"And why would I want to be doing that?"
Cat could hardly believe she had spoken the words, but her horror vanished when Connor laughed heartily. "Why, indeed?" he said. "After all, I was a bit late in getting to the three who came after you, and as I said on that night, I believe that I did more to help their cause than your own!"
"Are you mocking me?"
"I am admiring you, young lady," Connor replied without hesitation.
"Am I to swoon, then?" Cat asked, growing bolder and more sarcastic. "Should I run from the Way and hunt up some willing rogues, that your pride be assuaged?"
Again came the heartfelt laugh, and this time, despite herself, Cat found herself laughing with Connor.
"You are the spirited one," Connor remarked. "A bit of the wild pony in you, not to doubt!"
Cat's laugh was buried in confusion as soon as she registered the analogy. Something about the comparison, something she could not grasp, tugged hard at her, begging for release.
"My apologies," Connor said a few moment's later. "I meant, no disrespect."
That wasn't it at all, Cat silently replied, but to Connor, she said nothing.
"By my heart, my remark referred not at all to your virtue, which I would not question," Connor went on sincerely.
Cat nodded to him and managed a smile. "I have my work..." she started to say.
"Might we walk when you are done?" Connor asked boldly. "I have waited these weeks - more than a month it has been just to be told your name. Might we walk?"
Cat didn't know what to reply. "I must ask Pettibwa," she explained, only to buy herself some time.
"I will assure her of my honor," Connor asserted and started to rise.
Cat caught him by the shoulder - her strength seemed to surprise him - and held him back. "No need," she assured him. "No need."
She smiled at him again, pushed the wineglass, from which she had not sipped, back in front of him, and took her leave.
"Oh, by me eyes, he's a handsome one!" Pettibwa beamed when she caught up to Cat in the small kitchen behind the bar area a short while later. The older woman clapped her pudgy hands before her, her toothy smile nearly taking in her ears. She clapped her hands again, then wrapped Cat in a bone-crushing hug.
"I had not noticed," Cat replied coolly, not returning the hug and trying hard to keep her expression blank as Pettibwa jumped back to arm's length.
"Hadn't ye, now?"
"You embarrassed me."
"Meself?" Pettibwa said innocently. "Ah, but, me girl, ye'd never find one sweet for ye if I left ye to yer own doings. Why, ye act like no man's a good man!" The woman gave a bawdy wink. "So tell me now that ye're not feeling a bit warm in yer belly, and a bit o' the tingling, when ye look upon Master Bildeborough."
Cat blushed fiercely, all the confirmation Pettibwa needed.
"No reason for embarrassment," the woman said. "It's all so natural." She hooked one finger in the cleavage of Cat's dress, pulled the dress lower, and shook her hand about, so that the young woman's breasts jiggled. "And what are ye thinkin' these are for?" Pettibwa asked.
Cat's look was one of pure horror.
"For catchin' men and feeding babies," the woman said with a wink. "And ye can't get the latter without the former!"
"Pettibwa!"
"Oh, go on then!" Pettibwa shot back. "I know ye think he's handsome, and who wouldn't? And well mannered and up to his waist in the gold, too. Nephew of the Baron himself! Why, even me Grady's speaking highly o' the man, and ye be knowing, by Grady's words, that the man's speaking highly o' Cat-the-Stray: Sure there's a sparkle in his eye when he's looking on ye, and his pants are gettin' a bit too ti-"
"Pettibwa!"
The older woman laughed riotously, and Cat took the welcomed break in the conversation to consider her words. Grady was all for this, so said Pettibwa, but Cat knew that had little to do with the demeanor of her would-be suitor. If she was set up with a nobleman, the gain fox Grady would be twofold. First, he'd have the prestige of being related to the nobility, a sure invitation to any important social event, and most of all, with Cat's needs attended to by outside money, she could have no claim on the lucrative Fellowship Way.
So Grady's enthusiasm for this alliance held little weight with Cat, but Pettibwa's exuberance was a bit harder to dismiss. Through all the bawdy talk, Cat could see that her adopted mother was indeed thrilled at the prospect of Cat being courted, especially by one as influential and handsome as Master Connor Bildeborough of Chasewind Manor.
So what did Cat think? That was the real question, the only one that truly mattered, but the young woman couldn't look at things that way, not now, not with Pettibwa beaming more brightly than ever.
"He asked me to walk with him when I am done with my work," Cat admitted.
"Oh, do!" Pettibwa said. "And if he means to kiss ye, then let him," she said, tapping Cat on the cheek.
"But these," Pettibwa went on, hooking her finger again and giving Cat's breasts another jiggle, "these'll wait a bit."
Cat blushed again and looked away, pointedly did not look down. Her breasts had developed late, just past her sixteenth birthday, and, though by any standards they only added to her beautiful, feminine form, she had never been comfortable with them. They represented another side of the girl, a womanly side, sensual, sexual - a part that Cat's free and girlish spirit was not yet ready to admit. Graevis used to wrestle with her; had helped her to mature her fighting skills, but once those breasts had swelled, the man stayed away. It was as if they were a boundary between Cat and her beloved adopted father, a signal that she was not his little girl any longer.
In truth, Cat had never been his "little girl." That had been reserved for another man, in some place far away, a place that Cat could not remember.
She wasn't ready to grow up yet, not all the way.
And yet she couldn't ignore the advances of handsome Connor Bildeborough, not at the price of breaking Pettibwa's heart.
She went for the walk, and truly had a lovely time, for she found that Connor was as easy to talk to as he was to look at. He let her lead the conversation, down any avenue of her choosing, and was careful not to question her too personally on any points. She told him, only that she was not really the daughter of the Chilichunks, but had been adopted in a faraway village called, according to Graevis, Weedy Meadow. "Have you ever heard a name so foolish?" she said, embarrassed. She went on to explain that she didn't know where she had been before that, didn't know of her family or her real name.
Connor left her at the door of the private quarters behind Fellowship Way. He didn't even try to kiss her, not on the face anyway, only took her hand in his own and put it gently to his lips.
"I will come back," he promised, "but only if you so desire."
Before she could even consider the question or the implications, Cat found herself mesmerized by the way his lashes closed upon those beautiful brown eyes. He was tall - he had to be close to six feet - and slender, but his body was hard with well-honed muscles. Strange emotions swirled in Cat as he lightly touched her arm, vaguely familiar feelings but ones she had not felt in several years.
"May I, Cat?" he asked.
"No," she replied, and his expression became crestfallen. "Not Cat," she explained quickly, and then, with a most curious expression, she said, "Jilly."
"Jilly?"
"Or Jill," the young woman replied, seeming sincerely confused. "Jill. Jill, not Cat. They used to call me Jilly."
Her excitement mounted with each word, and so did Connor's. "Your name!" he exclaimed. "You've remembered it!"
"Not Cat, never Cat," Jill said firmly. "It is Jilly, Jill. I am sure of it!"
He kissed her, right on the lips, but he backed off at once as if in apology, as if to let her know that it was unintentional, a consequence of his sudden joy.
Jill let it go without a word.
"You must go and tell Pettibwa," Connor bade her, "though surely I hate to part with you now." H
e tipped his chin toward the door behind the young woman.
Jill nodded and moved to leave, but Connor caught her by the shoulder and turned her about to face him.
"May I return to Fellowship Way?" he asked in all seriousness.
Jill thought of some smart remark about the tavern being a public place, but she held her tongue and merely nodded, offering a warm smile. Then followed a tense moment for Jill, and probably Connor, not sure if he would try to kiss her again.
He didn't; he just grabbed her hand in both of his, squeezed it warmly, then turned and walked away.
Jill wasn't sure if she was glad of that or not.
Pettibwa accepted the news with the purest joy Jill was afraid that the woman would be hurt when she cast off the name Graevis had given to her. Far from it, though, the woman bubbled with joyful tears. "Not fittin' to be calling ye Cat when ye're no more a girl," she said, wrapping Jill in a hug, falling over her so heavily that the strong young woman could hardly hold them both upright.
Jill went to bed that night full of warm feelings, some pleasant, others too intense, too uncomfortable for her to understand. Her thoughts careened back and forth between the realization of her true name and her experience with Connor. So much had happened in a single night! So many emotions and memories had come rushing to the surface. Now she knew her name: Jill - though she knew that she was more often called Jilly.
And that feeling when Connor was close to her! How could she sweat so much on such a cool night?
That feeling, too, seemed something out of her past, something wonderful and terrifying all at once.
She couldn't place it, and didn't try. She knew her name now, and suspected that alone would begin to bring other memories back to her. And so it was with a true jumble of emotions, a purely teenage churning of confusion, fear and warmth, happiness and the verge of terror, that the young woman, no longer Cat-the-Stray, drifted off to a sleep of the sweetest dreams and the starkest nightmares.
CHAPTER 15
Miss Pippin
They were out beyond sight of land all too quickly, rolling on great swells and an aroma so thick that Avelyn felt as if he could float atop it. They were busy every minute, checking and rechecking lines, adjusting the rigging, for the Windrunner hadn't been out to deep sea in several years and Captain Adjonas was clearly nervous. Old Bunkus Smealy seemed to take extra pleasure in ordering the monks on any particularly dangerous task.
But the old sea dog couldn't fathom the level of physical training these four men had endured. He ordered Thagraine and Quintall up the yard of the mainmast, and so up they went, faster than any crewman on the Windrunner. Smealy sent them far out on the yard, and they went easily, hanging under, hand over hand, adjusting the rigging and then sliding down the ropes to stand on the deck right beside the first hand.
"Well, next for ye-" Smealy began, but Quintall cut him short.
"Take care, Master Smealy," the monk said calmly. "We are as part of the crew, and as such, will work-" He paused, his stare boring into the man. They were about the same height, but Quintall carried an extra fifty pounds, every one of them hardened muscle, "-as the crew works," Quintall finished ominously. "If you entertain thoughts of working the brothers of St.-Mere-Abelle beyond what you demand of the regular crew, then accompany those thoughts with visions of swimming."
Smealy squinted perhaps a dozen times in the next few seconds and lifted a hand to scratch hard at his gray hair - to kill a few lice, Avelyn figured. The twitchy little man looked across the open deck, past the staring eyes of the crewmen, to the tall, regal figure of Captain Adjonas.
Quintall suspected that he and his fellow brothers might be fighting very soon, but so be it. He had to set the ground rules right away or this would be a long and perilous journey indeed. This was Adjonas' ship, that Quintall did not dispute, but the abbey had paid well for this transport and the brothers had not been put aboard as slaves.
To the relief of the monks - though Quintall felt a bit of disappointment Adjonas tipped his great feathered hat to the monk and nodded slightly, a clear sign of respect.
Quintall glowered at Smealy, the old sea dog trembling with frustration. Smealy glanced at each of the four monks, spat something unintelligible, then stormed away, taking out his rage on the nearest crewmen.
"You took a chance," Pellimar remarked.
Quintall nodded. "Would you have us treated as cattle?" he asked. "We would all be dead before we ever reached Pimaninicuit." He grunted and started away.
"Not all, perhaps," Thagraine remarked, stopping Quintall short.
Avelyn and Pellimar held their breath at the bold words. The monks still carried some jealousy, Avelyn - and obviously Thagraine - realized, concerning which pair would go onto Pimaninicuit.
Quintall turned slowly. Two long strides brought him right up to Thagraine. "You might have fallen from the mast," he said bluntly, his tone making the statement sound like a threat. "And then I would journey to the island."
"But I did not fall."
"And I did not push you," Quintall stated. "You have been given your duty, and I mine. I will get you to Pimaninicuit." He glanced Avelyn's way. "Both of you, and if Captain Adjonas or Bunker Smealy - or any others aboard the Windrunner - conspire differently, they will answer to Quintall."
"And to Pellimar," the fourth monk added.
"And to Thagraine," the man said, smiling.
"And to Avelyn," Avelyn was compelled to add. The bond was immediate and secure, the four monks putting aside their personal squabbles in light of potentially more dangerous enemies. Avelyn, who had worked so closely with Quintall for more than four years, found that he believed the man wholly. He looked at Thagraine, who by fate had become his most trusted ally, and he smiled when he noted that the man and Pellimar, who had been together a year longer than had Avelyn and Quintall, had clasped wrists firmly, staring eye to eye.
It was indeed a good start.
No land came in sight for three days, the Windjammer making a direct run to the southeastern point of the Gulf of Corona, the northern tip of the region known as the Mantis Arm. They saw a light after dusk on that third day, far to the south but obviously high above the waterline.
"Pireth Tulme," Captain Adjonas explained to his guests. "The Coastpoint Guards."
"Whatever it may be," Pellimar put in, "it is good to see a sign of land again."
"You will be seeing it often over the next two weeks," Adjonas replied. "We will run the length of the Mantis Arm near to the shore, then to deeper water in a straight run to Freeport and Entel."
"And then?" Pellimar's Voice was full of anticipation.
"And then we have just begun," Quintall put in firmly. The stocky man knew their course better than his three companions, as part of his private training with Master Siherton. The dangers of such a voyage were many, but perhaps most prominent among them was the danger to the mind. Pellimar seemed too eager, as if he expected Pimaninicuit to be quite close to Entel, but in truth, the Windjammer would likely spend the better part of four months getting to the island, and that was assuming favorable winds. Even if they arrived at Pimaninicuit early, they would only spend their days encircling the island, awaiting the day of the stone showers.
"Then we turn more directly south," Captain Adjonas added.
"In sight of land?" Pellimar asked.
Adjonas scoffed at the absurd notion. "The only land to be seen would be the coast of Behren."
"We are not at war with Behren," Pellimar promptly put in.
"But the southern kingdom has little control over its raiders," Adjonas explained. "To be in sight of land would mean to be in sight of pirates." He snorted and walked away, but paused, looked back, and motioned to them.
The four began to follow.
"Only you," Adjonas said, pointing to Quintall.
The stocky man followed the captain into his private quarters, leaving his three curious companions out on the deck with the cold, wet wind and the distant ligh
t of Pireth Tulme.
Quintall returned to them much later that evening, belowdecks in the closet-sized compartment they now called their home. There was something weird about his smile, Avelyn noted, something misplaced.
Quintall took Thagraine's arm and led him out of the cubby, then the stocky man returned alone.
"Where?" Pellimar asked.
"You will learn soon enough," Quintall replied. "I think two is enough for one night." He moved to his bunk as Pellimar and Avelyn exchanged unknowing shrugs. Their curiosity only heightened as Quintall chuckled repeatedly, until he fell away into a sound slumber.
Thagraine was likewise chuckling the next day on the deck. Avelyn wasn't sure the man had ever rejoined them the previous night, and indeed he looked haggard but certainly not displeased. The stoic Avelyn dismissed it, all of it. Apparently Quintall and Thagraine's secret posed no threat, so whatever it might be really didn't matter. For now Avelyn had his duties, and his goal was growing closer with each gliding league.
Pellimar, though, was not so patient. He prodded Quintall repeatedly, and when he got nowhere with the stocky man, he went to his older friend. Finally, after the bright sun had nearly reached its zenith, Quintall and Thagraine exchanged nods.
"The ceremony of necessity," Quintall explained with a grin - a rather lewd grin, Avelyn thought.
"A fine one," Thagraine put in. "Not so long in the trade, I'd guess."
Avelyn narrowed his eyes, trying vainly to decipher the cryptic talk.
"Not here," Pellimar breathed hopefully, having apparently figured it all out. Avelyn looked at him for some clue.
"Only for Captain Adjonas," Quintall explained, "and for the four of us, who have earned the captain's respect."
"Not so long a trip then!" Pellimar cried. "Direct me!"
"Ah, but, you have rigging to tie," Thagraine teased.
"And I'll work all the better after the-"
"Ceremony of necessity," Thagraine and Quintall said together, laughing. Quintall nodded his approval and Thagraine led the eager Pellimar away.
"What are you talking about?" Avelyn demanded.
Demon Wars 01 - The Demon Awakens Page 17