Ch 7 - New Arrivals
Edmund closed the door to the cook's closet and set a lantern burning. He unfolded his hammock from the trailing jumble it had been in his arms. Inside lay the only two things he had that might have connected him with his loyalties to Narnia.
He stared at the White Witch's wand for a while. The longer it was in his possession, the more he worried the thing had permanently affected his life. He felt so cold, so removed from everything. All his decisions, all that had to be done, had forced him to remain apart from everything he loved. In more than a year, the only solid proof he'd had that something else waited for him at the end of this was the other thing in the bundle.
His sword, Wandbreaker, the name by which Aslan had knighted him. The wand no longer seemed to resent the nearness of his sword as it once had when he held the two together. If an object could be said to have feeling, Edmund suspected the two weapons had formed some kind of accord. That bothered him daily, wondering what it might mean.
He strapped the wand to a high beam in the room, then sat on a crate of dried provisions with his sword across his lap. Running his fingertips across the scabbard's belt, he swallowed back a knot in his throat. Tooled into the leather in exquisite detail was a design of trailing birch leaves.
This sword had been made long before his family's arrival in Narnia. No one had used it before Oreius presented it to him, prior to the Battle of Beruna. Ed fingered the birch-leaf pattern again. Had the Lion known even before they came the way things would go? That this was not only a symbol for rebirth, but a literal representation of the woman-the dryad-Edmund loved with everything he was? Had he known Edmund would need the reminder now, more than he ever had, that there was a reason for all this anguish?
He stroked the belt one last time, then raised it to his lips and kissed it. "Soon," he whispered. "Soon."
- # -
Lucy could not stand Van. From the moment she woke to the instant her head hit the pillow at night, he was a burr attached to everything she did. Only when she was with Edmund did she find some respite. Even he would not cross "the captain."
But in all other respects, he didn't leave her alone. Over the next three days, he shadowed her, asking pointed questions about her accent, her manner of dress, and her idiosyncrasies of what must have been "local custom" where she lived. She evaded all of it, but he persisted.
Someone aboard found her a sailor's pants, shirt, and vest of sturdy material. She gladly bade goodbye to the restrictive dress, but when she emerged from cabin that morning in her borrowed garments, Van found her yet again. She blushed hot when he studied her figure. "Don't you have a deck to swab or a knot to tie?"
He grinned, and the flash of white in his suntanned face startled her. "Much better," he said, nodding at her clothing. "Leastwise, you won't be tripping on that mass of curtain fabric you had on before. Can't imagine how you even got out of it."
Privately she agreed with him, but aloud and for propriety's sake, she said, "I'll thank you to steer clear of the topic of women's dresses, and how to get them on or off."
"Don't get in a huff, now. I'm complimenting you," he said.
She eyed him, wondering what angle he'd try next, but when she approached her forced escort, his expression changed to one of surprise. "Shivering rocks, you're small. That dress made two of you. How in the world did you drag it around?"
"Didn't we just discuss not discussing dresses?"
He grinned again. "You did, leddy. And I politely listened to every word."
With a rueful sigh, she accompanied him to the ship's wheel. One of the sailors held it steady going southwest. Lucy had grown so used to seeing Edmund standing there that his absence immediately raised an alarm. She looked up. No Arrow in the rigging. Kamus had been laid low by illness since his arrival on The Phoenix, and the dryad took pains to stay out of Ed's way.
"Don't worry, he's afore," Van said. "It seems we're picking up another pair of stragglers."
She hurried to the ship's bow, two steps to Van's one. Two lines of sailors hauled on nets slung over the side of the ship. A frightful swearing carried across the deck.
Edmund stood well back, almost to the port rail. To anyone else, he would merely have looked stern, but Lucy knew him well enough to see trouble brewing.
Then she saw why. Over the side of the ship tumbled a pair of centaurs knotted up in fishing nets like the day's catch.
Nalis and his son, Darius.
Lucy rushed to the starboard railing to find a makeshift raft floating away on the water. "How … ?"
The sailors pulled the nets away from the centaurs. Growling threats, Nalis lurched upright. Beside him, Darius did the same. The two glared around the deck until Lucy saw Nalis lock eyes with Edmund. The centaur's jaw dropped, and his hindquarters bunched as if he were about to leap forward.
A flash of brown and silver streaked past Lucy's shoulder. Van (she'd forgotten about him) darted between Nalis and Edmund, holding a pair of what looked like sai: hand-held, trident-shaped weapons. The steel gleamed in the morning sun. Van gave the big centaur a malevolent snarl. "Wouldn't try that, mate."
Behind him, Ed gave the centaur a head shake that would have been imperceptible if Lucy's attention hadn't been on him. Most of the crew stared at Nalis and Van. Only the wind, water, and creaking deck boards broke the silence.
At last, Ed strode forward. "As you were," he snarled to the crew. Almost everyone scattered, but Ed pulled a young boggle aside. "See to their accommodation. Get them something to dry off, some ale."
Still holding the sai, Van moved closer to Edmund. Lucy hurried toward them quickly enough to hear Van murmur, "We need to talk."