Page 84 of Paladin's Faith

“I have very strong principles about not getting murdered.”

Davith folded his arms and looked obstinate. Shane took a casual step toward him. Davith unfolded his arms and muttered, “Fine, I just want it clear that I object.”

“Your objection is noted. Anyway, it’ll be moot if we can’t find a boat.”

Wren pointed over to the other dock. “I know those are all river boats, but could they cross the lake too? The river captains aren’t the ones striking.”

“I don’t know,” admitted Marguerite. “Boats aren’t my specialty. I assume most of them have animals taking them upstream, but maybe there’s someone with…errr…”

“Oars?” offered Shane.

“Those, yes.” She glanced up at him. “Do you know how to work a boat?”

“Not even a little.”

“Wren?”

“We don’t have navigable rivers where I grew up.”

“…Davith?”

“If I did, would I admit it right now?”

“Stealing one is right out, then.” Marguerite nodded once to herself. “Right. It’ll be fine. Bribery it is.”

Bribery, alas, it was not. The vast majority of the riverboats relied on animals on shore for power, which was hardly feasible in a lake. The few boats at the dock that did not looked to belong to local fishermen. Most of them would have been very strained by four passengers, but Marguerite was willing to take a chance. After slipping some coins to stevedores, she managed to find one in a local tavern, who looked at her with a mixture of surprise and regret.

“Can’t do it,” he said.

Marguerite hefted a pouch, which made an inviting clinking sound. The fisherman gazed at it with clear lust, but shook his head sadly. “’S not the money. They’ll shoot you on the other side right now.”

“Shoot you?”

“Anybody comes from over here and goes back, they assume he’s smuggling for the Court.” The fisherman slugged back a drink. “Barbarians, the lot of ’em. Your man there’s big, I grant you, but he’s not bigger’n arrow in the neck. It’s more than my life’s worth to go over there.”

“It’s more than my life’s worth to stay here,” said Marguerite, exasperated. She didn’t know the extent of the Sail’s forces at the Court, but even if Shane and Wren could fight off everyone sent against them, the local authorities were bound to notice the piles of corpses eventually.

The fisherman wiped his mouth and looked at her blearily. “’Fraid I can’t help. You’ll have to go over the mountain.”

“I can’t fly, either,” said Marguerite tartly.

He shook his head, surprising her. “There’s a trail, o’course. Couple of ’em. How d’you think they get back and forth when the lake’s all slush?”

Shane, who had been listening to all this in silence, said, “I would have thought sleds with runners.”

“Oh aye, aye, once it’s good and frozen. But we get about six weeks where it’s just slop. Can’t push a boat through it and you sink right through if you step on it.” He jerked his chin in the general direction of the highlands. “You take the mountain road then.”

“Bad season for it,” said a man at the next table, turning. Marguerite stifled a sigh. Speed was more important than stealth, but she’d hoped not to have the entire tavern involved in the conversation.

Not that they wouldn’t notice Shane anyway. The paladin stood out like a well-armed turkey in a hen house.

“Trail’s still a mess from the spring thaw,” the newcomer said. “Might be some bits washed out.”

This just gets better and better. “Where does the trail start?”

The man shrugged. “Can’t really miss it. There’s a stable right there, handles the pack mules.” Before Marguerite could ask, he added, “They won’t sell you one now, in case you’re trying to get around the strike.”

She looked at Shane, who, predictably, grunted.