Free The Spirit Ring by Lois McMaster Bujold Page A

which he'd half-lowered as he'd coasted in. He straightened its folds and lowered it fully. He climbed out onto the dock and took up the rope to lead his boat around the end to its proper mooring on the lee side.
           "The boat," breathed Fiametta. "Come on!"
           He squinted at it, beard pointing. "Maybe..." They stumbled forward.
           "Master Boatman," Fiametta called as they came near, "would you please hire us your boat?" She suddenly realized she was carrying no coins. And neither was Master Beneforte.
           "Eh?" The peasant stood and pushed back his straw hat, staring dully at them.
           "My father has taken ill. As you see. I wish to take him gently across to Saint Jerome's, and see Brother Mario the healer." She glanced back over her shoulder. "At once."
           "Well, I have to unload my fish, Madonna. Maybe then."
           "No. At once." At his offended frown, she tore the silver net from her hair and held it out to him. "Here. There are as many pearls in my net as you have fish in yours. I'll trade you even, but don't argue with me ."
           The astonished boatman took the hairnet. "Well...! Never before have I pulled pearls from Lake Montefoglia!"
           Fiametta moaned in her throat, and coaxed Master Beneforte to sit on the edge of the dock. From there he dropped heavily into the open boat, motioning urgently to his bundled cloak. She shoved it into his hands and he clutched it to his chest. He looked worse, his mouth open with pain, his legs drawing up. She jumped in after him, fighting her velvet skirts. The boat rocked wildly. Bemusedly, the boatman standing on the dock tossed in the bow rope, and then, after another glance at his handful of pearls, his straw hat as well. It spiraled down into the bottom of the boat. Fiametta squatted and grabbed an oar, heavy in her hands, and used it to shove them hard away from the dock.
           A man in Ferrante's livery emerged from the alleys, spotted them, and shouted over his shoulder. He started for the dock. He had a drawn sword in his hand.
           Fiametta pointed back toward the shore. "Watch out, Boatman! Those two men who are coming will steal your pearls." And beat out his life as well in their frustration, she feared, as casually brutal as wolves.
           "What?" The peasant wheeled and stared in panic at the two bravos, who had nearly reached the dock. His hand tightened on his new treasure.
           She found the rope to raise the sail and hung on it, hand-over-hand. The warm afternoon breeze was faint, but steady, and more importantly, from the south, blowing them away from the shore even while she struggled with the sail and had no hand free for the steering oar. They had drifted a good forty feet away from the dock by the time the two shouting bravos reached the end of it.
           They shook their swords at Fiametta and cried obscene and violent threats. They were just turning back to wreak lethal vengeance on the poor man who had helped her, when the peasant, who had fallen back and picked up a long oar, charged forward with it like a knight at joust. It struck one sword-waving bravo square in his steel breastplate; with a yell, the man fell backward into the water and sank. Swinging the oar around like a quarterstaff, the peasant took the second bravo in the chin with a crack that echoed across the lake. He staggered back, unbalanced, and splashed after his comrade.
           By the time the two men had saved themselves from drowning, at the cost of abandoning their heavy metal weapons and armor to the lake bottom, and splashed soddenly back onto the beach, the boatman had thoroughly disappeared. The light spring air filled the little boat's brown sail. The angry figures on the beach shaking their fists and impotently biting their thumbs seemed as tiny and feckless as gnomes.
           Master Beneforte, who had been watching over the side with