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Yeah. Don t. Just make a target outta him and fool with the balance and wind.
With the barge this light, she can be cranky. Shootin starts, you and Mos
send it back at em, shake up their aim, yeh?
Yeh.
For nearly an hour the barge slid along out in the mid-dle of the Red Dan,
Herec occasionally calling snag, shoal, bend. The clouds blowing up thickened,
the wind driving the barge along at a good clip grew heavy with damp.
Sansilly came on deck and stood with her arms folded on the top of the cabin.
Was goin dippy shut in down there. What's happenin?
Greygen eased his hand under her wind whipped hair, rubbed the back of her
neck. Right now, nothing.
She slid her arm around him, pulled him tight against her, then shifted around
so she was leaning against him, looking up at the inky sky. Gonna rain.
What ll that do?
I don t know. He raised his voice. Prah, this storm coming up, what s it
goin to do?
Wish we had more ballast, Prah yelled back. Sansy, you better go warn the
others, we gonna start dancing in a bit. Get a bucket ready, it really gets
twisty, you gonna have some green faces down there.
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Tower bend coming, six rets, Herec, sang out, I see light on water.
Prah swore, said, Not s posed to be anyone there. Herec!
Huh, Da?
What d I tell you if there s trouble?
Keep belowside and hind jib when I gotta be up.
You do that or I ll skin you good, you hear?
Yeh, Da.
Sansilly came back on deck, Besah only a step behind her. Malry s gonna keep
the kids, this round;
we worked a system out, two of us up, one down. She glared at Greygen, then
at Prah. We not gonna be left out of this, none of us, you hear? Bes is gonna
reload for us, me, I m Harozh, I was shooting verks time I was two. Been a
while, but it s not something you r get.
Greygen caught hold of her shoulder. You will stay down, Sans, if I have to
knock you on the head, you re goin to stay low.
She chuckled. No fear, I m not gonna be makin or-phans outta our boys. She
punched his arm.
And don you do, either.
The wind dropped, turned erratic; the barge slowed and started giving Prah
fits as he tried to do three men s work at once. Greygen left shelter behind
the cabin, crept on hands and knees toward him.
Prah. Give me the tiller, you handle the sail.
The bargevek growled, then nodded. Hold her where
I got her, less I tell you move her. He stood, holding the tiller steady
while Greygen took his place, then set Greygen s hands on it and began hurried
work with ropes, lowering the sail halfway down the mast, tieing reef knots to
pull it taut again, winching the boom around a little. He kept talking while
he worked. You know angles?
On wood.
Angles be angles. I say north two, you turn tiller north two degrees. North
meaning toward north bank, don t matter f we goin straight west or not. You
can do that?
I can do that.
Good. Herec, he called, how far c n you see ahead?
Water maybe one ret, the boy called back. Bends two three rets.
Yell out what you see ever time you pop up, even if tis nothin . You hear?
Yeh, Da.
The tip of Greygen s shoulder stung an instant before he heard the crack of
the longgun. Shootin !
He slid off the bench, crouched beside the tiller, holding it as steady as he
could. The numbness wore off, pain shot through him when he tried to move and
he could feel a tickling stickiness on the outside of his arm.
He heard the beat of horses hooves, a clank, then a series of
scrapes and clanks; The barge shuddered under him, fought to turn. Sounds
of feet, shadows moving by the cabin, vanishing round the end, more clanks, a
grunted curse, Sansy s voice. He clamped his teeth on his lip to keep back
the words knotting his throat. The barge swung wildly for an instant, then
settled. More scrabbling noises, Sansy and Mos shooting at the tower and the
riders, and then they were round the bend, shielded from the tower and the
road by a long, narrow grove of javories.
Greygen shivered as a small flurry of raindrops hit the back of his head and
dripped down his neck.
What was that? He kept his voice low, letting the wind carry his words
forward.
Grapnel. That was Mos. Tryin to haul us in. Bad throw, we got it off easy.
Next time though, we an t gonna let them get that close.
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Sans?
I m fine, Greg. Din t touch me.
Prak, but I got creased. Shoulder. Already stopped bleedin but I think while
there s time, I better get it tied up.
Saaaaa! Bes, where s that ... good. You just sit still, Greg; Mos, you go
hang onto tiller. I can see
Prah needs about three more hands as tis.
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