and came home with a fortune-if they managed to avoid the robbers again on the way back.
But for the most part, the trade for which the water market had been built was long dead. The townsfolk kept it for pride and for their own use. All the roads were already built around the water market, all their storehouses surrounded, so they maintained the barges and floated around the circle every market day according to rules and an etiquette that no outsider could hope to understand. In the middle of the water market was an island, connected by a drawbridge to the north shore.
As they came fully in sight of the island, Kip saw where the screams had come from. The drawbridge was down, and the island was filled with hundreds of animals trapped by the fires closing in around them. Even the drawbridge, straining with the weight of dozens of horses, sheep, pigs, and a grotesque carpet of rats, was smoking at one end. Eyes rolling in fear, the brick-maker's draft horse looked like it was on the verge of bolting, though where it would go was impossible to say. The animals filled the island to overflowing; they were packed shoulder to flank over the entire little circle and the bridge.
Kip was so absorbed in the spectacle that he began floating right into the middle of the river between the docks and the island.
'Master, it's so hot,' a young voice said behind and above Kip.
Kip thrashed and turned. On the raised bank of the market circle stood a young man a little older than Kip. The young man wore only a red loincloth. His curly black hair and bare chest glistened with sweat. He was looking over his shoulder, apparently to a man behind him. Kip could see nothing of that man, but he didn't wait. Kip thought they must have heard him when he thrashed, but apparently the roar of the fires drowned out the sound.
Motioning to Sanson, Kip swam toward the wall. Sanson followed. The young man's master said something, but it was lost in the noise. Kip and Sanson clung to the wall with their bodies pressed as close to it as they could, looking up.
'Watch this,' they heard the man say. A whirling lasso of fire spun into view over their heads and then flicked forward. It wrapped around one post of the drawbridge and stuck there. The rest of the rope flared out of existence, but that length stayed, smoldering, little wisps of flame escaping against the wood, splinters turning black and curling back, smoking.
Kip was at once horrified and captivated. In all the years he'd spent helping Master Danavis, the drafter had never done anything like this.
'Now you try,' the man said.
For a moment, nothing happened. Kip looked over at Sanson. Both of them were stuck to the wall, arms spread wide to get good holds on the stone so they wouldn't have to tread water. Kip had the sudden feeling that they'd been set up. The drafter knew they were here; he'd just told his apprentice that so Kip and Sanson would stay in place. They were going around. He should swim, right now, as fast as he could.
He tried to breathe deeply, swallowing on his fear. Sanson returned his gaze, his own eyes worried, but not understanding what Kip was thinking.
Then a wheel of flame spun out above them. The animals on the bridge and the island shrieked in a hundred different ways. The wheel drew back and unraveled, becoming a whip, somewhat like what the master drafter had sent out just a minute before-but much, much larger. This was the youth's work?
The whip snapped out, but not at the post of the drawbridge. Instead, it cracked audibly as it snapped on the flank of the brick-maker's draft horse. Crazed with pain and fear, the old beast surged forward. Kip heard the boy laughing as the horse rammed directly into the rail of the drawbridge. The rail cracked and broke open. Several pigs and thin-coated sheep fell into the water.
The draft horse tried to stop, suddenly aware of the drop, but its hooves scraped wood for only a moment before it plunged headfirst into the water. Water splashed all the way over to Kip and Sanson.
'What was that?! Was that what I told you to do?' the master drafter demanded.
Quickly, Kip looked from the animals in the water to the bridge. The bridge post was just starting to catch fire in earnest now. Once it climbed up to the drawbridge, the animals would go crazy, just as the horse had. Kip didn't think the drawbridge itself would catch fire quickly, but he couldn't be sure.
If he and Sanson wanted to get out of the water market and out of the burning town, the fastest way was to go under the straining bridge in front of them and directly over the waterfall to head downriver. The other way would be to go the long way around the circular lake, exposed to the eyes of the drafter and his apprentice above them the whole time. Either way they went, at some point they would be visible.
Of the animals that had fallen into the water, the big horse was the only good swimmer. It was kicking toward the other side of the water market, away from the boy and the fire. The sheep were screaming, little legs churning frantically. The pigs were squealing, lunging at each other, biting.
There was a meaty slap and a cry of pain from above the boys.
'You never go beyond my orders, Zymun! Do you understand?!'
The drafter kept yelling, but Kip stopped listening. The drafters were distracted. It was now or never. Kip drew a few quick breaths, nodded at Sanson-who looked bewildered-and launched off the wall, swimming toward the drawbridge.
Chapter 13
Gavin drafted a blue platform, thin, barely visible against the water it floated on.
'You did that just to make me nervous, didn't you?' Karris asked.
Gavin grinned and stepped onto the scull. He extended a hand to Karris, giving her a little bow. She ignored his hand and hopped aboard.
He pulled up the keel as she landed, so the scull zipped out from under her feet. She yelped-and he caught her with a cushion of softer green luxin that quickly morphed into a seat. He lifted the seat and placed it on the front of the scull, then bound both of their packs to the scull near his feet.
'Gavin, I am not going to sit while you-' She tried to stand, and he threw the scull forward. With nothing to hold on to, she tumbled back into the chair with another yelp. Gavin laughed. Karris was one of the best warriors the Chromeria had-and she still squeaked when surprised.
She shot a look back at him, peeved and amused at once.
'I thought you'd like being swept off your feet,' he said.
'You had your chance for that,' she shot back.
His grin dropped into the waves like so many other treasures and disappeared.
Karris looked dismayed. 'Gavin, I…'
'No, I deserved that. Please, go ahead and stand.'
Sixteen years. You'd think we'd have both have moved on. Not that we haven't both tried.
'Thank you,' she said, but her voice was contrite. She stood up, feet wide, knees slightly bent.
The scull was propelled by banks of little oars jutting out from each side. Through generations of study, green and blue drafters had figured out how to use gears and wheels and chains to drive the oars, each drafter customizing his craft to fit his own body so that he could propel it with whatever combination of arm and leg movements he preferred, and making whatever tweaks he thought made it more efficient. Because the craft had so little friction with the water, an athletic drafter could go the speed of a sprinting man for an hour.
That was fast. Very fast. But it wasn't nearly as fast as Gavin had promised. Still, he leaned fully forward, his body suspended in a web of luxin, arms and legs pumping. He elongated and narrowed the scull so it became a dagger knifing over the water's face. They attained full speed as they left the harbor.
Gavin was sweating, but it was a good, clean feeling. The wind blew in his face, carrying away any words either he or Karris might have said, and without words, there was simply her presence, the sight of her dark hair whipping in the sea wind, the strong lines of her face, skin glowing in the morning light, chin lifted, neck extended, enjoying the freedom as much as he was.
Karris was facing forward, so she didn't see him draft the luxin scoops into the water. Gavin had always thought there had to be a better way. After all, a drafter could throw a fireball at any speed, it was only dependent on will-if he threw something too big or too fast, of course, he might hurt himself from absorbing the kick-but sculls didn't take advantage of will. They were instead perfect rowing watercraft that used muscle power more efficiently
