“Raven is extra,” he said.
“The raven canfly,” I said sharply. As if demonstrating, Baldbeak launched himself from my shoulder and flapped to the opposite bank again.
The man spat a brown globule of something viscous onto the ground and grinned. I could see the boat behind him, knocking against the wooden dock with each surge of the river and making a hollowclock-clock. It was flat-bottomed and rather small, but sturdy enough, containing two bench seats and a few sealed barrels, and looked well cared-for as far as I could tell. Certainly better kept than the shack, or the man himself.
“Come on then,” he said.
I followed as he ambled out onto the jetty and stepped into the boat. He didn’t offer his hand, so I stumbled in awkwardly as he untied the knot around the wooden post and freed the craft. Instantly I felt the tug of the current beneath us, almost violent in its insistence.
He did not speak to me, simply grabbed the oars and started rowing. I sat very upright on the little bench, feeling uncomfortable. When we were halfway across, he suddenly stopped.
“Changed my mind,” he said, resting on the oars. “It’s double, now.”
“What?”
“Double to get to the other side from here.” He grinned. “I can wait here all day. No skin off my nose.”
We drifted in the current. I stared at him.
“That wasn’t our agreement!”
“Agreement’s whatever I say it is, when we’re on the water. Hand it over.”
“No!”
He clucked his tongue. “Come, now. I saw your shinies.”
I needed what money I had for the journey—and more than that, I hated the idea of giving in to this little man with his yellow skin and disgusting plug of whatever-it-was behind his teeth. I clutched my pack tighter. “No.”
He sat back ostentatiously slowly, leaning on the oars and letting the boat drift. “Then I suppose we’ll just sit here until you changeyourmind.”
I glared at him. He grinned back at me.
“I’m not giving you any more money,” I said, shoving my hand into my pocket to clutch my purse. “Take me across.”
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the side as if to take a nap. Then he started to whistle tunelessly. The boat continued to drift, moving inexorably downstream.
I thought for a moment, then stood, setting the boat to rocking. The water wasn’t as fast-flowing as I had thought, and I could swim.
I came to a decision—and jumped overboard.
The cold of the water was a shock, and the bank looked very far away. Baldbeak flew to me, made as if to land on my shoulder, and then thought better of it. Just as well, as his weight would have pushed me under. I struck out towards the bank and had already gained a little distance from the boat when I remembered.
My pack. It was still on the boat.
Silly. Slow.
The ferryman brandished it at me, grinning.
“Forget something?” he said.
Everything was in it. My embroidery. The letters. The map.
“Baldbeak!” I gasped, taking in a mouthful of brackish water.
Baldbeak flew to the ferryman and beat his wings in the man’s face while trying to snatch the pack with his claws, but the man held firm to its straps. I trod water, fuming and torn between abandoning my things or swimming shamefacedlyback to the boat. After a futile few moments, Baldbeak abandoned his attempts and settled on the limb of a dead tree on the bank to observe my struggles, his head cocked to one side.
And then: a voice from the bank, smooth and dry as silk thread.
