Barefoot Pirate

by Sherwood Smith

  Feeling admiration.

  Now she felt sick. There’s no way we can make it, she thought.

  A yell from topside startled everyone.

  “They spotted anchorage close in,” Sarilda said.

  “Hey, that was fast.” Mican rubbed his skinny hands.

  “Visitors brought us luck,” Tarly said, giving Nan a smile.

  Nan tried to muster a smile up in return.

  “Keep chewing that ginger,” Sarilda admonished her. “Don’t stop just because we’re in harbor. We’ll be rolling about lots more as they bring us in.”

  Seasick or not, Nan wished she and the boat would have to stay out on the water. The boat slowed, which just increased the rocking. On deck, someone was yelling. The boat jerked a couple of times, rocking even more violently; it began to roll just as Blackeye shouted “The way is off her, hook up!”

  More jerks, while the others attached the boat by a thick cable to a floating buoy.

  Blackeye appeared at the top of the ramp, her glossy black braid swinging. “Mican, you and Shor take the visitors to get some duds, first trip. We’re going to do some listening around.” She tossed a small bag down to Mican. “Make it easy—buy what you need at market. On blue-one change meet us at the White Twig.”

  Sarilda laughed. “That means she wants to show you the Falcon.”

  Nan took a deep breath as she followed Mican, Kevriac, Joe, and Shor up the ramp to the deck, then over the side into the canoe. Warron and Blackeye took up oars and rowed them to a long wharf where countless tiny boats either drew near or else launched away; Nan glanced around. They were surrounded by floating boats with their sails furled more or less neatly, all fairly close together. Ships seemed to be anchored farther out, except for the big rake-masted ones that rated wharfs—all of them either with green and black stripes, or else with the kind of fancy scrollwork and other decorations that suggested they were the pleasure vessels of Todan’s favored nobles.

  On the short ride, chattered about the market and all the wonderful things they had there. Nan tried to listen—tried to recapture the wonderful feelings she’d had during the last few days. I won’t look at that palace on the bridge. Maybe something else will happen and I won’t have to go.

  When they climbed up a slimy ladder and stepped onto the quay, Nan felt it moving, and staggered. She was glad she’d kept the ginger; she sucked it, trying to brace herself.

  “You’ll get your land legs back in a moment,” Kevriac said, as Warron and Blackeye expertly launched the canoe away and back to the boat. “Just stand still and look around.”

  There was certainly plenty to look at. The harbor was crammed with people of every imaginable type, in jewels and silks, in bright sailing clothes, in rags, and everywhere, armed soldiers. Here and there were centaurs, always pulling some kind of conveyance.

  The fear tightened inside her again.

  “You still seasick?” Mican spoke with faint derision.

  “It takes a bit,” Shor said softly, with her friendly smile.

  Nan straightened her back, giving Mican a wary look. I’m a princess, she reminded herself. Which is why he hates me! At least I can act like one.

  “Let’s go,” she said shortly. “I’m fine.”

  “Market’s up this way,” Mican said. “Say.” He turned a challenging grin on Nan and Joe. “Shall we steal your new duds? Then we can use this money to get some good stuff to eat.”

  Nan looked back. Joe was walking quietly, his gaze on the dirty quay. He was walking as if his feet hurt. Yes. He winced and kicked at a small stone.

  Nan had no problems; she’d always gone barefoot as much as she could, unless there was snow on the ground. She’d noticed a long time ago that the foster parents never complained if you saved them money—and she certainly saved them shoe money by wearing one pair, year round, only when she had to.

  “I think we should do what Blackeye says,” Shor said quietly. “She doesn’t want the warts knowing we’re here this time.”

  “She’d give us a usual run if she wasn’t worried about her prin-cess,” Mican said snidely.

  Joe looked up, his mouth rounding in question—then he shrugged and turned away. As if this had nothing to do with him.

  Nan had been watching him, afraid he’d question the ‘princess’ crack. Luckily Mican’s tone had been sarcastic enough that the term seemed part of the insult.

  Nan stopped him from saying any more by muttering, “All right. Whatever you want. I don’t care—just stop blabbing on and on.”

  Mican’s thin cheeks reddened. Nan suspected that if she’d been a real princess, with a real story to keep secret, her words made a pretty heavy-duty rebuke.

  Serves him right, she thought, folding her arms.

  Mican jerked around. “This way.” He began pushing his way through the crowd on the wharf, the others drawn along like beads on a string.

  The wharf gave onto a broad concourse that Mican crossed; the concourse ran all around the big U of the harbor, the buildings all huge warehouses and custom houses. Between these, narrow streets led upward toward the cliffs.

  Mican darted between two huge warehouses, one that smelled of pungent spices and one of wood. The crowds had not lessened, but Mican moved fast, his sister pounding along right behind him. Kevriac and Nan stayed together and Joe followed as they ran up the crowded brick streets that wound back and forth along the cliffs. They passed rows of houses and shops built right up directly against the cliffs stopping when they reached a wide terrace, brick-patterned, built on a natural plateau. In its center was a huge fountain.

  At the back of the plateau the mountain was bisected by a thundering waterfall. The water vanished underneath the terrace, and Nan figured it somehow powered the fountain. The perimeter of the terrace was crammed with a rainbow-hue of flimsy tents, each with its vendor hawking wares. It was hard to move because the crowd here was worse than ever. Joe plugged along grimly behind the others, his breath hissing sharply every now and then.

  Shor quietly scanned the various stalls, every so often pointing to something and looking back at them in question. Nan shrugged. She didn’t care what she wore. Everything seemed wonderful on this world—and it was even greater to be away from ugly, cheap polyester and rayon. But Joe kept shaking his head, making faces. Nan wondered if he was trying to find jeans and tee shirts.

  After a time Mican began shifting his dirty looks from Nan to Joe as they worked their way steadily around the market.

  Nan never saw how Mican got the last outfit she’d okayed. She was only aware of him stepping next to her and thrusting something into her hands. He moved away and took Joe’s arm to point out a man on a prancing black stallion who was just entering the market area. The man wore a tall plumed hat and glittering chain mail. He looked about with a supercilious air as the crowd scurried out of his path.

  Nan looked down at the cloth in her hands, wondering what to do with it. Shor said, “Why won’t Joe wear pink? Or yellow? or mauve? Are these colors forbidden on Earth ?”

  “He’s just being an idiot,” Nan said. “Just pick something out and he’ll have to—”

  “There’s my goods! Stop the thief! Thieeef!”

  Nan looked up—into the purple face of a fat man who was pointing straight at her. The crowd between them started fading back.

  “Stupid,” Mican hissed. “Why didn’t you hide it—”

  “Run.” Shor elbowed Nan.

  They ran. Nan veered away from a knot of merchants, and nearly smacked into a pair of patrolling soldiers.

  “THIEEEF!” The cry echoed behind her.

  The soldiers, a man and a woman, both started toward the screaming merchant. Nan might have made it had not a whistle and crack startled her into stumbling. A sharp pain struck her shoulder, and she fell to the dusty ground.

  The man on horseback seemed to tower twenty feet above her. One of his gloved hands held his reins, and the other brandished a whip.

  “There’
s your thief,” he said haughtily, pointing the thong down at Nan. “Get this vermin out of my path.”

  Nan froze. She’d dropped the tunic Mican had thrust into her hands—but one of the soldiers picked it up as the other closed five hard fingers around her arm.

  “You’re under arrest.”

  Ten

  Joe stared helplessly at Nan. In two seconds the fun had turned to nightmare. “What’re we gonna do?” he muttered.

  Mican shot him a weird look, then bent down. Straightening up fast, he slung a handful of dirt and pebbles straight at the nobleman. The man’s horse reared, driving the crowd back. People screamed and shouted, shoving violently in order to avoid the thrashing hooves. Mican dove through the tangle of writhing arms and legs and rammed into one of the soldiers, knocking her into the other. He snatched at Nan’s arm as Shor let fly with more dirt, this time at the soldiers.

  Unfortunately Todan had trained his forces well. Despite the chaos around her, the soldier spun about and thumped Mican across the face, and with the same hand smashed Mican’s grip free of Nan. Her partner made a grab at Mican, who rolled back into the surging crowd. Joe watched, aghast.

  “Come on,” Shor whispered in Joe’s ear. She tugged him farther back into the crowd.

  Joe followed her, glancing back. The nobleman cursed loudly as he fought his panicked horse. One of the soldiers plunged into the crowd, shoving people left and right—looking for Mican.

  “It’s all right,” Shor whispered urgently. “He’ll get away, and meet us at the inn. We’d better get out of here before someone remembers we were all together.”

  Joe choked against something horrible in his throat. “But — Nan—”

  “They’ve got her.” Shor pointed over Joe’s shoulder. More soldiers had appeared from somewhere, surrounding Nan. “We’ll just have to get her out,” Shor promised. “Blackeye will know how. Don’t worry.”

  Joe allowed her to pull him away, and soon Nan and her captors were swallowed in the noisy crowd. Joe’s last glimpse of the scene was the bobbing plume of the nobleman’s hat as he forced his mount through the crowd.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “Oh, no.” And then, as reaction-anger burned through him, “Why did Mican have to make us steal?”

  “We always have.” Shor opened her hands, thin as her brother’s. “Ever since they killed our family. We always try to steal from anyone who consents to Todan’s rule, just as they stole our lives from us.” Shor’s eyes were sad but her voice was firm.

  Joe remembered what he’d read in Kevriac’s book about Mican and Shor, and he shook his head, his anger dying. Unfortunately, that just made him feel worse. “This is horrible,” he muttered, his head feeling like a bomb about to explode. We’re the heroes. We’re the good guys. It’s supposed to be fun. We’re supposed to win. Not them.

  “We’ll get her back.” Shor squeezed his fingers comfortingly.

  Joe realized she was still holding his hand, and embarrassment pushed away all the other feelings.

  Shor dropped his hand, and pointed up a narrow side road. “We’ll just go on to the meeting place. Maybe they’ll be done with paying the harbormaster and whatever else they had to do.”

  Joe did as he was told. He kept his head down in case any of those soldiers had seen his face and were looking for him, and also because he wanted to watch the road. His feet ached. He wished he was at the meeting place—in fact, he wished they were back on the island, running about and practicing swordplay.

  No way I’m ready for this kind of stuff. He sighed, rubbing his eyes, until he remembered Shor’s words “Blackeye will know how.” That’s right. Her gang seemed to know how to handle everything. Maybe they’d have Nan out by nightfall, and then they’d all laugh about it, back at the hideout.

  o0o

  Nan stumbled behind the soldiers, her hands tied painfully behind her and a rope around her neck. Her mind refused to work, and her heart pounded somewhere near her throat.

  “Hope you swing, you filthy thieving brat!” a shopkeeper shouted at her, and she looked up in time to get a face full of something squishy and nasty-smelling — some kind of rotten fruit.

  Two or three more rotten tings thumped on her body before the soldiers yelled, “All right, clear off. This prisoner’s ours.”

  Nan shook her head violently, trying to clear the mess off her face, but it didn’t work. Her eyes stung and her stomach heaved when some of the nastiness seeped inside her mouth.

  “This way, thief,” a curt voice said. A yank on the rope round her neck nearly pulled her off her feet.

  Gasping for breath, she lurched after the soldiers. Angry shopkeepers yelled horrible things after her. Some of the gathering crowd laughed.

  Sudden darkness startled her; she looked up from the cobbled stones at her feet just in time to see an iron-fanged gate close behind. They were inside some kind of tunnel. Soldiery clanked back and forth in both directions. Nan scurried forward, walking close to the side the soldier holding her rope so it wouldn’t pull at her neck. Unfortunately that put her in the pathway of passing soldiers. Twice in a row she got a hard elbow in her ribs, knocking her out of the way.

  Nan’s breath burned in her throat when they finally stopped in a small room before a big desk. Torches on either side of the desk did nothing to ease the harsh features of a huge man who fixed squinty eyes on Nan then said, “What’s this?”

  “Thief, sir,” said the woman at Nan’s right.

  “Evidence, sir,” said the man on her left, dropping the cloth onto the table. “Vendor in Little-Moon Square. He’ll be here sundown to get his goods. Said he wants full justice.”

  “So do I,” the man sneered. “I’d like nothing better than to clean this filth off our streets. You.” He glared at Nan. “Which gang you belong to?”

  The word gang called up horrible connotations from Earth, and Nan said, “None! I hate gangs!” Then she remembered Blackeye’s group, and that fact that she really did belong to a gang, but she pressed her lips firmly together. She would not, not, NOT tell them Blackeye’s name.

  “Liar,” the man said. “Good. We’ll have some fun finding out, but later. Put her in somewhere nice and quiet. So she can think about what’s going to happen.” Her jerked his thumb behind him.

  And so she was yanked along a narrow, dank passage into a dim, musty-smelling dungeon. Outside of a cell she was hauled abruptly to a stop, and the ropes were pulled off her before she was shoved inside a dark cell. The door slammed behind her as she fell onto the uneven floor of stone.

  o0o

  Joe followed Shor into the White Twig Inn’s warm, thick air. He breathed in the scents of wine, spiced food, and people. Noise flowed around them, almost as thick as the air: voices laughing, talking, arguing, yelling, and singing. Joe realized the singing was accompanied by people playing some musical instruments—a couple of flute things, and something that sounded like a cross between a guitar and a harp.

  Shor looked about quickly, then nudged Joe with her elbow. He followed close behind her, intimidated by the loud, pushing patrons, most of whom were adults. At least some of these guys are dressed even dorkier than I am. Wide sashes with long fringes, embroidered trousers and vests and shirts with voluminous sleeves, and big hats seemed popular. Bright colors were worn by both sexes, and to add to the brightness, some of the clothes had beads and glittery things sewn on.

  As Joe followed Shor around the perimeter of the room, he realized he was actually dressed kind of boring for this place. I wonder what they would see as sissy clothes? Jeans and tees?

  They reached the booth where Blackeye, Warron, Sarilda, Tarsen, and Kevriac sat wedged in.

  Blackeye’s eyes moved from Shor to Joe, and narrowed. Next to her, Warron looked up consideringly.

  Shor bent close to Blackeye and talked into her ear.

  Blackeye rose. “Pay up,” she said to Kevriac. “Then meet in the room. No one will be in it now.”

  She disappeared into the crowd.
Warron got to his feet, jerking his chin at Shor and Joe in an unmistakable command to follow.

  They threaded their way out a back exit, and across a courtyard busy with arriving and departing carriages and horse-riding guests, chickens, and small children racing about. Warron did not look back as his long stride made a path through this muddle to a narrow wooden stairway.

  The inn was built in a square around the court, in a crazy jumble of additions that didn’t quite match. Ordinarily Joe would have loved to explore, but one look at Shor’s worried face signaled something bad was about to happen.

  Warron led them up the stairs to a narrow door, then into a long attic room under a steeply slanting ceiling. Rows of hammocks hung from hooks, and below each was a little bench with a shelf under it. After the noise of the inn and courtyard, the quiet was startling.

  Shor dropped onto a three-legged stool like a collapsing doll. Warron strolled to a window and looked out, still without speaking. Joe wandered to another window, and stared out at a patchwork of roofs and little streets. Some of the roofs had tiny gardens in colorful pots.

  The door to the attic banged open and in came Kevriac and Tarsen, and a moment later Blackeye and Mican followed, the latter crimson-faced and breathing hard. Shor jumped to her feet and stood beside her brother.

  “Bron and Tarly won’t be back until after sundown, so it’s just us,” Blackeye said, dropping onto the stool that Shor had just left.

  Warron moved away from the window and lounged over to stand behind Blackeye, his arms crossed.

  This is kind of like a court, Joe thought, as Blackeye turned to Shor. Once again his heart thumped painfully against his ribs.

  With a quick look at her brother, Shor said, “We tried to steal some clothes. To save our money for a good eat. Nan got caught by the toads.”

  “Told you to buy duds,” Blackeye said, unsmiling. Then her dark, slanted eyes flicked Joe’s way, and she went on, “What happened?”

  Joe described the sequence of events as well as he could. Some of the details were already a blur, but certain things he said drew reactions from the others, and Blackeye made him go back and describe it all again.