Turning Point (17 page)

His face relaxed, and when he looked down at her again, his eyes were heavy lidded with fatigue.

“Go and sleep now. You will be safe, I give you my word,” he urged gently.

Carrie nodded, feeling as if a weight she hadn't known existed was suddenly lifted from her. Surprised, she felt it echoed in Kusac.

“Till the morning,” she said, moving off toward the sleeping chamber.

 

From the moment the forest had started to thin out, they had been able to see the remains of the Terran colony ship. Only a fraction of its former height, it still dwarfed every building in Seaport. Its main function was to house the computer library and the communications system that prior to the arrival of the Valtegans had linked all the townships and was the colony's only source of contact with the second wave ship.

It had been early morning when they arrived, sneaking through the fields to the dockside, searching for their present hiding place—an upturned boat, storm damaged beyond easy repair. They had watched the small fishing fleet return and unload its catch amid a flurry of noise; seen housewives and tavern keepers bargaining over the boxes of fish and crustaceans and heard the sullen, hate-laden silence as a detachment of Valtegans arrived for their daily quota of fish. Overhead, the seabirds wheeled and screeched their litany of complaint.

The market session over, the fishermen and the settlers began to drift away. Before long, the dockside was virtually deserted.

Carrie stretched her cramped muscles, sighing with relief.

“Now we can do something, instead of skulking under this boat like a couple of rats! If there are any of the guerrillas in town, they'll be in the tavern with the fishermen. You wait here for me.”

“No,” said Kusac, uncurling his damp tail and pushing himself into a more upright position. “I'm coming with you. I want to be near in case of trouble. Don't worry,” he added, forestalling her. “I'll stay out of sight.”

“I don't see how you can,” Carrie objected, checking her surroundings mentally before scrambling out from under the boat. “A cat your size isn't exactly an everyday sight here.”

“I'll manage,” he said with finality, joining her on the quayside.

They made their way quickly across the open market area to the houses on the other side, ducking around and behind lobster creels, wicker baskets, and drying nets. Keeping close to the walls, they hugged what shadows there were and prayed that the townspeople would be too busy eating their midday meal to look out onto the main street.

They reached the tavern without incident. To one side of the building, a narrow lane led to the ubiquitous vegetable plot. Kusac padded silently down there and, keeping his belly low to the ground, wormed his way deep among the rows of peas and beans.

Keep your mind open to me,
he thought to her.
I want to know everything that happens.

You're too cautious,
she replied, tying her hair back before pulling the hood over her head.
They are my own kind. I should have nothing to fear from them, provided they don't discover who I am.

Kusac snorted.
I trust no one
—
baryou. Take care.

As Carrie approached the door, she heard the sound of raucous laughter. She hesitated briefly then, taking a deep breath, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The air was hot and reeked of ale, tobacco, and fish. She pushed her way past several burly fishermen, making her way to the bar where the landlord's harassed daughter was serving.

Catching the girl's attention, she ordered a mug of cider and some bread and cheese, the best the few meager coins she had brought would allow. Clutching her lunch, she headed for the only darkened comer of the room, settling herself in a spot that gave her a modicum of invisibility yet still enabled her to see everyone in the room.

She munched her bread as she scanned the faces around her. How could she possibly tell who was likely to be a guerrilla?

Check the room for exits first,
came Kusac's thought.
You may need to leave in a hurry.

Obediently, Carrie looked around the tavern. It wasn't too different from her father's. To the far side of the bar, stairs led up to the bedrooms. On the other side was the doorway to the kitchens and the private quarters belonging to the landlord and his family. Through there would be the door out to the garden and the fields beyond.

They were large, glass covered, and closed.

Not much better,
Kusac muttered.
Still, if you need to leave in a hurry ...

By all means,
came the polite rejoinder.

Still munching bread and cheese, Carrie resumed her study of the tavern's customers.

Most of them looked like seamen—stockily built and wearing waterproof boots and trousers. The rest looked like farmers, which was reasonable enough considering that in every community there were farmers, even in Seaport. What made her think she could spot a guerrilla? They couldn't exactly walk about proclaiming their profession, could they? Not with the Valtegans searching for them. Maybe there weren't any here today. She sighed, taking a drink of her cider.

Alert for any trouble, she began to sense the people nearest to her looking for a kind of independence, a freedom of spirit, something that would tell her its owner was not just another colonist.

At last she found what she was looking for, a man over by the bar talking to the barmaid. There was a rebelliousness of spirit that marked him apart from the others.

So, she'd found him. Now what?

Get him to look your way, to notice you,
suggested Kusac.

A nudge here, a suggestion there and ...

No!
exclaimed Kusac.
That is manipulation! You mustn't do that.

It's effective, and it's easy,
replied Carrie briefly.

“You looking for someone, lad?”

Managing to look surprised, Carrie twisted round, mug ready to fling at the stranger.

“Don't waste your drink on me, I mean no harm,” he continued, slipping onto the seat opposite her. “What brings you off the land at this time of day?” he asked, helping himself to a small lump of cheese from her plate.

“Be my guest,” Carrie murmured dryly.

“I will,” he grinned, helping himself to another piece. “So what brings you here?”

Carrie shoveled the last of her meal into her mouth and studied him closely.

A shock of dark wavy hair framed his face, almost obscuring his brown eyes. The features were regular and pleasing, but with a brooding quality about them. He was well built and would probably stand about one and a half meters tall.

“Well?” he prompted.

“It's my rest period,” Carrie replied.

“You're not from here, are you?” he asked abruptly. “I know most of the people here, but you're new.”

Carrie shrugged, taking a mouthful of cider. “I wanted to visit the big town. We've nothing like this inland.”

“Which settlement are you from?”

“Back inland,” she replied, “toward the south. Boring there, it is. Nothing to do all day but work.”

“Have to work, lad, or we don't eat,” he smiled slightly. “My name's Skai. What they call you?”

“Richard,” she replied, picking the first name that came to mind. “What do you do, then?”

“Oh, this and that,” he replied. “What's needed and where it's needed. I like to travel. I'm one of life's itinerants.”

“Yeah? Sounds better than working the land. I wasn't cut out to be a farmer. Never did like digging and planting things.”

“What would you rather do, then?” Skai asked, leaning back and taking a long drink of his beer.

“Dunno. There must be something more interesting than digging sods and hoeing up weeds, though. Maybe something like you do,” she said craftily, “though I have never heard of casual laborers that did well. Most of them just manage to stay this side of starvation, and you don't look as if you go short of anything.”

“I do well enough. But you, now, you interest me,” he said, looking at her appraisingly. “It's not usual for people to travel from the settlements to here for pleasure. For business, yes, but not just for pleasure. Even then they do it in a day or stop overnight at another settlement. But you look as if you've spent at least a couple of nights roughing it.”

Carrie began to panic slightly. Skai was just a little too observant, and he had the relaxed look of a dangerous man. She was pretty certain he was one of the guerrillas, but had he penetrated her disguise?

“Yes, I have a feeling you are more than you seem, Richard,” he said.

“Me? That's good, that is. Here's me looking for adventure and you think I've already found it!” Even to herself, her laugh sounded forced.

“Which settlement are you from?” she asked, trying to fill in the silence which followed her last remark.

“Hillfort.”

“What made you leave?”

“The same as you.”

“I doubt it,” she muttered unguardedly.

“I thought you were a runaway.”

Carrie feigned confusion, and while Skai basked momentarily in his own conclusions, she probed quickly and efficiently at the edges of his mind.

Suspecting her of being a runaway, he had seen in her a likely recruit for the guerrilla bands.

There was a surge of pleasure from Kusac.
Good, you have found our guide! Now bring him outside.

I've found a guerrilla,
she corrected.

“Never said I was a runaway,” Carrie muttered sullenly.

“Didn't have to,” he said. “It was pretty obvious. I'm not going to persuade you to go back,” he added hurriedly, as Carrie shifted in her seat. “I'm going to offer you work.”

“Work for you?” she said incredulously. “You travel about yourself!”

“My present employer would offer you work.”

“Don't want to be a farm laborer.”

“Not farm laboring, that I promise you,” Skai grinned.

Carrie hesitated.

“Why not come with me and see what you think once you've met the other men. You might like it.”

“I might. If I was a runaway,” said Carrie, getting to her feet.

“If you were,” agreed Skai.

 

Skai pushed his way out of the tavern into the street, grabbing hold of Carrie just as she was about to walk into a squad of Valtegan guards.

“Watch it,” he said. “Don't you know that the guerrillas have been hitting the Valtegans badly these past two months?”

“What caused all this activity?” asked Carrie as she followed Skai past the houses, angling for the forest. They were virtually retracing the route Carrie and Kusac had used entering Seaport.

Skai shot her a look. “You really have been out of it, haven't you? It's midpoint for the
Erasmus
in nine days' time. They're trying to find some way of getting a message to the ship to make it turn around.”

Carrie made a grunt of assent and gently began probing his mind to find out where he was heading. Looming at the forefront of his thoughts was concern that his gun would still be where he'd concealed it in the undergrowth. Minutes later, from behind her Kusac silently thrust the weapon into her waiting hand before he merged into the bushes again.

When they reached the spot, Carrie let Skai hunt futilely for a couple of minutes before stopping him.

“I'm afraid you won't find it there, Skai,” she said apologetically. “I've already got it.”

As he turned round, she raised the gun to point squarely at his chest.

“How did you get hold of it? Give it back to me,” he said angrily, taking a step forward.

“Get back,” she said harshly. “I'm prepared to use it if I have to.”

Skai retreated as she fingered the trigger action.

“Careful, those things don't need a lot of pressure. Look, I don't know what you're playing at, or who you think I am, but I'm nobody,” he said, trying to be conciliatory. “I'm just a simple ...”

“Don't insult me. A farm laborer you are not,” said Carrie. “They don't go around carrying Valtegan energy weapons.

“I came to Seaport to find a guide. Do you know your way through the forest and the swamp? Don't lie to me,” she warned, bringing her other hand up to support the gun. “I'll know if you do.”

Skai hesitated, then gestured helplessly. “Look, lad, I don't know what your problem is, but this is no way to solve it,” he began.

Carrie lunged to one side as Skai suddenly launched himself at her. Turning quickly, she pointed the gun down and fired into the undergrowth by his right foot.

“Don't fool with me, mister. I meant what I said.” She relaxed her stance slightly. “Now, my time is short. Do you or don't you know your way around the forest and the swamp?”

“Yes, I do,” replied Skai. “Just what the hell is it you want?”

“Later,” said Carrie, throwing back her hood. “Put your hands behind your back, please.”

Carrie watched various emotions flicker across his face with amused detachment as it struck him that he'd been out-maneuvered, not by a lad, but by a girl. Then his face went chalk white.

“Elise,” he whispered. “But ...”

Carrie had no difficulty picking up his thoughts. Skai had been the lad her sister had left to go to Geshader.