how the rubies did catch the sun.
Fionn felt the power of her enhancement. He said, "I still have at least thirty stones. You stick them on. Put a bit of thought into how brightly you want them to shine and how desirable they must be."
With someone of lesser power, doing that would have needed ritual and skill. With her . . . well, untrammeled power would do. Even the frightened fishermen were looking on with interest. Looking as if they might just dive in after the floats that she was tossing overboard. Fionn passed them each a stone. "Pop them in your pockets. If you get out of this you'll at least be wealthy enough. I'd take care about selling them, though."