The upshot was that we put in at New Viron. Oreb has a new phrase: "No boat!" It expresses my feelings as well as his, and better than I could myself. No more winter sailing, at any rate. The rest feel the same way, I would guess-particularly Jahlee, whose vomiting blood nearly killed her, and persuaded Wijzer's crew that she was gravely ill. (Hoof knows, I believe, although I have not told him. Hide says he has not, that he has told only Vadsig. I have not asked her; and it is at least equally likely that Hoof's suspicions were roused by something he saw or something Jahlee herself said to him.)
The inns here are dangerous, and after asking various people to recommend safe and decent ones, and being disappointed with those, we settled on the following arrangement: Hoof, Hide, and Vadsig- all that they can provide beds for-are staying with my brother Calf and his wife. Jahlee and I have bought a tent and pitched it in this sandy field belonging to the town, very near the sea. The town sent me out, and for the town I labored without payment for nearly two years; it owes me this and more, as I told the men sent to dislodge us. I hope to be summoned soon to make my report.
Gyrfalcon has declared himself calde, and seems to be making it stick. Hoof came, and we talked about it. He is a tyrant, or at least Hoof says that Calf says he is. Many think a tyrant preferable to the anarchy that prevailed earlier. That Hoof says also, and I could have guessed it for myself. For their sake, I hope they will not learn differently in a year or two.
* * *
We have been doing what we can to make the tent snug. Hide and I ditched it and cut brush that Jahlee arranged very cleverly against the sides to break the force of the wind. I should add that the weather is not as cold as it was, and that is worth any quantity of brush. We have a little copper stove, too, which keeps us warm and serves me to cook on. All in all, we are surprisingly comfortable. As soon as I have made my report and handed over my corn, I will buy a boat and go. After our storm-tossed voyage with Wijzer, I am in no hurry.
Sunshine and a mild wind; winter is about over. So I pray. When it began, I was in Gaon fighting the Man of Han; I would never have guessed that when it ended I would be nearly home. The Outsider has been very good to me. He reads this, I believe, even as I write it. The ink is not yet dry upon my thanks.
Hoof came again. We agreed that although I must remain here for the present, there is no need for him to remain as well. He will try to arrange for a boat to take him to Lizard. I gave him money for that purpose and this record, too, as far as the bandits. Without prompting, he asked if he might read it. I said he was welcome to, but asked him not to show it to you until I have a chance to speak to you. He said he would not. I begged him to keep it safe, explaining how important it is to me. He promised to make every effort. He is a good boy-too serious, if anything. He tried to tell me something but wept too much to get it out. We embraced and parted.
He has told me a little about his adventures before he found us in Dorp. I must get him to tell me more when next I see him, and set them down, with Hide's adventures in Gaon. I must not fail to do this.
When the apprentice visited me in my cell, I talked to him about writing, and the making of books. He brought a pen, ink, and paper such as they use in the Red Sun Whorl, and wrote out a few sentences for me: "You are the only client who could leave our oubliette, but chose to stay. You must have been in many terrible places if this one does not seem terrible to you." (I believe I am quoting him correctly except for his spellings; he used those of his city, which I cannot recall with any precision and which differ in many respects from ours.)
"I have been in places that were more dangerous than this, but in none more terrible," I told him.
"You must have been in Nessus. You said you walked a long way beside Gyoll."
"On another visit, yes. This time we went directly from our own whorl to the Broken Court."
"You can do that?" His eyes were wide.
"Go straight to the Broken Court? Clearly we can. We did."
He shook his head in disbelief. He does not have what is called an attractive face; although his piercing eyes smiled once or twice, I do not believe I ever saw a smile reach his lips.
"You could write a book yourself, if you chose. Nettle and I had a great many other things to do when we were writing what people call The Book of the Long Sun now; but every evening when the twins were asleep, one or the other of us would work on our book, and sometimes both of us worked together."
He picked up his pen and seemed about to speak.
"It's really only a matter of deciding what you would say if you were telling a friend. You have friends, I'm sure."
He nodded. "Drotte and Roche and Eata. Drotte's a little older than I am. So is Roche. Eata's a little younger."
"But you are friends, all four of you?"
He nodded again.
"Then pretend you are talking to Drotte and Roche. You must speak your best, and not show off as you might be inclined to do if you were talking with Eata."
"I see." He remained troubled.
"Unless we were writing some part of our book about which Nettle knew much more than I, I would write first."
"Like you were talking?"
"Exactly. When she had time, Nettle would read what I had written, correct my spelling and grammar-she is better at both-and add passages of her own. Still later, I would re-write, incorporating what she had written into our text and perhaps adding a few thoughts of my own. After that, she would make a fair copy and we would consider that section done."
"Look at that!" His pen jabbed at his capital Y "If Master Palaemon had written it, it would have been beautiful."
"Leave beauty to your words. If your letters can be read, for them that is beauty enough."
"You said your wife copied out everything you wrote."
"She did; but that was the least of the many things she did. At times we had to imagine actions and conversations. She is very good at that. In a hundred instances, she refreshed my memory on important points. While it's true that she writes a better hand than I, that was much less important."
"I never forget. I don't understand how anybody does."
"You're fortunate," I told him, "and will have a great advantage when you come to write a book of your own."
He shook his head. "I won't, until I have a scribe to make my writing look better."
"Will you have one?" When I looked only at his rags, I found it difficult to believe; but when I raised my eyes to his narrow, intense face I found it easy.
"When I'm a master. Master Gurloes has Master Palaemon write for him, mostly. But Master Malrubius used to make a scribe come and help him twice a week. They have to, if we tell them to. They're afraid of us."
"Understandably so." I looked around my little cell for the last time, conscious I would leave it soon and a trifle wistful already; it had been a haven of rest and prayer.
"You're not."
"Can you be sure? Perhaps I'm secretly terrified."
He shook his head with an obstinacy that recalled Sinew's. "I've seen a lot of that. You're not afraid at all."
"Because I'm not really here."
"That judge is afraid."
"He doesn't know, you see." I tried not to smile. "Or if he does by this time, he may be afraid that my daughter and I will leave him here. As we might."
"She's a witch, isn't she?"
To the best of my recollection I did not answer. "What do you say we pay a call on him? Will you show me where you've put him?"
For a moment or two he considered the matter, hand upon chin. "I shouldn't let you out..."
"I wouldn't ask you to. I'll let myself out."