Riverkeep

Riverkeep by Martin Stewart Page A

Book: Riverkeep by Martin Stewart Read Free Book Online
Authors: Martin Stewart
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winter’s beaten him an’ that ain’t him anyhow. This looks like his boat, right enough, so I guess you’ve stole it an’ that’s why you’s in such a hurry. Where’s the money?”
    â€œThis is
my
boat!”
    Pappa stirred. “Eat!” he said.
    â€œPappa,” said Wull, “tell them who you are! Tell them you’re the Riverkeep!”
    Kenesaw silently drew a foot-long knife from his waistband.
    â€œEat, it that speaks! Eat! Now!”
    â€œI can see you two must share some riveting conversation,” said Kenesaw languidly. “The money?”
    â€œThere’s no money,” said Wull, forcing his eyes not to flick to the cache of ducats in the bow.
    Kenesaw sighed. “Now that’s jus’ silly, ain’t it?” he said wearily. “Little runt like you, off in a big, stolen boat like this, maybe you’s done in the owners. That’s fine—we ain’t got no room to judge what a man mus’ do. But you ain’t goin’ to steal somethin’ like this without findin’ a li’l money, an’ you ain’t goin’ to get far anyways without it, so why not jus’ tell us where it is, Wulliam, an’ this can be as easy as you like?”
    The other bradai emerged from the shadow of their skiff and clambered aboard the bäta. Both had the fronds of bank fern sewn countlessly into their cloaks. Both carried short, darkened blades.
    â€œThievin’ scum,” said Wull, dropping the oars.
    An arm flashed toward him. At first Wull thought the man had slapped him, then he felt the wet spill of blood on his cheek. He bit off his glove and raised his hand—felt the heat of blood patter on the tips of his fingers.
    â€œWhy’d you do that?” he said. The pain was starting to blossom.
    â€œNo way we’s gettin’ cheeked by a stripling like you,” said Kenesaw, who hadn’t moved. “Reputations are what counts, an’ that’s ours.”
    â€œAaargh . . . a-attacking defenseless children?” said Wull. He felt his cheek swelling in a bright flash across his face, pulling the rest of his body toward it: hot and tight and hard.
    â€œYou’s no child if you’s stealin’ a boat, long boy, an’ with a quick mouth like that, you’s not defenseless anyhow. Callin’ us scum! We’s all cut by yer remark, ain’t we, fellas?”
    The other bradai, smells of dampness and bark pouring from their cloaks, were rummaging around the bäta, under the boards and stern, shifting Pappa’s legs around. Wull pulled at their fern fronds and tried to stand.
    â€œLeave him alone!” he shouted.
    â€œIt that speaks!”
    â€œI told you,” said Wull, reaching for Pappa, the pain in his face almost blinding him, “we don’t have any money. . . .”
    Behind him came the heavy sound of bagged coins on wood.
    Kenesaw’s face lit up. “
I
told
you
,” he said.
    â€œYou can’t,” said Wull, trying to push past them. “It’s all we have. . . .”
    â€œYou’ll jus’ have to steal more from someone else, long boy.”
    Kenesaw pushed Wull into his seat as he stood, rocking the bäta and following the other bradai into the skiff.
    â€œI didn’t steal it! It’s ours!”
    â€œIt’s ours now,” said Kenesaw. He tipped his cap. “Take care on your thievin’ journey. Gentlemen o’ the river, see?”
    The skiff shot forward on its black oars, slicing its way into the night. Wull sat as it vanished, listening to the swell smack on the bäta’s hull and trying to push away the pain from his slashed face.
    â€œIt that speaks! Eat now!”
    Wull sighed and tightened his jaw. The blood from his cheek had run under his collar and was gathering in a sticky heat on his neck.
    â€œAll right, Pappa. Here.”
    He dropped to his knees

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