ferryman. I don't think there's been a ferryman here for ages. Not since the East shut down. And he won't take money, Pyetr, he's not interested."
"Well, what
does
he want?"
It was not the question Sasha wanted at the moment nor the one he knew how to answer, and he shrugged. "I think he likes my cooking. I think maybe he just wants company for a few days—" That sounded entirely lame. "Maybe just some things cleaned and fixed. I told him I would. You need to rest, and I can scrub his floors and carry his water for him, that's all he's asked so far. That surely keeps us even for room and board."
"That crazy old goat's been working you all morning, I've been awake now and again." Pyetr was white with the effort it cost him to stand, and he leaned trembling against the rail of the walk-up. "You've got yourself another uncle Fedya, he's so anxious to do you favors and have his floors scrubbed. I'd
watch
this old fellow! I don't trust him."
There was real fear in Pyetr's eyes. Sasha wondered how much of last night he
did
recall, or how much of the singing still ran through his brain.
"There
are
wizards," Sasha said. "This old man is one, I don't have any doubt about it, and it's not safe to cheat him. There's no telling what he could do."
"Damned right there's no telling what he could do! Drug our tea and carve us up for bacon is what he could do!
Listen
to me!" Pyetr seized his hand where it rested on the rail. "I don't like his look. I don't like dealing with crazy men and I don't like eating and drinking with a crazy man brewing the tea and for all we know doctoring the soup. You've never been out on your own. You don't imagine the kind of world this is and you don't imagine what kind of things people will do to each other. For the god's
sake
, boy… don't trust this man and don't consider yourself obligated to him for anything."
"I promised him—"
"Listen,
I'd
patch a man up if he was bleeding on my floor, boy, and
I'm
not an honest man. What did it cost him? No more work than you've given. We're even. That's all. We're quit."
"He's a wizard!" Sasha said. "Pyetr, you were dying, and he pulled you back—"
"Horsefeathers! I was tired, I was cold, I needed a bed and a meal—"
"You don't remember! I watched him do it! Look at you. You're sweating, you're white as a ghost, you couldn't have gone on another day."
"You
watched
a good show, boy, it was already scabbed over, I wasn't dying, I'm not dying this morning and I have no plans to be staying here any longer than takes me to get my wind back."
He said that. He was hardly able to go on standing.
"Get out of the wind," Sasha said. It sounded too much like an order, but he was not dealing with a sane man this morning. He tried to soften it. "Please, Pyetr Illitch. Please be patient, please just get well and do what he asks for a few days and
don't
go off and leave me here…"
Pyetr was shivering now, his teeth chattering. The cold was getting too much for him, and the shirt was hardly more than a rag. "I won't leave you here," he said. "Damn if I will. Don't promise the old goat anything. Don't let him bully you. If he makes threats, tell me."
"I promise," Sasha said. He would have said anything to silence argument and get Pyetr inside and get another cup of hot tea into him.
There were things Pyetr would understand and there were things Pyetr would refuse to understand—or to believe in, until it was too late.
Maybe he was a fool, Sasha thought; and maybe Pyetr was entirely right; but if he had ever had a danger-feeling about a thing it was this place and this man.
Pyetr's reasoning seemed sound to him, except in one thing—that it reckoned on simply walking away down the river shore; and he did not think Uulamets would allow that right now.
When
he would allow it—or if he would allow it: that was the problem.
Uulamets put him to tidying up the cabinets and
"Well, what
does
he want?"
It was not the question Sasha wanted at the moment nor the one he knew how to answer, and he shrugged. "I think he likes my cooking. I think maybe he just wants company for a few days—" That sounded entirely lame. "Maybe just some things cleaned and fixed. I told him I would. You need to rest, and I can scrub his floors and carry his water for him, that's all he's asked so far. That surely keeps us even for room and board."
"That crazy old goat's been working you all morning, I've been awake now and again." Pyetr was white with the effort it cost him to stand, and he leaned trembling against the rail of the walk-up. "You've got yourself another uncle Fedya, he's so anxious to do you favors and have his floors scrubbed. I'd
watch
this old fellow! I don't trust him."
There was real fear in Pyetr's eyes. Sasha wondered how much of last night he
did
recall, or how much of the singing still ran through his brain.
"There
are
wizards," Sasha said. "This old man is one, I don't have any doubt about it, and it's not safe to cheat him. There's no telling what he could do."
"Damned right there's no telling what he could do! Drug our tea and carve us up for bacon is what he could do!
Listen
to me!" Pyetr seized his hand where it rested on the rail. "I don't like his look. I don't like dealing with crazy men and I don't like eating and drinking with a crazy man brewing the tea and for all we know doctoring the soup. You've never been out on your own. You don't imagine the kind of world this is and you don't imagine what kind of things people will do to each other. For the god's
sake
, boy… don't trust this man and don't consider yourself obligated to him for anything."
"I promised him—"
"Listen,
I'd
patch a man up if he was bleeding on my floor, boy, and
I'm
not an honest man. What did it cost him? No more work than you've given. We're even. That's all. We're quit."
"He's a wizard!" Sasha said. "Pyetr, you were dying, and he pulled you back—"
"Horsefeathers! I was tired, I was cold, I needed a bed and a meal—"
"You don't remember! I watched him do it! Look at you. You're sweating, you're white as a ghost, you couldn't have gone on another day."
"You
watched
a good show, boy, it was already scabbed over, I wasn't dying, I'm not dying this morning and I have no plans to be staying here any longer than takes me to get my wind back."
He said that. He was hardly able to go on standing.
"Get out of the wind," Sasha said. It sounded too much like an order, but he was not dealing with a sane man this morning. He tried to soften it. "Please, Pyetr Illitch. Please be patient, please just get well and do what he asks for a few days and
don't
go off and leave me here…"
Pyetr was shivering now, his teeth chattering. The cold was getting too much for him, and the shirt was hardly more than a rag. "I won't leave you here," he said. "Damn if I will. Don't promise the old goat anything. Don't let him bully you. If he makes threats, tell me."
"I promise," Sasha said. He would have said anything to silence argument and get Pyetr inside and get another cup of hot tea into him.
There were things Pyetr would understand and there were things Pyetr would refuse to understand—or to believe in, until it was too late.
Maybe he was a fool, Sasha thought; and maybe Pyetr was entirely right; but if he had ever had a danger-feeling about a thing it was this place and this man.
Pyetr's reasoning seemed sound to him, except in one thing—that it reckoned on simply walking away down the river shore; and he did not think Uulamets would allow that right now.
When
he would allow it—or if he would allow it: that was the problem.
Uulamets put him to tidying up the cabinets and
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