The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (53 page)

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter,” said Goose, frowning. “Rafe, don’t you be a fool. Don’t you let this come between you and him. Once we’ve got the way cleared over the mountains, once we’ve made friends with whoever we find on the other side, there’ll be other expeditions. You and me can go next time.”

He nearly said,
If there is a next time
. But that would sound mean, like he didn’t believe he’d see Goose again. And the last thing he wanted was to make his friend think he thought that. Only…

“Maybe so, but this first expedition’ll likely be dangerous, Goose. It ain’t right you’re going alone.”

“Alone?” Goose nodded at the increased bustle in Justice Hall’s rear courtyard. “With that lot?”

“Goose
…”

Goose heaved a deep sigh. “You know what your trouble is, Rafe? I’ll tell you. You think just ’cause you’ve got a dash of Doranen magic in you that you’re a bit better than everyone else.”

That made him blink. “What?”

“
And
you think I can’t look after myself,” said Goose, eyebrows lifted, challenging. “You think that if you’re not around to save me, I’m as good as dead already.” He smiled, friendly but pointed. “That’s a mite insulting, y’know.”

“What?”

“Kindly meant,” Goose added. “But still insulting. You keep saying as how you’re not a sprat any more. Well, that makes two of us, Rafe. I don’t need a nursemaid and I don’t need you to save me. Wanted your company, mind. This expedition won’t be the same without you. But like I said. There’s always the next one.”

Shaken silent, Rafel stared at him. Had Goose lost his mind? Or had he spent so much time with Fernel Pintte and Sarle Baden that he’d got himself infected by their blind arrogance? Was this how Da felt, faced with a whole Council chamber full of men and women like Goose, who’d let themselves be hoodwinked and bamboozled by hope and fear?

He swallowed. “I don’t think I’m better than you, Goose. But I do know I’m different. And the ways I’m different? I know they save lives. You’re my best friend, you sinkin’ fool. I don’t want nowt to happen to you!”

“It won’t,” said Goose. Then he pulled a face. “Or if it does, there’s nowt to say you could stop it. Besides,
someone’s
got to go. Lur’s a boiling pot with the lid stuck on tight. We’ve got to get the lid
off
. Or there’ll be brawling and worse between us and the Doranen and when it comes to worse we both know who’ll win.”

How could he fratch with that? Every word Goose spoke was true. But even so… even so…

“Sink me sideways, Goose,” he said, and pulled his friend into a rib-cracking embrace. “You better come back safe and sound.”

“I will,” said Goose, pounding him between the shoulder blades. “I’m coming back safe and sound just so I can say ‘I told you so.’ ”

In the courtyard behind them, the sounds of horses clopping out of their stables. “Meister Martin!” shouted Fernel Pintte. “If you’re coming with us, now’s the time! Or stay behind and stuff your belly with regrets.”

Goose let go, and stepped back. “You talk to your father, Rafe. You’ve only got one. And he’s only got you. Well, Deenie too, but that’s not the same. A man’s son is his
son
.”

“Aye,” he said, unwilling to trust his voice further.

“
Talk
to him,” Goose insisted. “Or I’ll kick your arse black and blue when I come back.”

“Looks like you’ll be busy then. Saying
‘I told you so.’
Kicking my arse.”

Goose grinned, a flash of his old self. “I’ll manage.”

The bustle behind them was growing. They were out of time—out of time—“Goose,” he said, on impulse. “About Deenie—”

And Goose
blushed
. “I know. I was going to say something and then—” He glanced away. “Tell her to wait for me, Rafe? Tell her—”

“Meister Martin!”
shouted Pintte. “Last warning!”

“Coming, Meister Mayor!” Goose called back. Then he shrugged. “Sorry, Rafe. I’ve got to—”

“I know,” he said, and stepped out of the way. “Go.”

A crowd of family and friends had gathered to bid the expedition a private goodbye, before it got swamped and swallowed by the hundreds of gawkers lining the streets from the Square to the City gates. Olken and Doranen, they wept and hugged and exchanged fervent farewells. Goose’s da near picked his son up off the ground, holding on to him.

Standing in the shadows, Rafel watched as one by one the men hand-picked by Fernel Pintte and Sarle Baden extricated themselves from their well-wishers, climbed onto their horses and fell into orderly line. Sarle Baden first, then Fernel Pintte, then the other Doranen, then the Olken. Goose last. He was the youngest man by far. Of course they’d stick him on the end.

As Baden nudged his horse forward, leading the group out to the Square, Goose turned in his saddle. Smiled. Nodded. Rafel nodded back, a crushing pain in his chest. Then a wave of dread, of sick foreboding, washed over him. Threatened to suck him down to darkness like the whirlpool in Westwailing Harbour. And he knew… he
knew
…

This is going to end badly. I won’t see Goose again
.

Heartsick, he spun round, searching the jostling well-wishers, looking to find Goose’s da and make him go after his son, drag him off his horse and keep him safe at home. But Goose’s da was swept up in the tide of clamouring families… and the tide was pulling out, it was pouring after the expedition. The tail of Goose’s skinny bay gelding disappeared through the archway, the sight of its rump swamped by heads and backs and waving arms.

Rafel tried to shout, but his voice was lost in everyone else’s shouting. And then a huge roar went up from the crowd of Olken and Doranen in the Square. They must’ve caught their first look at mounted Fernel Pintte and Sarle Baden and the rest, so jaunty and dauntless, ready to ride to the City gates. Ride to the Black Woods. Climb over Barl’s Mountains… and horribly die.

Goose. Goose, don’t go. Come back.

As the last well-wishing stragglers scurried to catch up, the Justice Hall grooms, pressed into service, went to fetch shovels and stable-forks so they could put the place to rights. But after the very last ignorant family member had passed through the archway, still one person remained.

It was Da.

“You talk to your father, Rafe,”
Goose said.
“You’ve only got one. And he’s only got you.”

The bright sunlight showed him Da’s weary, careworn face. Showed him threads of grey hair. Showed him slumped shoulders and grieving eyes. Some of the awfulness that had swamped him faded. He stepped out of the shadows and walked to join him.

“Where’ve you been, then?” he said, struggling to sound careless. As though they’d not been silently raging for days and days. “You missed all the speechifying.”

Da nodded. “Borin’, was it?”

“Course it was. I near bloody nodded off.”

A tiny, tiny tug of smile. “Where be your ma, and Deenie?”

“Ain’t sure,” he said. “I left them on the Chapel steps, being yapped at by Barlsman Jaffee. Charis was with them.” Somehow, he managed a swift grin. “Three women together? Like as not they’ve gone shopping. You’ll get back to the Tower tonight to find the treasury box empty.”

“Like as not,” Da agreed. “I were sittin’ with Pellen a bit. Let him beat me at cards.”

Rafel snorted. “You
let
the City’s best zephyr player beat you? Right, Da. Course you did.”

“Aye, well,” said Da. “He ain’t feelin’ too spry these days, is Pellen. Got to cheer him up somehow.” He flicked a glance at the dawdling Justice Hall stable hands, who had no reason to rush about their work. “I ain’t in the mood for watchin’ Pintte and them fools ride out the front gates. Walk back to the Tower with me.”

Just like that, eh? Typical bloody Da. And what about Goose? That was his best friend heading off with Fernel Pintte. What if he wanted to wave him goodbye?

’Cept I don’t. Not again.

“Goose ain’t a fool, y’know,” he said, feeling his simmering temper rise. “He’s trying to help Lur.”

“I know,” said Da. “Ain’t his fault he’s been steered wrong, by his da and others. He be a good lad, Rafe. I’m sorry.”

Aye, but sorry for what?
For treating me like a sprat? For making sure I couldn’t go with him? For knowing I ain’t going to see him again?
He didn’t dare ask, just in case…

“Right.”

“Come on, then,” said Da, and started walking. Rafel stared after him for a moment, uncertain whether to go on being fratched—or to plump for feeling resigned. After a brief skirmish, he settled on resigned; he’d been fratched at Da for weeks now, and all he felt was miserable.

And I did promise Mama I’d make my peace.

They eased along alleys and through laneways, so the gawkers traipsing Dorana’s streets wouldn’t know they were there. Halfway back to the Tower the crowd dribbled away and they risked the straight way home, up the High Street to the gates of the palace.

Da didn’t say another word until they were safely in the palace grounds, surrounded by flowers and trees, well away from prying eyes and eager ears. Then he sighed, and seemed to relax a bit. Slowed his determined march to a stroll, breathing just a mite too heavy. What Rafel could see of his face was sweaty, and gloomed with dark thoughts.

“Reckon I need to tell you somethin’, Rafe,” he said. “But afore I do, you got to promise me you won’t say nowt on it. Not to your ma, not to Deenie. Not to anyone. You promise?”

They might be talking now, but he still felt inclined to snap. “Who’ve I got to tell, Da? You warned me off Charis and Goose is riding out of the City and—and he ain’t coming back.”

Slowed almost to stopping, Da swung round. “Why d’you say that?”

“Why?”
Instead of slowing, he stopped altogether. Fisted his hands on his hips and stared at his father, incredulous. “Why d’you bloody think? ’Cause I’m a mage just like you, Da, and I
feel
things. Why d’you bloody think I was so set on travelling with him? Why d’you think I never wanted him out of my sight?”

“And why d’
you
think,” Da retorted, his voice husky, unsteady, “
I
made bloody sure you stayed put?”

So much for making his peace.
Goose.
He couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. Rage was a red mist smearing his vision.

“Rafel,”
said Da, and took him hard by both shoulders. “You think I don’t know how you feel, sprat?
I know
. I spoke the words that
killed
my best friend.”

“Then how could you stop me?” he said, his voice cracking. “When you know Goose needs me, Da, how could you keep me here?”

“ ’Cause
I
need you more!” said Da, shaking him. “I need you with me, Rafe, ’cause what I
don’t
know is if I can stop what’s comin’. Not without you. Just like I couldn’t save them fools in Westwailin’ without you. I be too hurt and worn out to do this alone. And there ain’t another mage in all Lur I can ask.”

“Ask to do what, Da?” he said, retreating. “What’s coming to Lur?” Letting go, Da stared at him, so intent. “You ain’t felt it?”

“No. Da, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Thought you might’ve felt it,” Da muttered. “And not said nowt ’cause you and me ain’t been talkin’. What about Deenie? Has she felt it, and not told me or your ma?”

“Felt
what,
Da? What are you—” And then his throat closed. His heart, already thumping, thumped harder. Rattled his ribs. “Are you saying it’s starting again? Like before? The storms? The tremors?”

“Worse than before, Rafe,” said Da. “Much worse.”

“How do you know? Have
you
felt something?”

“No,” said Da, after a moment. “Not yet. But it’s comin’, Rafe. Trust me.”

He didn’t want to hear this. “You could be wrong, Da. Things were bad ten years ago, weren’t they? And then they got better. I think they’re getting better again, right now. It’s stopped raining and—what?
What?
”

Da was shaking his head. Almost laughing, but his eyes were terrible. “Sink me, Rafe. The only reason Lur didn’t rip itself to bits ten years ago is ’cause I nigh on killed m’self, holdin’ it together.”

“
You
held it—” Suddenly cold, even in the unclouded sunshine, Rafel stared back at his father. Remembered something his mother had said, about the sacrifices Da had made. He felt small, a boy again. Looking to his father to make everything all right. But from the look on Da’s face… “How? The truth, Da. No more bloody secrets.”

“Come on,” said Da, grabbing his shirt-sleeve. “Reckon it’s easier to show you than tell you.”

They went to the Weather Chamber.

Awestruck, silent, Rafel stared around the sunlit room. He’d never set foot in this place. He’d wanted to, often enough. He’d even dreamed of sneaking in, with Goose, back when they were sprats. But something always stopped him. Some instinct, some deep, nameless feeling, that to come here without Da, to come here uninvited, would be to cross a line… one he could never cross back over.

Da was looking at him, almost—almost
anxious
. “You feel it, don’t you? You can feel what were done here for six hundred bloody years. Even though the Weather Magic ain’t burned into your bones.”