don't want to be his navigator anymore. I want a different life. I have been looking for that life for a long time. I think I have found it. I want to be with you.
She reached out and touched his face, tracing its ridges and planes. «You said you love me. I love you, too.»
She hugged him then, long and hard. He closed his eyes, feeling her warmth seep through him. He loved her desperately, and he did not think for a moment that his age or his inexperience had blinded him to what that meant. He had no idea how he could protect her when he could barely manage to protect himself, but he would find a way.
«It will be all right,' he whispered to her.
But he knew that he spoke the words mostly to reassure himself.
TWENTY–FOUR
At daybreak, Pen and his companions got a better look at the Slags, and it wasn't encouraging. The wetlands had the look of a monstrous jungle, an impenetrable tangle of trees, vines, reeds, and swamp grasses, all rising out of a mix of algae–skinned waterways that stretched away as far as the eye could see. The eye couldn't see all that far, of course, since the mist of the previous night did not dissipate with the sun's rising, but continued to layer the Slags in a heavy gray blanket. Swirling in and out of the undergrowth like a living thing, snaking its way through the twisted dark limbs of the trees and across the spiky carpet of grasses, it formed a wall that promised that any form of travel that didn't involve flying would be slow and dangerous.
Ahren Elessedil took one good look at the morass surrounding the Skatelow, glanced up at a ceiling of clouds and mist hung so low that it scraped the airship's mast tip, and shook his head. No one would find them in this, he was thinking. But they might never find their way out again, either.
«Here's how we go,' Gar Hatch said, seeing the look on his face. It was warmer in the Slags, and the Rover was bare–chested and shiny with the mist's dampness. His muscles rippled as he climbed out of the pilot box and stood facing the Elf. «It isn't as bad as it looks, first off. Bad enough, though, that it warrants caution if we stay on the water, and that's what we'll mostly do. We'll drop the mast, lighten our load as best we can, and work our way east through the channels, except where flying is the only way through. It's slow, but it's sure. That big warship won't ever find us down here.»
Pen wasn't so sure, but Gar Hatch was Captain and no one was going to second–guess him in that situation. So they all pitched in to help take down the mainmast, laying it out along the decking, folding up the sails and spars and tucking them away, and tossing overboard the extra supplies they could afford to let go. It took most of the morning to accomplish this, and they worked as silently as they could manage; sounds carry long distances in places like that.
But they saw no sign of the Galaphile, and by midday they were sailing along the connecting waterways and across the flooded lowlands, easing through tight channels bracketed by gnarled trunks and beneath bowers of limbs and vines intertwined so thickly that they formed dark tunnels. Three times they were forced to take to the air, lifting off gently, opening the parse tubes just enough to skate the treetops to the next open space, then landing and continuing on. It was slow going, as Hatch had promised, but they made steady time, and the journey progressed without incident.
It might have been otherwise, had the Rover Captain not been familiar with the waters. Twice he brought the airship to a standstill in waters that ran deeper than most, and in the distance Pen watched massive shapes slide just beneath the surface, stirring ripples that spread outward in great concentric circles. Once, something huge surfaced just behind a screen of trees and brush, thrashing with such force that several of the trees toppled and the waters churned and rocked with the force of its movement. Yet nothing came close to the airship, for Hatch seemed to know when to stop and wait and when to go on.
By nightfall, they were deep in the wetlands, though much farther east than when they had started out, and there was still no sign of their pursuit. When asked of their progress, Hatch replied that they were a little more than halfway through. By the next night, if their luck continued to hold, they would reach the far side.
That couldn't happen any too soon for Pen. He was already sick of the Slags, of the smell and taste of the air, of the grayness of the light, unfriendly and wearing, of the sickness he felt lurking in the fetid waters, waiting to infect whoever was unfortunate enough to breathe it in. This was no place for people of any persuasion. Even on an airship, Pen felt vulnerable.
But perhaps his anticipation of what was going to happen when it was time to leave the Skatelow was working on him, as well. Taking Cinnaminson from her father was not going to be pleasant. He did not for a moment doubt that he could do it, did not once question that he could do whatever was necessary. But thinking about it made him uneasy. Gar Hatch was a dangerous man, and Pen did not underestimate him. He thought that Cinnaminson's fears about what might have happened in Anatcherae were well founded. Gar Hatch probably did betray them to Terek Molt. He probably thought they would never live to reach the Skatelow to finish this voyage and that was why he was so distressed when Ahren Elessedil reappeared and ordered him to set sail. It wasn't unfinished repairs or stocking of supplies that had upset him; it was the fact that he had been forced to go at all.
What would he do when he found out that his daughter, his most valuable asset in his business, was leaving him to go with Pen? He would do something. The boy was certain of it.
On the other hand, Pen hadn't done much to help matters along from his end, either. He hadn't said a word to his three companions about what he and Cinnaminson had agreed upon. He didn't know how. Certainly, Tagwen and Khyber would never support him. The Dwarf would do nothing that would jeopardize their efforts to reach the Ard Rhys, and the Elven girl already thought his involvement with Cinnaminson was a big mistake. Only Ahren Elessedil was likely to demonstrate any compassion, any willingness to grant his request. But he didn't know how best to approach the Druid. So he had delayed all day, thinking each time he considered speaking that he would do so later.
Well, later was here. It was nightfall, dinner behind them by now, and the next day was all the time he had left. He couldn't wait much longer; he couldn't chance being turned down with no further opportunity to press his demand.
But before he could act on his thinking, Gar Hatch wandered over in the twilight and said, «I'd like to speak with you a moment, young Penderrin. Alone.»
He took the boy up into the pilot box, separating him from the others. Pen forced himself to stay calm, to not glance over at Ahren and Khyber, to resist the urge to check how close they were if he needed rescuing. He knew what was coming. He had not thought Cinnaminson would be so quick to tell her father, but then there was no reason why she should wait. He wished fleetingly, however, that she had told him she had done so.
Standing before Pen, the misty light so bad by now that the boy could barely make out his features, Gar Hatch shook his bearded head slowly.
«My girl tells me she's leaving the ship,' he said softly. «Leaving with you. Is this so?»
Pen had given no thought at all to what he would say when this moment happened, and now he was speechless. He forced himself to look into the other's hard eyes. «It is.»
«She says you love her. True?»
«Yes. I do.»
The big man regarded him silently for a moment, as if deciding whether to toss him overboard. «You're sure about this, are you, Penderrin? You're awfully young and you don't know my girl very well yet. It might be better to wait on this.»
Pen took a deep breath. «I think we know each other well enough. I know we're young, but we aren't children. We're ready.»
Another long moment of silence followed. The big man studied him carefully, and Pen felt the weight of his gaze. He wanted to say something more, but he couldn't think of anything that would make it any easier. So he kept still.
«Well,' the other said finally, «it seems you've made up your minds, the two of you. I don't think I can stop you without causing hard feelings, and I'm not one for doing that. I think it's a mistake, Penderrin, but if you have
