“No,” said Paks. “I just wondered.”
“Wheer ye be goin’?” he asked. Paks judged he was about fifteen or so, a short muscular redhead with pale eyes in a heavily freckled face. She thought of Vik with a pang, and wondered where he was now.
Paks winked at the boy. “We’re just—taking a little trip, lad, you might say. Know where we could find some good ale?”
He relaxed a bit and grinned. “Is it ale ye’re wantin’? Ye look more like robbers, I was thinkin’, but if ye’ve got the coppers I know wheer ye can get ale.”
“Robbers!” Paks tried to sound shocked. “Nay—we’re but travel-worn and thirsty. As for coppers—” she jingled the coins in her pouch.
“Weel, then,” he said, “ye might do worse than my uncle’s place, over on the river down yon—” he pointed south. “’Tis not what ye’d rightly call an inn, not bein’ on th’ road. But serves the farmers round, ye see, with my uncle’s brew and no tax to pay like that
Paks grinned. “As to that, lad, if you should happen to see a sergeant, you might not remember you saw us —would you?” She had a copper ready for the hand he held out.
The boy snickered. “All I seen in these woods is swine—that’s all.” He turned to the path they’d taken and followed it.
“I wonder how many fugitives that lad’s ’not seen,’” said Canna.
“Or turned in,” said Paks. “I know it was risky, Canna, but I couldn’t see killing him—”
“Of course not. We’re not the Honeycat. I daresay he thinks better of us for being irregular. He won’t turn us in unless the price is right.”
“If we’re lucky, they’ll try to bully him first,” said Saben. “That one won’t bully easily. Do you think we can stop at uncle’s for anything?”
“No—” Canna began; Paks interrupted.
“It’s our one chance to get food, Canna. He may not tell on us if we go, but he’ll surely gossip if we don’t. And we can go straight on from there, with a good start on the column.”
Canna frowned. After a minute or so she said, “Well, it’s worth trying, I suppose. If it works, we’ll be much better off. But—they don’t need to know how many of us there are. Only one will go—”
“Me!” said Paks and Saben together.
“No. Saben will. Paks, you and I stay under cover. If there’s trouble, Saben, yell out how many. If we can, we’ll take them. Don’t hesitate to walk out if you sense anything wrong.”
They could see a line of trees ahead, and the gleam of water beyond. A thin stream of smoke bespoke a chimney. Canna and Paks melted into the hedge along one side of the hay meadow they were crossing, and Saben walked openly beside it to the cluster of shanties on the riverbank.
The largest building had two chimneys, one smoking, and two children playing in a wattle-fenced dooryard. As Saben neared the fence, the children looked up and yelled.
“Ma! Ma! A man!” The door to the shanty opened, and a tall fat woman peered out.
“Good day, mother,” called Saben. Paks could not hear if she answered. “A lad I met in the wood said I might find somewhat to eat here, a deal cheaper than the
“I’ll watch Saben,” said Canna in her ear. “You keep an eye out for more lurkers.” For several minutes Paks saw nothing. She stole a glance at Saben, now lounging against the gate of the wattle fence. She looked back at the other huts. A flicker of movement: she’d missed seeing what or how many. Beyond the buildings, a narrow trail led westward into trees; it must go to the distant road. She glanced around the margin of the clearing, and caught a movement not ten yards to their left. A tall man in rough leathers, with a heavy bow, crept to the edge of the trees; he was watching Saben intently, his mouth agape. Paks nudged Canna, whose eyes widened. With infinite care she eased back, leaving Paks on guard, and made her way behind the bowman. Paks did not shift even her eyes, lest it call attention away from Saben.
“Ye might come in whilst ye’re waitin’” called the woman from the shanty door.
“Thank you, mother, but no,” said Saben casually. “I’m not fit to enter anyone’s home. Another time, if it please you.”
“Please yerself. We’re not fine folk here,” answered the woman. “The bread’ll be out directly.” Paks’s mouth watered at that. “Ye’ll be havin’ a hard journey all alone,” the woman went on.
“No one’s lonely, going home,” said Saben.
“Oh? Weel, wheer’s yer home, if I may be s’bold?”
“Far away, mother, and worse that I have to dodge all around, going as many ways as a cock picking straws—why, the woods be full of sergeants, and at this rate it’ll be Little-eve before I see my sweetheart again.” Paks had never suspected Saben of so much imagination.
“I only wondered, ye see, because ye wanted so much—more than fer one fellow, even such a big ’un as ye be.”
“Why, mother, wait till your little lads grow taller—my own family always said I ate more than any two grown men. They were glad enough to see me leave, for all I work as well as I eat.”
“And will they welcome ye?”
“Aye. I told ’em the time, ye see, and she said she’d wait so long and no longer. So when they told me I must serve more months, well—I’m no deserter, mind, nor traitor—but I’ve served my years, as I count ’em, and I’ll not lose my sweetling for any sergeant.”
The woman cackled. This time her voice was warmer. “Ye’re a fine one, I can tell. And ye’ve been savin’ yer honey all this time, eh?”
“Well—” Saben sounded doubtful. “Depends what you mean. I’ve sweets for my sweetling, if you mean so.”
“I’ll say ye have.” She cackled again and withdrew inside. Paks saw two figures leave the back door of her shanty. One flattened against the wall facing her; he had a naked sword in hand. The other disappeared around the far side. Nothing moved for several minutes. Paks wondered where Canna was, and if the bowman had drawn his bow. Then the shanty door slammed open, and the far woman emerged with a steaming sack.
“Here ye are, lad—hot bread, a bit of cheese, and I threw in a leg or two of fowl—ah, thank ye, lad—” as Saben dropped coins into her hand. She passed the sack over the fence. Paks saw that the man on her side had bent double and moved along the wattle fence to the corner, where he crouched in readiness. “Now, lad,” said the woman. “Give us a kiss for luck, and I’ll be hopin’ yer girl waits fer ye.” She leaned over the fence, reaching out a huge red hand to Saben’s face.
Saben had stepped back, out of reach. “No, mother,” he said. “’Twould not be respectful, and me so dirty as I am, but thank you all the same for your good wish.” He backed farther from the fence, and turned toward the trees.
“Dirty thief!” screeched the woman. “Robber! Liar! Help!!” Saben swung around to face the two men who rushed him from either side of the dooryard.
“Now, mother, that was unkindly said,” he called, swinging the sack to hold them off as he drew his dagger. Paks hurtled out of the trees, heedless, as a thrashing commotion broke out where the bowman had been. She hoped Canna could handle it. The swordsman nearest her spoiled his stroke at Saben as she surprised him. With an oath he turned on her; she faced a notched but broad-bladed longsword. The other man had a curved blade; neither had shields.
Paks jumped back out of range of a sweeping blow, then darted forward. The backstroke nearly caught her, but she ducked it. Again her opponent lifted the sword for a two-handed swipe. This time she waited until the stroke was committed, then pivoted in to grab his elbow and throw him sideways, stabbing under the armpit. He yelled and went to his knees. Paks jerked the sword out of his hand as he slumped to the ground, and spun to help Saben. He was backing slowly toward the river, parrying the strokes of the curved blade with his dagger. Paks hesitated a moment, but the fat woman waddled forward with a hefty slab of wood. Paks aimed a powerful slash at the man’s back. He screamed and dropped his sword. Saben scooped it up as Paks turned to face the woman.
“Murderers!” she yelled. “Bandits! Robbers! I’ll teach ye—” She broke off with a screech as Saben poked her back with his newly acquired weapon.