The Steerswoman's Road by Rosemary Kirstein

him on the back. “Go on, boy.”
He fled.
    Bel turned to Rowan. “What do you think, now?”
    “I think ...” Rowan reviewed her thoughts again. “I think
that there is a great deal that wizards know, that I don’t.”
    When they reached the open air again, night had fallen. A jumble
of clouds in the west were still faintly underlit by the departed sun, and were
crowding toward the zenith. No land was visible, but with a glance toward the
Eastern Guidestar, Rowan offhandedly located herself in her world with perfect
precision. She automatically noted the westward progress they had made since
morning.
    When she looked at Tyson, he was doing the same, although
she suspected that his accuracy would be less than hers. Then he scanned the
horizons. “Wind’ll come up before dawn. Rain, as well.” She nodded.
    Bel sighed. “The crew will be crowded tonight. Well, we’ll
be warm and dry, at least.”
    “Overhead leak somewhere down there,” Tyson commented. “I
hope you’re not under it.”
    “Damn.”
    He spoke to Rowan. “Lady, does this upset your theories?”
    “I had no theories. Only the possibilities of some theories.
There are still possibilities, just somewhat different ones.”
    The three stood by the rail for an hour, watching the
progress of the clouds and enjoying inconsequential conversation. Presently the
first mate scurried down into the aft cabin and emerged with Morgan in tow. The
captain viewed the scene, then issued orders to adjust the sail positions,
watching with affected disinterest as he slowly paced the poop deck.
    Eventually Bel decided it was time to turn in and made a few
good-natured insults about the cook’s particularity for early hours and
promptness in assistants.
    Rowan and Tyson remained, talking idly and companionably.
Presently Tyson put forth an invitation, which Rowan considered carefully, then
declined. Uninsulted, Tyson stayed with her for another hour; then he wished
her good night and retired.
    Rowan wandered the deck alone for a while, enjoying the feeling
of the deck as it shifted beneath her feet, the subtle changes of wind strength
and direction. Eventually her mood shifted a bit, and she found herself
regretting her refusal of Tyson’s suggestion. This she remedied by knocking
softly at his cabin door at midnight.
    In the morning Reeder’s boy was found dead, lying blue-faced in
a puddle of water next to the wizard’s chest.

7
    “Stupid,” Morgan pronounced, shifting through the papers on
his worktable. “Foolish. Stupid. He was looking for trouble, or he was too
stupid to know when he’d found it. Damn!” He slammed down a fistful of notes
and receipts. “Why bother a wizard’s chest? There was a warning spell on it; he
must have noticed it.”
    Rowan sat in a low chair across the cabin, legs stretched
out in front of her. “It wasn’t particularly unpleasant. It can’t have killed
him.”
    “No, of course not.” He pointed a finger at her. “He tried
to open it. He ignored the guard-spell and met the protecting spell. I can’t be
held responsible for the idiocy of a boy.”
    Her face was impassive. “He was curious. Intrigued.” To herself
she added, Challenged.
    Morgan grunted noncommittally. Shifting his papers into apparently
arbitrary piles, he calmed visibly. “Have you gone over the charts with Tyson?”
    “Yes.” The hiss of rain overhead grew louder. Someone walked
on the deck above, steps slow and heavy.
    “Were there many corrections?”
    She shook her head. The steps above paused, apparently at
the taffrail. “There was nothing incorrect on them, but you’ll find quite a few
additions. Some areas where not much was known before.”
    There was a creak as the person above shifted. Morgan
nodded. “Good. I’d like to review them with you. Where’s Tyson, do you know ?”
    “On deck.”
    “In this? Have someone find him. And bring the charts.” He
caught himself. “Pardon me, lady. I’ll get them.”
    Rowan rose. “No,