Linsha tried frantically to grab a handful of sail. She could feel her feet slipping. Her boots were made for walking, not gripping the smooth sides of a wooden beam. There was no time to find a convenient loop of rope or dangling lifeline. Her feet slipped free and her body dropped, its weight wrenching her grip loose from the heavy sails. She fell, tumbling, toward the deck nearly thirty feet below.
The fall happened so quickly Linsha barely had time to draw a deep breath and force her body to relax before she landed with a hard whump in the middle of the canvas sheet. The four men grinned down at her, pleased at their success. The spectators burst into raucous applause.
“Th-thank you,” Linsha said breathlessly.
“Lynn of Gateway, you are either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish,” Lord Bight commented as he offered her his hand to help her rise.
Linsha climbed to her feet and looked over the rail where the sailor had disappeared. There was no sign of him in the warm, dark waters under the ship.
“That was a brave attempt,” Commander Durne said from beside her.
“But a vain one,” she replied sadly. The rush of excitement had ended abruptly and left her exhausted and drained. She stood limply, drooping in a weariness that seemed to deprive her of thought and energy. She glanced back at the lord governor and saw he had already moved away and was talking to the harbormaster about the damaged Whydah and the best way to separate the two ships without sinking the freighter. She sighed gently. Her meeting with him had certainly taken an unexpected turn, but it was over. It had been a long day and a very exciting morning. What she wanted now was her own lodgings, where she could drop the pretense and be herself for a little while. Time to think, time to rest.
Commander Durne understood her exhaustion. He, too, had felt the loss of strength and will after a heartfelt struggle. He bowed slightly to her, a mark of respect for an underling. “I will tell Sergeant Amwold you are dismissed. You may return to your horse.”
She pushed hack her damp hair, finished the movement in a salute, and turned to make her way hack to the pier.
Commander Durne stood thoughtfully and watched her until her form blended into the busy traffic.
Chapter
Linsha’s lodgings were small and rundown and, best of all, inexpensive. They also had the advantage of being close to Windcatcher’s stable on a side street halfway between the West Gate and the harbor. Although she could have chosen to get a free bed in the billets at the guards’ camp, being one of the few women in the guards prompted her to look for her own place. Besides, as Lynn, she would have much preferred a room closer to the action of the gaming houses and taverns.
With a tip from her leader, Lady Knight Karine Thasally, she found an elderly widow seeking to rent the top floor of her house. Despite Lynn’s uncouth, uneducated manners, the widow Elenor took the wild Lynn under her wing and did her best to care for the young woman. Perhaps she appreciated having a member of the guards under her roof; perhaps she was lonely. Whatever the reason, Elenor reminded Linsha of her grandmother, and she was not loath to return the regard.
After stabling and rubbing down Windcatcher, Linsha walked gratefully home. The house was a narrow two-story timber-and-stone edifice with a tiny garden in the back and leaded windows that looked out toward the harbor. Elenor’s husband had built the house for her shortly after the arrival of Hogan Bight, and for over twenty years, she had lived in the house while her husband plied his trade in the Newsea. Time and illness had taken her husband, worn down her house, and aged her once pretty face, but Elenor seemed to Linsha to be indomitable.
Elenor was standing on a ladder, slapping whitewash against the stone chimney, when she saw Linsha approaching.
“Oh, thank goodness, I can take a break,” she said as Linsha came closer.
“Elenor, what are you doing? I thought we agreed you would hire the Kellen boy to do that! You shouldn’t be up on a ladder in this heat.”
Elenor came carefully down her ladder one step at a time. “He was busy. But I think you’re right. I’m parched. And you look all wrung out. You’re late! What did they have you doing today?”
Linsha gave her a weary smile. She was tired and wanted to get out of her sweat-soaked clothes, but Elenor loved to hear the news and gossip of the city and counted on Lynn to spend a few minutes to tell her all about her duties and activities. In return, she plied the young woman with ale, tea, or cooled juice, and honey cakes, tea cakes, cookies, shortbreads, or whatever she had taken from the oven that morning. Linsha thought it was a fair return. She crossed her arms and said casually, “I had to take a message to Lord Bight.”
Elenor’s creased face lit up. “My dear, come in the kitchen and tell me all about it. We’ll hang that tunic of yours in the breeze to dry and share a pitcher of cold cider.” She rubbed her whitewash-speckled hands on her apron. “Do you know, old Cobb down at the Dancing Bear contrived to bring some ice down from the mountains. Oh, my stars, you should have seen the crowd there this morning! When I took the order of tea cakes to his kitchen, he gave me a bowl of ice in thanks. Come have some before it melts.”
They walked through the small house down a central hallway to a kitchen attached to the rear and finished several glasses of icy cider and a stack of tea cakes. Linsha thought she had never tasted anything so delightful. It was nearly noon before she reached the end of her tale and exhausted all of Elenor’s questions.
Drooping with weariness, Linsha trudged up the narrow stairs to her room. Elenor had opened the two small windows wide for ventilation and cleaned the room as usual. The largest room contained a bed covered with a faded quilt, a chest, a few pegs for clothes and weapons, a small table and chair, and a lamp. The furnishings were plain and simple and showed little of the occupant’s personality. The second room, hardly larger than a pantry, was used mostly for storage. The little apartment was hot, but after the oppressive heat outside, the shade and the slight breeze were a relief.
Out of habit, Linsha inspected the room for things or intruders that were not there when she left. Then she stripped down to a light linen shift and collapsed gratefully on the bed. Her eyelids slid closed.
“Don’t get comfortable,” a soft, raspy voice said from the window above her head.
Linsha groaned and cracked open one eyelid. “Varia, you’re out late.”
There was a sudden whisper of air through feathers, and an owl, russet and cream-colored, landed lightly on the bed beside her knees. With deliberate care, the bird sidestepped up the quilt until it could peer unblinkingly into Linsha’s sleepy face.
The woman opened both eyes and stared into two agate-black orbs only a few inches from her face. The owl’s deep-set eyes were surrounded by ovals of cream-colored feathers circled by narrow lines of deep brown that made the bird look as if she was wearing spectacles. Linsha stroked the back of a forefinger down the bird’s softly spotted chest. She still could hardly believe her good fortune that a bird such as this chose to be her companion. Varia was similar to the rare and elusive giant talking owls of Krynn, but whether she was one of a kind or part of a species related to those Darken owls, she never told Linsha. Smaller in size than the giant owls, she nonetheless had their abilities to communicate with humans and to judge the true worth of a person’s character. Varia had found Linsha during a search mission into the Khalkist Mountains and, after a careful scrutiny, had decided to attach herself to a friend worthy of her companionship.