But I couldn’t bear to admit to Halla that she was right, at least not without a struggle.
For half a day, I argued with her about our destination, claiming we should turn east toward the Empire. Our arguing resembled me screaming abuse at a big tree stump that only knew how to be sarcastic and say no. After two hours of this, Whistler joined us and offered to break the tie. He retreated when I threw a water sack at him and Halla threatened to drag him behind her horse all the way to the ocean.
Two minutes later, Whistler caught up and handed me the water sack. He sucked the inside of his cheek and squinted at me. “Bib, I don’t want to be insulting, but throwing that sack was stupid. Or, maybe I do want to be insulting. My point is I don’t remember your being so reckless back in town. I don’t care whether you apologize or spit on my shoe. Just don’t throw shit at the wrong person and get us all killed.”
Everything the man said was true, so I nodded. “Whistler, I apologize for treating you so harshly.” I said it with as much sincerity as I possessed. “You can’t help being a greedy piece of shit, no more than I can help being a murdering asshole. It wasn’t right of me.”
Whistler sniffed. “Spit on my damn shoe next time.” He nodded at Pil. “Beg pardon, but what the hell’s wrong with her?”
“She’s stunned from being exposed to my shattering wisdom. If she lets go of me, the mysteries of existence may drive her mad.”
“That sounds awkward.”
I shrugged. “She should be done in a day or two. There are a lot fewer mysteries than most people think.”
“Huh. Don’t let her stab you in the back. We don’t know a thing about her.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Pil, what were you doing with that bastard, Dixon?”
Pil spoke out strongly: “That bastard Dixon was training me. And teaching me crime.”
I hadn’t expected an answer, and certainly not such a bold one. “What was that dog training you to do?”
Like she was stating an interesting fact, Pil said, “That dog was teaching me to be a Binder.”
Binders used sorcery to create or enchant all sorts of objects, anything from a loop of twine to a ship’s rudder.
“Where do you come from, Pil? Where’d Dixon find you?” I asked.
“Dixon found me in the cellar.”
Whistler asked, “What cellar?”
Pil turned her face away from him and didn’t answer.
I opened my mouth to ask Pil about the cellar, but I realized she was crying against my back. I didn’t know everything about our near-death connection, but I supposed it could be making her answer questions she preferred not to answer. If so, that created a rare opportunity. I could find out every helpful thing Pil knew and be sure she wasn’t lying.
Of course, Pil would never trust me again. She might even try to kill me. But hell, she probably didn’t trust me now, and she was right not to.
In the end, I decided that the girl might know something that would save me from discomfort or indignation but probably not death. “Pil, I didn’t mean to upset you with all these questions. Just ignore me or tell me to go to hell if I ask any more for a while.”
Pil yelled, “Dixon was not a bastard!” and stopped talking.
Later in the morning, we halted under two budding trees to rest the horses. Pil’s hand came off my shoulder and stayed off when we reached the ground. However, she did keep her body within three inches of mine, which overall proved more awkward than holding hands.
Pil whispered to me, “Why did I answer all your stupid questions? And cry?” She gritted her teeth. “Did you do something to me?”
“Not on purpose,” I whispered back. “Wait. In a day or two, you’ll be lying to me about everything.”
Once we had ridden on, Whistler edged over to pace Bea, who was trailing me. I heard him clear his throat twice. “I can help you sharpen that knife,” he said.
“I think it’s sharp enough as it is,” Bea said. I glanced back to see her staring straight ahead.
Whistler’s shoulders slumped a little, but then he smiled, showing his brown, crooked teeth. “A knife can never be too sharp.”
Bea didn’t answer. She guided her mule away from Whistler and rode up beside me.
I glanced back again and saw Whistler’s face drooping. He stared upward as if he were figuring numbers in his head. Then he caught up to Bea and smiled. “You’ll need a sharp knife when we get your boy.”
“For what?”
Whistler’s jaw opened and hung there for a second. “Cutting ropes. Jamming it in some nasty fellow’s liver. Lots of things.”
Bea stared at Whistler the way she’d stare at a dog humping her leg. Then she kicked her mule to join Halla farther forward.
“We could talk about beer!” Whistler called after her. “You probably know a lot about beer.”
Bea didn’t show that she heard him.
Whistler sighed, his cheeks sagging. “What did I say wrong, Bib? She liked me fine yesterday.”
“I can say only one thing, young man. Go talk to a fence rail about romance, because you’ll get better advice than I can provide.”
After midday, Halla and I continued our earnest discussion about strategy, and I enjoyed it. The highlight was my calling her a puckered sore of a woman. After that, we rode on north and ignored one another.
Late in the day, Pil, still riding behind me, jerked upright. She began talking about the weather, cloaks, the fat man in Pasra who sold pretty clothes, how nice it would be to take a bath, and just about every trivial thing she had seen and done in the past few months. I didn’t ever answer her, and she didn’t seem to care. After an hour, she shut up in the middle of a sentence.
Pil’s voice
