I grab Nudd’s rope an we dive out a the way. Nero flaps of in a panic.
The boat scrapes to a stop, right where we was standin.
There’s silence fer a moment. Then there’s a great groan an the boat tips forwards. Another silence. Then, I real y must work on those emergency stops, says the voice.
There’s a lit le old man. He’s clingin to the mast like a lizard on a stump.
Don’t say a word, I whisper to Em. I’l take care of this.
Good day to you! he cries. I … er … let me just get my—
He reaches into his coat.
Don’t move! I yel . I run in front of the boat. I aim my bow right between his eyes. Hands up! I says.
Wait! he says. We come in peace! We mean you no harm!
Let go of that mast. I take two quick steps closer. Put yer hands up.
I assure you! We have nothing worth taking, my fearsome friend!
We? I says. Who else you got on there? Tel ’em to come out.
Did I say we? I meant I. I! No one here but me! A slip of the tongue, an error under duress!
I let fly with a arrow. It sticks in the mast jest above his head. He lets out a frightened squawk. Then he hol ers, Miz Pinch! Miz Pinch!
A head struggles out from the heap of sail. A woman.
Emerge from your nest, my dove, he says. There’s … er … this delightful young lady would like to meet you.
She might have gray hair, but she’s a rawboned giant, the woman who shoves the sail aside an stands up. She’s got a long head like a horse an pock-pit ed skin, red an angry-lookin. She takes one look at me an says to him, Yer a idiot, Rooster.
I said hands up! I says.
They raise their hands above their heads. They got a be the strangest pair I’l ever see. He only jest comes to her waist. He’s got a fat round bel y set on top of skinny lit le bird legs an he wears a cookin pot on his head fer a helmet. His tunic’s cobbled together from the kinda rubbish you’d find in a landfil —cloth, slippy bags, shimmer discs an what have you. There’s pieces of tire strapped around his knees.
That it? I says. Jest the two of yuz?
Yes! He bobs up an down, lookin like a sil y quail. Yes, that’s it! Please—I beg of you, my dear—please don’t hurt us. You see, I have a weak heart and the slightest—
It’s only a girl, you old fool! Miz Pinch kicks him in the ankle. Hard. He crumples in pain.
Yes, my heart’s delight! he gasps. But, as you can see, she’s a veritable warrior, armed and—
Keep yer hands up or I’l shoot agin! I yel .
They raise their hands. If thievin’s yer game, the woman says, we ain’t got nuthin worth takin.
I ain’t no thief, I says. Who are you? What’re you doin out here?
Rooster Pinch at your service, he says. Man of business and captain of the good ship Desert Swan. And may I present my lovely wife Miz Pinch, whom you’ve already—
Shut up, I says. I nod at the woman. You do the talkin.
We’re pedlars, she says. On our way to Hopetown. We got blown of course.
Show me what yer peddlin, I says.
Wel , what’re you waitin fer? she says to him. Show her the trunk.
I … I’l have to put my hands down, he says.
Go on, I says. But no funny stuf .
He disappears inside the hut an comes out bum rst, draggin a bat ered metal trunk behind him. He throws back the lid an starts liftin out bits of junk, holdin ’em up fer me to see—a couple of dirty glass bot les, pieces of bashed up Wrecker tech, a shovel, one squashed boot.
Al right, I says, git back there with yer wife. Then, Emmi, I yel , git over here! She rides over on Nudd. Climb on an take a look inside that hut, I says. Check if they got any weapons.
She slides o Nudd’s back, scrambles on board, scampers past ’em an ducks inside the scabby lit le hut. I keep my bow aimed at the pair of ’em.
He clears his throat. Lovely day, he says.
His wife clips him round the ear.
Emmi comes out agin.
Al right? I says.
She nods. Al clear, she says an jumps down to stand beside me.
You got water on board? I says.
Miz Pinch jerks her head an he goes scurryin into the hut agin. Comes out with a big plastic jug.
Take it, Em, I says. Fil the waterskins.
He hands it down to her an she hurries to do what I told her.
Now that I know they ain’t got weapons, that they ain’t nuthin but a pair of shabby old pedlars, I ain’t quite sure what the form is. Don’t seem to be much point in shootin ’em. They stand there with their hands up, lookin at me.
Jest then, Nero decides to see what’s al the fuss about. He drifts down an lands on Pinch’s cookin pot helmet. Leans over an pecks him on the nose.
Ah! says Pinch, bat in him away. Crow! Go on! Go away!
I lower my bow. Al right, I guess yer okay. You can put yer hands down.
There you go, my treasure! Pinch says to his wife. I knew she was a good ’un!
Miz Pinch snorts an goes inside the hut.
That’s what I cal magnanimous! cries Pinch. That’s what I cal sporting! He slides down o a the Swan, grabs my hand an pumps it up an
That’s what I cal magnanimous! cries Pinch. That’s what I cal sporting! He slides down o a the Swan, grabs my hand an pumps it up an down. Wel met, my gladiatorial friend! You have a merciful soul! A compassionate soul! A rare thing in these dark days, I assure you.
Now … I know that such a model of justice wouldn’t wish to hinder a man’s e orts to remediate the cause of his most unfortunate … er … his most un—er … Dear me. I seem to have lost my train of thought.
You bet er fix that wheel, I says.
That’s it! he says. Precisely!
Wel , git on with it.
Pinch scurries o to fetch back the tire that bounced away. I go over to help Emmi nish l in our waterskins. Then we drink til our thirst gits quenched an make sure Nudd an Nero git plenty too. The sounds an smel s of cookin is startin to drift out a the lit le hut on the Desert Swan.
Emmi snif s the air. That sure smel s good, she whispers.
My bel y’s squeezed tight. My mouth waters. It’s bin a long while since we et the last of that jackrabbit.
Pinch rol s up, pushin the tire in front of him. He’s out a breath an the sweat pours of a him.
You wanna hand with that? I says.
I help him prop up the boat. Then he gits his toolkit an we set to put in the tire back on. Emmi sits crossleg a lit le ways o , drawin in the dirt with a stick.
You need tighter fixins on this, I says. Lemme see what you got in that kit.
He raises his hands to the sky. Not only merciful but a mechanic, he says.
While I pick through a glass jar of metal bits, he says, I’m afraid we intel ectuals aren’t very practical, my dear. I’m a constant trial to Miz Pinch, her cross to bear, but she never upbraids me for my failings, at least, not as much as I deserve.
You sure do talk peculiar, I says.
Ah! I knew you were a right ’un! he says. He wipes his hands on a kercheef, then reaches into a deep pocket in his coat an pul s somethin out. He holds it like it’s a babby bird or a feather or the most precious thing in the world. It sure don’t look like much. Two bits of brown leather wrapped around lots of thin lit le pieces of dried old leafs or somethin.
It’s a book, he says. He gives me a look like I oughta be impressed.