The Bird of the River by Kage Baker Read Free Book Online Page A

steward." Mr. Riveter made a trumpet of his hands. "Mr. Pitspike! Here's an apprentice for you!"
    The steward, a dour and red-eyed man, had been glaring down through a hatchway, supervising the storing of supplies. He looked up now, -- his scarlet gaze tracked until it settled on Krelan. He scowled and approached. Krelan smiled shyly.
    "Seven hells, Riveter, what's that?" demanded Mr. Pitspike.
    "You said you needed help," said Mr. Riveter.
    "I said I needed another man. That looks as though it'd break in half if you sneezed at it."
    "I'm not strong, sir, but I'm a hard worker," volunteered Krelan.
    "Early riser, are you? Because you'll be getting up in the dark to light all the stoves, so the ladies can come in to cook. And you'll stir the porridge cauldron. And carry the oil cans. And peel the onions. And turn the spit. And wash the pots! " Pitspike spat out the last word so forcefully Krelan's limp hair was blown back from his forehead.
    "Yes, sir." Krelan's voice trembled slightly. "Where should I put my bag, sir?"
    "How the hell should I know?"
    "I suppose in my cabin, then, sir?"
    Mr. Riveter turned away hastily, busying himself with getting the gangplank pulled in. Eliss closed her eyes, waiting for the explosion. "Cabin?" cried Mr. Pitspike, mocking Krelan's enunciation. "This whey-faced little prat thinks he's entitled to a stateroom, does he? Lah-di-dah, isn't he just too precious for words? You'll sleep on the galley floor and like it, your lordship, and anyway the grease is good for the skin. Stow your bag somewhere and get yourself into the galley."
    "Yes, sir," said Krelan faintly, saluting as Mr. Pitspike turned and stalked away.
    "Only the captain and the first mate get cabins," Eliss explained, setting down Mrs. Nailsmith's baby, who toddled away chewing his fist. "And the cartographer. And the musicians. Sort of. Everybody else puts up tents or lean-tos. But you can put your bag in our tent for now."
    "That's very kind of you," said Krelan. "Er--"
    "Eliss."
    "Eliss." He tried to say it with her accent. "A charming name. Short for Elista?"
    "No. Just Eliss."
    He followed her to the tent, where Alder was sitting in the doorway. "Mr. Stone , this is my brother, Alder," said Eliss, bracing herself for the shocked look. But Krelan merely smiled at him as he leaned past to put his bag inside.
    "Pleased to meet you, Alder." Alder merely nodded, staring at him. "Well, I suppose I'd better find the galley if I don't want to be showered with more colorful invective. Good afternoon, Eliss."
    When he had gone, Alder looked up at her. "Who's that? Is he sharing our tent? Or have you taken yourself a boyfriend already?" he asked sullenly.
    "Don't be silly!" Eliss felt her face grow hot. "He hasn't got a place yet and I was just being polite. What's the matter with you?"
    "Nothing," said Alder, looking down at the deck.

    HE CONTINUED IN A SULLEN MOOD. In retaliation Eliss left him to himself and spent more and more of her time up on the mast platform, watching the river. Sometimes Salpin was on duty there, -- sometimes it was the boxhorn player Drogin, who was lean and taciturn and answered her questions impatiently.
    So Eliss stopped asking questions, and watched the river instead. She learned how to tell a sandbar from the outflow of a stream, and the different shades of water where the riverbed was gravel, as opposed to mud. She watched where Captain Glass steered, and began to play a game of betting where he'd guide the barge next, based on what she could read of the river. She discovered that the boats that passed them, coming downriver with cargoes of quarried rock or grain or ore, left long trailing wakes that could be mistaken for snags.
    There was the social life of the barge to watch too. Laundry Day, when the gears in the mill were connected to the great washtub, and afterward women quarreled over whose laundry was whose, and drying laundry fluttered from the rigging like bright banners. Corn-grinding day, when