Return to Fanglith by John Dalmas

Author:John Dalmas [Dalmas, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science fiction; American, Science Fiction, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780671653439
Publisher: Baen Books
Published: 1987-07-14T23:00:00+00:00

There was a long pause, a minute or longer. Bubba's form of speech was hard to understand over a communicator, and I could picture him giving his answer to Deneen.

"Arno's still awake," she said at last, "but Bubba hasn't been paying much attention to him. He's not used to Norman French, or to the nonverbal mix in Arno's thoughts. The general tone doesn't feel threatening, but if you want, he'll monitor and see what he gets."

I knew that Bubba does better with people whose thought style he's used to. "Fine," I said. "If Arno's still awake, Bubba can monitor him for a while, and if he learns anything I ought to know about, tell me.

"Meanwhile, let's leave things the way they are-at least for now. I'll play things by ear, and you can bail me out later if necessary. I'm pretty sure Arno plans to take me to Sicily with him, and that's where

I need to go anyway. That's where Robert and Roger are."

That's about all that needed saying just then. We

"talked" a minute longer just for company, but I knew it was hard work for Bubba, so we ended off. Then I

got myself as comfortable as I could and waited, scratching, for sleep. It seemed to me that, in spite of the lice and fleas, I'd rather be down here than up there: it was more interesting.

Now there was a different viewpoint for me! I was learning to relax and enjoy the situation. Give me a little time and maybe I'd make a good adventurer after all!

EIGHTEEN

The next day wasn't all that enjoyable though. For one thing, I felt as if l should have slept a few more hours. And the weather had changed; it was beginning to be windy again, but out of the south this time-a warm wind gritty with sand. The sirocco, they called it, out of Africa. By the time we'd climbed into our saddles to help fetch Arno's horses, it was a stiff breeze, damp and almost hot. We chewed grit, breathed grit, and got grit in our eyes. Nobody there seemed very happy about it.

It could last for days, they told me, though it might be gone tomorrow. If it ever came to a vote, I'd vote for gone tomorrow.

The country behind Mileto was rough, with draws and little canyons, and Arno's herd was scattered in several loose bands with some young locals keeping track of them. There were three stallions, thirty-seven big mares, and thirty-three foals-a lot of horses. It took us till afternoon to get them all down out of the hills and penned near the wharf.

There Arno selected sixty to take to Palermo this trip. That was all the ship would hold-the biggest horse ship available in Reggio.

Then we went back to the tower-the donjon, they called it-and actually bathed! The Normans were quite cheerful about it-not only Arno, but Brislieu and their squires. They even had soap, and what the soap lacked in quality, the Normans made up for with scrubbing.

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