Watson, Ian - Black Current 01 Read Free

age after our arrival on this world, as
a way of authenticating social patterns that had proved so stable and
self-perpetuating: with women being the travellers and traders, with men
marrying into their woman's household. Matrilineal descent,
and so on and so forth. It was really all gloss on the privileges of the
guild; and I reminded myself that any man who was so inclined, and sufficiently
energetic, could walk all the way back to his home town away from a wife he had
grown to hate, or anywhere else for that matter. But obviously out of
selfinterest in the status quo no boat would ease his passage.
                 The
boatmistress lifted her mask; she was a sharp-faced freckled redhead, perhaps
forty years old.
                 "That's
all over," she said. "Not a word, mind. Now you can forget about
it." She reached for a flask from the shelf containing a different kind of
liquid—ginger spirit—and brought down three glasses, too. "So: welcome to
the river and the guild, apprentice boatwoman." She poured. "Here's
to faraway places, and unfamiliar shores."
                 The
spirit was strong, and rushed to my inexperienced head.
                 "The
most unfamiliar shore," I heard myself saying presently, "is just a
league and a half away, right over there." Nudging the
glass westward.
                 The
boatmistress looked angry, and I hastened to add, "I only mention it on
account of my twin brother. He wants to watch from Verrino."
                 "Verrino, eh? That's a long walk, for a young
fellow." In the boatmistress's voice I caught a hint of vindictiveness, as
though Verrino was some bastion of rebellion against the rightful way, the way
of the river. If Capsi wished to get to Verrino he would have to hike the fifty
leagues; unless by some wild chance a husband-hunting girl from Verrino
decided to visit us in Pecawar, fell madly in love with young Capsi and carried
him back home with her to wed. I didn't think that Capsi quite qualified yet as
a noteworthy catch. Maybe in another couple of years he would. But equally, why
should some girl marry him just to provide him with an easy journey downstream
to that watchful fraternity of his?
                 "When
do I join a boat?" I asked, in more practical vein. Wishing,
a moment later, that I hadn't—since I had no particular wish to bunk down on
the Ruby Piglet (named, perhaps, in
sardonic honour of its red-headed boatmistress?). But I needn't have
worried.
                 Said the quaymistress, "There's a brig due in, day after
tomorrow, with two empty berths; bound for Gangee, carrying grain. They
heliographed ahead , wanting crew. Then they're running
back all the way down to Umdala. Far enough for you,
first-timer?"
                 I
got home at nine o'clock ,
quite tipsy, and went up to Capsi's room; he was in, playing around with his
latest reconstruction of the original spyglass, adding an extra lens or
something. For all the good that would do. Perhaps my face was flushed: Capsi
gave me much more than a second glance.
                 "I've
joined the guild," I said proudly.
                 "Which
guild?" he asked with mock innocence, as though there was any other guild
for me.
                 "I'm
sailing out. Thursday. Bound for
Gangee, then Umdala. On the brig the Sally Argent." As though the name of the brig would mean anything to him. He hadn't spent years hanging about the
quayside, sniffing around the ropes and bollards, and getting in the way of the
gangers unloading.
                 "Well,
Sis, if you're going to Gangee, you'll be back here in about three weeks."
                 I
advanced on him. "That's the last time you're to call me Sis! I'm older
than you, anyway."
                 "By
two minutes. Fancy some rough and tumble, eh?"
                 I
halted. "Not especially."