Free Goldenhand by Garth Nix Page B

Karrilke’s eyes, trying to gauge who this fisherwoman was, how she would react. “Enemies were watching; I was wounded in the fight. They will be watching still, it being the only bridge. I had to take to the water. And it has worked out, has it not? If you take me to the southern shore, I will give you gold.”
    â€œYou don’t think we will just steal whatever valuables you have?” asked Karrilke.
    â€œNo,” said Ferin. “I do not think so. Your eyes do not slink about when you talk. Besides, you have the magic mark on your forehead, like the witch in the cave whose message I bear. That is an omen that you will help me.”
    â€œIs it?” asked Karrilke, but she smiled. “A witch in a cave? In your mountains? Who bore the Charter mark?”
    â€œYes,” said Ferin. “She came from the witches in the ice.”
    â€œYou mean the Clayr?” asked Karrilke.
    â€œYes,” said Ferin. “But I do not say so, because names may call the named, or others who listen for the name, on the wind. Already I know there are many who do not want my message to arrive.”
    â€œThe strange fire in the pot, that is the work of what we would call a Free Magic sorcerer,” said Karrilke slowly, as she tried to puzzle out this strange catch from the sea. “But you do not seem to be one yourself. They do not readily take to the water and, among your people, are chained at the neck, are they not?”
    â€œI am no witch,” said Ferin. “The fire . . . it came from a spirit-glass arrow. I would have died of the chill else.”
    â€œI have heard of those arrows,” said Karrilke. “Treasures, are they not?”
    â€œMy message is very important, both for my people and your own,” said Ferin. “I carried three spirit-glass arrows when I setout. Now, tell me. Will you take me to the southern side of the Greenwash?”
    Karrilke did not answer immediately. She looked away from Ferin, huddled in the blankets on the swaying deck, and out over the sea. The shore could be seen in the distance as a dark smudge on the horizon; they were now north of the Greenwash, so that land was at least notionally claimed by one of the clans. Drifting near this shore, but still too close for Karrilke’s liking, a thin line of very dark smoke rose from the raft.
    â€œWe should have sunk it,” she said, half to herself.
    â€œWhat?” asked Ferin, as the captain grabbed a stay and stood up on the gunwale, to look in all directions.
    â€œWe should have sunk your raft and that fire with it,” said Karrilke. “That smoke may invite interest from those it is better to avoid. Now tell me, will you swear upon . . . what do you mountain-folk swear upon?”
    â€œWe do not swear upon anything,” said Ferin. “We simply keep our word.”
    â€œThen if you will agree to keep the peace, and follow my orders, we will release you.”
    â€œWill you take me to the southern shore?” asked Ferin. “I will pay.”
    â€œOur home port is Yellowsands, twenty leagues south of the Greenwash mouth. We will take you there. But not until our hold is full of salted batith.”
    Ferin looked puzzled.
    â€œBatith are fish,” whispered one of the crew who held her.
    â€œBut . . . but I have said I will pay!” exclaimed Ferin. She began to struggle again, and found the grip of the sons and daughter had not relaxed. “I have gold. Enough to pay for any cargo of fish.”
    â€œI have never sailed home to Yellowsands without a full hold,” said Karrilke. “The fishing has been good; it should take only three,perhaps four more days before we can strike for home.”
    â€œMy message is very important!” cried Ferin. “I cannot waste any time! Let me show you the gold!”
    â€œTime is never wasted, fishing,” said Karrilke. “Money is only money.”
    â€œCan you sell me one of your . . .