The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(81)
‘Will those things hold our weight?’ Othello grumbled. ‘We dwarves aren’t known for our swimming prowess.’
Cress nodded in agreement, prodding at a boat with her toe.
‘They will,’ Jeffrey said enthusiastically, jumping into the nearest one. It rocked dangerously as he swayed on his feet, and water slopped in over the side. The gremlins twittered to themselves as he floundered, trying to prevent it from spinning with the tiny oar roped to its side. Still, it floated well, and he sat happily enough in the puddle of water at the bottom.
‘Coracles,’ Jeffrey said knowingly, rapping the side. ‘The river peoples of western Hominum use them for fishing. Woven willow rods form the structure and tar-coated animal skins make them waterproof. Their flat bottoms mean they barely disturb the water and, by extension, the fish. Sometimes the simplest ideas are also the best ones.’
‘As long as they get us there by midnight, they’re good enough for me,’ Fletcher said, stepping into his own and lowering himself to the floor. It was comfortable, like sitting in a large basket.
The others followed suit, though Lysander and Athena remained in the treetops, preferring to stretch their wings. There was a moment’s struggle as Sariel splashed her way through to the largest coracle and tumbled in. From the smell of it, this bigger vessel was the one the gremlins used to store and transport their catch. She didn’t seem to mind, snuffling at the bottom and lapping up the remains with relish, coating her tongue in flashing scales.
Sylva shuddered and then laughed aloud.
‘You’d be surprised how good that tastes to her,’ she chuckled, reaching over and ruffling the Canid’s ears. ‘I should probably infuse her but … she seems happy enough.’
There was a pause as the team manoeuvred their vessels downstream, then the gremlins slipped their oars into the creek.
‘Onwards,’ Blue fluted, stroking the water white as he propelled himself away from the bank.
They pushed into the centre of the river, where the gentle current picked them up. It tugged them along at a much faster pace than Fletcher had expected, in fact, they did not need to paddle at all. All he had to do was dip the oar in occasionally to keep the coracle from spinning.
‘Can we go any faster?’ Fletcher called over the rushing water. ‘We need to be there before midnight. How long until we get there?’
‘Plenty of time,’ Blue said. ‘Don’t be worrying.’
Fletcher groaned and forced his anxiety away, hating that the fate of their mission rested on the word of one gremlin. Sylva caught his eye, and he saw she had an arrow nocked to her bow. Clearly, she trusted the gremlins a great deal less than he did.
He shrugged and settled back, allowing his spine to rest on the shallow curve of the vessel. The gremlins chirruped among themselves, while the rest of his team watched the forest go by, their eyes half closed. It had been a long day, and the setting sun was already lulling them to sleep.
Ignatius pawed at his thigh and Fletcher saw him staring into the waters below. It was clear and placid as a sheet of glass; he could see the green fronds lining the bottom, swaying in the current. As he watched, a stingray glided past, as large as the coracle he sat in. Its undulating sides propelled it faster than the current, and it soon disappeared beyond his sight.
‘Good meat,’ Blue said, watching from his coracle. He ran his finger over the tip of one of the harpoons strapped to his back, and Fletcher saw it was barbed like the ray’s sting. ‘Useful tails.’
Even as he spoke, more rays emerged from the weeds below, drifting beneath in tandem. Wide-finned fish with green backs joined the procession, powered by the soft beating of their tails.
Something darted past, scattering them aside. It snatched a fish in its mouth and spiralled in a helix of bubbles, revealing itself to be what had disturbed the crowd from the shade of the underwater forest.
A dolphin, pink as a dahlia, swam beneath them. Its long beak gulped down the prey, then it thrashed its flukes, breaching the surface and splashing down in a burst of water.
All around, more rose-coloured dolphins leaped and dived, whistling and clicking with what sounded like laughter. The gremlins clapped their hands with joy, some even throwing titbits from the pouches at their waists for the dolphins to catch. Many replied, matching the dolphin sounds with their own. It was strangely beautiful to watch, as if the two were singing to each other.
‘The old men of the river is blessing journey!’ Blue laughed, splashing the water beside his coracle to beckon one to the surface. ‘It is being good omen!’
The dolphin rubbed its rosy flipper along Blue’s fingertips, as close to a handshake as the two species could manage. Then, as if some silent signal had been passed between them, the dolphins shot off upstream, leaving the coracles to continue their journey alone.
‘That was beautiful,’ Sylva said, gazing after them. She turned to Blue. ‘Could you understand them?’
‘We is speaking many words while they is speaking few,’ Blue said, smiling from ear to ear. ‘Some say, long ago we is learning to speak from they. It is not the same, but we is understanding they meaning.’
As he spoke, his face darkened. Fletcher followed his gaze, peering through the dim light of the setting sun.
A crumbling statue lay on its side by the water’s edge, layered with moss and vines. The head was partially submerged in the shallows, but there was no mistaking the creature it depicted, with its broken tusks and jutting brow. They were in orc territory now.