Casting Fortune by Ford John M

Author:Ford, John M. [Ford, John M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780812538151
Publisher: Tor
Published: 1989-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

A Cup of Worrynot Tea

The Object on the roadside looked like a bed, as much as it looked like anything. Two young people, a dark and muscular boy and a slim fair-haired girl, were climbing over it with a sort of exhausted good will. The girl, whose everyday name was Reed, said, “It’s no use at all, Kory. The spring’s broken and the hub is bent.”

The boy, Kory, crouched next to the wheel of the light wooden landsailer and looked across the Saltmarsh in the direction of Liavek. It was no-longer-early afternoon in late Wine, the breeze off the marsh already turning chilly, and they had been no more than halfway from Hrothvek to Liavek when a gust sent the spidery wind-car off the road. If they started walking now, it would be very late when Reed got home. Very, very late. Unconscionably late.

And you were no doubt thinking—oh, shame on you.

A two-horse coach appeared from the south. Kory said, “Look, there’s someone. Maybe they’ll give you a ride to the city. I’ll walk the ’sailer back.”

“You’ll never get it back before night.”

“Then I’ll tent the sail over it and sleep inside. I’ve done that before, hunting dawn spooks. I’ve got all the stuff for an overnight.”

“You do, huh? You didn’t tell me that.”

“Aw, Reed—”

“And what about me? What if I don’t choose to risk my life with the first stranger to come along the Hrothvek road?”

“Reed,” Kory said desperately, and then she laughed and hugged him. “I’d better, uh, stop that coach. Before they decide we don’t want to be rescued.”

“You said it, I didn’t,” Reed said, and kissed Kory on the nose.

The coach pulled rather suddenly to a stop. It was painted a dark maroon color, with polished brasswork; well-made and well-kept without being flashy. The driver was a big man in a long coat of blue leather. Kory looked up at him and blinked. The driver’s face and hands were a shade of blue only a little paler than his coat. He was bald except for a line of bushy white hair around his temples, like fur trim on a collar. “Good day,” he said, in an accent unlike any Kory—who had grown up on Bazaar Street—had ever heard, flat and unmusical.

The side window opened and another man leaned out. This one looked like a Liavekan, with sun-bleached hair above an ordinarily dark face with bright blue eyes; he wore a black quilted gown with a high wing collar. He was smiling.

“Are you in need of assistance?” the passenger said, in perfectly proper Liavekan. He looked past Kory to the car on the roadside. “Mechanical difficulties’!”

“Yes, master. I’ll get the car home all right, but my … friend must be back in Liavek before dark. We were wondering if you could—”

“I’ll ride on top of the coach, sir,” Reed said, stepping in front of Kory. She looked up at the driver, who had not moved at all. “Or on the back will be fine,” she said, in a less certain tone.

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