Part 24 (2/2)
”Oh.”
They hung on as the boat wallowed heavily, miraculously righted itself, and was carried backward downstream.
”When you said you hadn't been in a boat since you were a boy...” Granny began.
”I was two years old, I think.”
The boat caught on a whirlpool, spun around, and shot off across the flow.
”I had you down as the sort of boy who was in and out of boats all day long.”
”I was born up in the mountains. I get seasick on damp gra.s.s, if you must know,” said Cutangle.
The boat banged heavily against a submerged tree trunk, and a wavelet lapped the prow.
”I know a spell against drowning,” he added miserably.
”I'm glad about that.”
”Only you have to say it while you're standing on dry land.”
”Take your boots off.” Granny commanded.
”What?”
”Take your boots off, man!”
Cutangle s.h.i.+fted uneasily on his bench.
”What have you in mind?” he said.
”The water is supposed to be outside outside the boat, I know that much!” Granny pointed to the dark tide slos.h.i.+ng around the bilges: ”Fill your boots with water and tip it over the side!” the boat, I know that much!” Granny pointed to the dark tide slos.h.i.+ng around the bilges: ”Fill your boots with water and tip it over the side!”
Cutangle nodded. He felt that the last couple of hours had somehow carried him along without him actually touching the sides, and for a moment he nursed the strangely consoling feeling that his life was totally beyond his control and whatever happened no one could blame him. Filling his boots with water while adrift on a flooded river at midnight with what he could only describe as a woman woman seemed about as logical as anything could be in the circ.u.mstances. seemed about as logical as anything could be in the circ.u.mstances.
A fine figure of a woman, said a neglected voice at the back of his mind. There was something about the way she used the tattered broomstick to scull the boat across the choppy water that troubled long-forgotten bits of Cutangle's subconscious.
Not that he could be certain about the fine figure, of course, what with the rain and the wind and Granny's habit of wearing her entire wardrobe in one go. Cutangle cleared his throat uncertainly. Metaphorically a fine figure, he decided.
”Um, look,” he said. ”This is all very creditable, but consider the facts, I mean, the rate of drift and so forth, you see? It could be miles out on the ocean by now. It might never come to sh.o.r.e again. It might even go over the Rimfall.”
Granny, who had been staring out across the water, turned around.
”Can't you think of anything else at all helpful that we could be doing?” she demanded.
Cutangle bailed for a few moments.
”No,” he said.
”Have you ever heard of anyone coming Back?”
”No.”
”Then it's worth a try, isn't it?”
”I never liked the ocean,” said Cutangle. ”It ought to be paved over. There's dreadful things in it, down in the deep bits. Ghastly sea monsters. Or so they say.”
”Keep bailing, my lad, or you'll be able to see if they're right.”
The storm rolled backward and forward overhead. It was lost here on the flat river plains; it belonged in the high Ramtops, where they knew how to appreciate a good storm. It grumbled around, looking for even a moderately high hill to throw lightning at.
The rain settled down to the gentle patter of rain that is quite capable of keeping it up for days. A sea fog also rolled in to a.s.sist it.
”If we had some oars we could row, if we knew where we were going,” said Cutangle. Granny didn't answer.
He heaved a few more bootfuls of water over the side, and it occurred to him that the gold braiding on his robe would probably never be the same again. It would be nice to think it might matter, one day.
”I don't suppose you do do know which way the Hub is, by any chance?” he ventured. ”Just making conversation.” know which way the Hub is, by any chance?” he ventured. ”Just making conversation.”
”Look for the mossy side of trees,” said Granny without turning her head.
”Ah,” said Cutangle, and nodded.
He peered down gloomily at the oily waters, and wondered which particular oily waters they were. Judging by the salty smell they were out in the bay now.
What really terrified him about the sea was that the only thing between him and the horrible things that lived at the bottom of it was water. Of course, he knew that logically the only thing that separated him from, say, the man-eating tigers in the jungles of Klatch was mere distance, but that wasn't the same thing at all. Tigers didn't rise up out of the chilly depths, mouths full of needle teeth...
He s.h.i.+vered.
”Can't you feel it?” asked Granny. ”You can taste it in the air. Magic! It's leaking out from something.”
”It's not actually water soluble,” said Cutangle. He smacked his lips once or twice. There was indeed a tinny taste to the fog, he had to admit, and a faint greasiness to the air.
”You're a wizard,” said Granny, severely. ”Can't you call it up or something?”
”The question has never arisen,” said Cutangle. ”Wizards never throw their staffs away.”
”It's around here somewhere,” snapped Granny. ”Help me look for it, man!”
Cutangle groaned. It had been a busy night, and before he tried any more magic he really needed twelve hours' sleep, several good meals, and a quiet afternoon in front of a big fire. He was getting too old, that was the trouble. But he closed his eyes and concentrated.
There was magic around, all right. There are some places where magic naturally acc.u.mulates. It builds up around deposits of the transmundane metal octiron, in the wood of certain trees, in isolated lakes, it sleets through the world and those skilled in such things can catch it and store it. There was a store of magic in the area.
”It's potent,” he said. ”Very potent.” He raised his hands to his temples.
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