CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: WOOF
Such a shame for the lad to leave his keelboat all empty, Riburt Trail thought as he watched the boy go off with one of his dogs. The Gosling sat there with its tent walls still hanging down against last night's storm.
All snug, dry, and begging to be handled by a real riverman. Leave it to a boy having two big dogs instead of a crew. Riburt snorted. Not that the boy will ever get a crew. No man called a LAD skipper.
The riverman licked his lips with a grin. Damn fool boy's about to lose his keelboat. Just last night he Hand declared it free for the taking and, by damn, it's gonna be mine! Getting on the bad side of the Hand'll cost the lad.
He looked over at the boy one last time and watched him turn onto a street heading deeper into town. Damn boy'll be crying over losing one of his curs, too. Riburt chuckled. Time to get myself a fine keelboat.
Laughing under his breath, the riverman walked along the dock. No one else was about. The storm may be over but the sky was still ugly gray. The perfect time for nabbing the keelboat. I'll just pole her over to that ole boathouse while everyone's still hunkered down waitin' for more rain.
From the sheathe at his hip, he worked out his cutlass, a blade with nicks and more than one rusty spot though he did keep it sharp. Riburt stepped onto the keelboat. He almost groaned in pleasure at the strong sturdy wood of the deck beneath his feet. Sure ain't some half-rotted, leaky, near to sinking crappy boat here!
A growl came from the tied open flaps of the deck tent and Riburt turned. There stood the other dog. Its black and gold striped fur bristled along its back. Fangs shone starkly white against the dark mask of its big wide head. Those fangs were at belt buckle height even though the dog held its head level with its shoulders.
The riverman suppressed an instinctive flinching at his groin then crouched. He brought his cutlass to the ready and gave the dog a bare-toothed grin.
"Time to die ya slobberin' cur," he sneered at the dog.
The big dog looked him in the eye.
"WOOF!" With that single loud bark, the air slammed into Riburt. His ribs cracked as he was hurled off the deck and onto the stern of the fishing boat moored next to the Gosling.
Dazed and near unconscious, the riverman fell into the water which shocked him back to his senses. Sputtering and floundering, he managed to swim away under the dock and to the shore where he stumbled out.
***
PeyPey looked at the cutlass laying on the deck. With a disdainful sniff, he picked it up and dropped it over the side where it made a satisfying splash. He gave himself a shake then went back under the deck tent. Stretching and yawning, PeyPey flopped back down onto his blanket to chew on his bone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: EDDY RIDER
Fawkes and JuJu returned with side bags stuffed with biscotti and biscuits. Tied on top of the pack harness were three boxes of confections. Fawkes carried a basket heaped with sandwiches and sweet rolls beneath a gingham cloth.
He unloaded as much of it as he could into the strange oblong travel box in the stowe under what had been Grandfather's bed. The travel box kept everything in it as fresh as the moment it was put in.
Not everything fit, but Fawkes had planned to feast on the extras. Crumps and Jerky were tasty rations but a change was good, too. Not having to trudge to the Blackstone Inn for more than rations was something he had missed since Grandfather's murder. He flushed. Of course not doing the chores that needed doing would never make Grandfather come back, rap him with his walking stick, and yell. But his foolish heart had hoped anyway and he had tried. Gods, he even missed getting punished by Grandfather.
Despite having just eaten a hot meal at the Blackstone Inn, Fawkes happily unwrapped a sandwich swathed in cheesecloth and began to eat it. JuJu and PeyPey looked at him with big pleading eyes. Heaving a sigh, he unwrapped a second extra sandwich, split it in two, and gave one half to each dog.
The halves disappeared in moments. Both dogs went back out under the tent to chew on their precious bones. Shaking his head with a laugh, Fawkes sat at his table and returned to eating his sandwich at a more leisurely pace.
"Woof," PeyPey warned. JuJu growled as well. Fawkes looked through his still-open cabin door. Both dogs had their heads sticking out of the open tent flaps. He got up and joined them.
A two-masted river ship was coming into the third dock. This dock was the biggest in the little Blackstone harbor and fitted only for the larger boats. Four sailors jumped off and began to tie the river ship while others set up the gangplank. Bristol, a bottle of rum in hand, came over to watch with Fawkes.
"Well, damn," the old fisherman swore as he read the name painted on the side of the ship. "That's the Eddy Rider."
"They a bad crew?"
"That's a ship of the Hand," Bristol explained. "An' the local Hands don't have the book."
"They're in a spot of trouble," Fawkes said with a sudden smile. "And so is their pet wizard, I think."
"Thinking so, too. Bet he's got that book really well hid."
Fawkes narrowed his eyes. Just how many more wizards did the Eddy Rider bring?
"Ah, Bristol," Fawkes said to the fisherman. Sailors came down the gangplank carrying bags. "I hate to sound rude but I -- I think I got something to do now that should not wait." He needed to be quick before whoever had arrived settled in at the inn. There was a little spell he could do that would only be noticed it someone was 'watching' him real close. They have no reason to suspect me of anything yet.
Bristol cocked a brow at Fawkes. "Magic?"
"Yes," Fawkes admitted.
"You be careful, boyyo," Bristol warned.
