Town.
He couldn't join the autumn caravan. He couldn't run, not until dark:
there was nowhere to hide. Did he dare to serve them dinner? Yes, with dark falling, but be ready to run at a moment's fright.
Run where?
Fingertips stroked his arm, wrist to elbow.
Tim straightened to kneeling position. He didn't look around and he didn't flinch. He reached back and let his fingers trace a slender neck and jaw and nape. Smooth. He leaned back. Rian~ Good. Senka was just too good at reading minds.
He asked, 'Do I get a splendid send-off?'
'Hey, didn't Marilyn Lyons use you up?'
'I damn well needed all the help I could get,' he admitted.
She laughed. 'Tim, there are women in the autumn caravan too.'
'I haven't met them.' Witnesses. Women who would look straight at a murderer and know him half a year later. 'Can I give you a splendid send-off?'
A breathy laugh. 'You might not impress a lady if I get to you first.'
'Given the choice-' He turned. Their breath mingled. 'It's a choice? I'll risk it then.' He wasn't just randy, and it wasn't because he'd never see Rian ibn-Rushd again. Never see any woman until he could reach Twerdahl Town and Loria. But he would have done it just to forget the risks he'd face tonight.
It was a splendid send-off she gave him. They'd never made love in the open, or in daylight. Perhaps they were even seen from other roofs. Even now he didn't see Rian naked: they kept most of their clothes on.
As his breath slowed it came to him that this was the lesser risk. The darker the better when he joined the other caravan, and if he had a decent excuse for delay... well, an indecent excuse was better than none.
An unworthy thought.
'Tim,' Rian whispered, 'time.'
He nodded, and kissed her, and reached into the trap for his pack.
'Don't take the gun,' she said. 'Guns go with the wagons. You'll get a new one.'
'What about these clothes?'
She laughed. 'They're yours.'
He pulled the gun from his tunic pocket and dropped it into the hatch. He pulled out his travel pack, opened it, and spilled it across the flat roof. 'Better see if I've got everything.' No second gun, see? The bandit's long knife, his trophy from the attack, was wrapped in spare clothing. The carved shell was too. He unwrapped it-'I bought this with something of mine.' No speckles either, see? He wrapped the shell again and shoved it into the travel pack, donned the pack, and dropped over the edge of the wagon.
Run now, or serve dinner?
Rian dropped beside him, flushed and lovely. She took his hand, and off they went across the Neck with the other stragglers. She'd made his choice. What the hell, he was ravenous.
13
All at Sea
If these creatures are anything like sapient, they must be left alone. William Granger is most emphatic on that point.
-Cordelia Gerot, Xenobiology
Willow and Randall Hearst met them as they arrived. She was even more large and magnificent close up. Her husband was shorter, slender, and dapper. Rian was amused and hiding it.
They showed him to Hearst wagon, third from the front. Tim and Randall climbed to the roof. Randall ceremoniously passed him a glarered shaker of speckles, then a gun and some bullets. 'Sharks don't get this far into the bay,' he said. 'Still, nobody likes surprises. Stow your pack. If you need a rest stop, it's over the hump.'
'I'd better.''
What remained of the Crest was shallow, but taller than he'd thought. Tim paused at the top. He was seven meters up, and the Neck and the bay and the far ocean rolled away to infinity.
The bay was flecked with white. The wagon trains, the fires burning in cracks in the lava, the tables in the middle, were all on the bay side of the hump. The far side was narrower, and dark.
How long had caravans been using this place as a toilet? And a garbage dump too. Even since Cavorite passed? Ever since there were caravans, surely. The smell wasn't intense, but it was inescapable, and ancient.
Along the Road there was always concealment to make a rest area. Here, nothing but distance. No problem, really. If people stayed apart, what could anyone see? But it seemed strange that nobody had put up a building or a wall.
No hiding place. We shoot anyone who crosses the Neck....
As he rejoined the cookforce, Randall Hearst joined him. Randall wanted to know about bandits; about his impressions of the Shire, the health of the various communities, and recent news of Twerdahl Town. Tim answered as best he could while he served Out toast spread with red fish eggs, then roasted potatoes. If Randall wanted to know what had changed since he'd last seen the Road, then his questions might tell Tim something.
The fish eggs would go well in an omelet, he decided. He hadn't seen bird eggs in many days.
Chaff covered the bay to left and right as far as he could see. It hadn't been there when last he looked. Tim remembered the chugs. Twice the usual number of chugs had pulled up a forest of seaweed on the mainland side of the Neck. It had floated back.
Now, which way did the current flow on the narrow side of the Neck? Riffles broke on the bay, raised by a brisk wind or by dark heads rising. The heads stayed, dark dots on the water, watching.
Merchants were eating apart from the yutzes, trading news of the Road, no doubt, and keeping merchant secrets. Hearst, Miller, ibn-Rushd, and Lyons families discussed cooking and the chefs. Merchants from the weapons wagons fell silent when a chef approached.
Tim ate as he served, as any chef must. Sliced orange. A potato. Bord'n was hobbling around with a stick. He and Tim ripped apart a big Earthlife crab and shared it.
These yutzes had all come with the spring caravan. They knew Tim Bednacourt, and none had been at Warkan's Tavern. In the fading light, all he had to do was avoid notice.
Locals must have brought this barrel of fresh water. Tim drank deeply. He'd need it.
He carved huge fillets of tuna and gave head and bones to a yutz to dump over the hump. He sliced up one fillet and ate a slice and carried the rest of it among the benches.
A merchant gaudy in gray and yellow caught his eye.
Tim knew him instantly: he'd snatched at Jemmy Bloocher as he ran from Warkan's Tavern, and had his belt for an instant before Jemmy tore loose.
Tim Bednacourt's reflexes kicked in ahead of his mind. 'Tuna?' he said, offering the platter. 'And the sweet potatoes are ready. Did you get any of the fencecutter crab?' looking at other folk of Milliken wagon, the weapons wagon, making it a general offer.
'We got some.' The merchant helped himself to a tuna fillet. 'If there's more, we'd love it. Is anybody making tea? It's getting chilly.'
'I'll start some.'
Tim was sweating as he walked into the growing dark. A merchant would starve if he couldn't catch a chef's eye! Tim couldn't avoid notice. There was no help for it but to be a chef
He set a big pot of water on for tea.
