Free Barefoot Pirate by Sherwood Smith Page A

Blackeye asked.
    “Kitchen!” Sarilda said with a soft laugh.
    They parted, Warron, Sarilda and Mican treading single file
up a narrow path scratched into the side of a mighty rock cliff. Nan turned to
follow Blackeye—and the quiet air carried Mican’s voice back clearly:
    “If I’d known this was nothing but a baby-walk for a prin-cess ,
I’d have stayed home and slept.”
    The words, and Warron’s snort of laughter afterward, shot a
jet of all the old hateful acid through Nan. It’s no different than home.
Everyone hates me .
    “This way.”
    Blackeye touched her arm, and led the way straight up the
side of the cliff for several yards. Nan struggled against sliding rocks and
gravel, catching hold of bushes and trying to place her feet where Blackeye
stepped.
    Blackeye shoved her way past a thick, prickly bush and
disappeared. Nan followed, then found herself in total blackness. The familiar
cool-dirt smell of a cave met her nose. She stood there breathing it in,
fighting against the old bad feelings.
    “Foogh.” Blackeye’s voice came out of the dark. “I had a
notion we’d forgotten to leave candles last time we were here, and I was right.
Here.” Fingers bumped Nan’s shoulder, and fumbled down her arm to her hand. “I
know the way.”
    Nan walked where she was tugged.
    The ground was smooth, at least, though it led steadily
uphill. After a short time, Blackeye said, “Mican is sour on anyone high-born.
He even gave Bron trouble when he and Shor first came—as if anyone couldn’t
tell at first look that Bron’s life’s been no better than his own despite his
exalted birth.”
    Nan gulped. “I didn’t—I’m sorry if I—”
    “It’s your breathing,” Blackeye interrupted, her voice mild.
“Sounds just like Bron’s did after one of Mican’s better tongue-scorchings. But
Mican’s, ah, okay. You know, I do like that word! He’ll ease up on the helm,
after he sees that you act like everyone else. Don’t expect to be treated
better. Don’t hand out commands to the rest of us. You’ll see.”
    “How did you get them to be friends?” Nan asked, glad her
voice was under control. She scrubbed her free hand over her eyes again.
    “Didn’t. They had to do it themselves. Here. We have to go
up somewhere here... Ah. Kevriac used his magic to make the two tunnels meet.
Almost went awry, we know, though he won’t tell us anything more about what
happened.”
    Blackeye’s tug on her hand pulled her up to a rock wall. A
kind of ladder had been carved, or blasted, into the stone. Nan fingered her
way carefully, her heart beating in her ear. It must have been about forty feet
they’d climbed—she was glad she wasn’t able to look behind her.
    At last they reached a shelf and crawled onto it. Nan,
gasping, sank back gratefully.
    “We’ll rest here a mite,” Blackeye said. “Me, I’m glad to
have you here. Also glad you are who you are. I’ve got some questions I’ve
wanted to talk out, and haven’t had much chance. Kings and queens not coming my
way much.” She chuckled. “What kind of queen was your mother?”
    “Huh?” Nan coughed, startled.
    “Seems to me there’s two kinds of leading. Either Todan’s,
where everyone fears you, and you force obedience, or the way my parents ran
the Falcon . Crew was free to come and go, and they didn’t have too many
rules. But maybe it’s just my good memories making them out to be right, and
they were really wrong—which is why old Mursid sold them out. So which was
hers?”
    Nan had only one memory of her mother’s face, but it was a
vivid one. She looked back at that terrible day she’d been abandoned in the
park, still saw the stark blue eyes and the mouth pressed in rage and fear,
even if she could not remember the words her mother had said at the time. “The
fear kind,” Nan whispered.
    “You think it best?” Blackeye asked.
    “No.” The word came out sounding flat and hard.
    Nan heard cloth shifting, and Blackeye sighed.