A moment too late, he realized he should have given some response to that honest offering. Carson had already looked away from him. He gave a tiny shrug. “I know you’ve got someone waiting for you to come back. I think he was an idiot to let you go in the first place. And of course, I don’t forget the differences between us. I know what I am, and I got my place in the world. And most of the time, I’m pretty satisfied with my life.”
Sedric found his voice. “I wish I could say the same,” he offered, then knew it had come out wrong. “I mean, I wish I could say I’d found satisfaction in my life. I haven’t.” There had been moments of it, he thought. Time spent with Hest in some of the more exotic cities they’d visited, times of excellent wine and rare foods and the prospect of a long, merry evening in a finely appointed inn. Had that been satisfaction with his life, he suddenly wondered, or simply hedonistic satiation? Uncomfortably he sensed that Carson was right. The differences between them were extreme. He suddenly felt shamed but also a bit angry. So he liked things to be nice; so he enjoyed the fine things life could offer. That didn’t make him shallow. There was more to him than just enjoying what Hest’s money could buy him. Carson’s voice called him back to reality. His voice sounded resigned.
“It’s getting late. We should get some sleep. You can have the blanket.”
“There’s another blanket in the other boat,” he said.
“Other boat?” Carson asked him.
He’d relaxed too much. The truth had slipped out. Then he wondered how long he would have lied? Would he have kept his silence tomorrow, let them abandon supplies and gear that were even more precious now than when they had left Trehaug?
“It’s tied up on the other side of that big snag over there.” He tossed his head toward it, and then sat, guilty and silent, as Carson gracefully rose and crossed the mat of rocking logs and debris to look down on it. He stared at the firepot. He heard the big man thud gently down into the bottom of the boat. In a moment, his voice came through the dimness. “This is Greft’s boat and his gear. One thing about him, he’s good at taking care of what’s his. If I were you, I’d be careful with his stuff. He’s going to want it all back, and in good condition.”
A few moments later, Carson returned. The blanket was slung over his shoulder. He tossed it to Sedric, not hard but not softly either. Sedric caught it. It was still damp in places. He’d intended to spread it out to dry in the sun and forgotten.
“So,” Carson said, sitting down on the log again. “That’s Greft’s boat. And you didn’t tie the knots that are securing it. What’s the whole story? And why didn’t you tell it?” There was a chill in his voice, a cold spark of anger.