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Fred Saberhagen - The Book of the Gods 1 - The Face of Apollo
* * *
What had happened on deck that first night did not happen again during the remainder of the voyage. All
was proper and businesslike between the lady of ambiguous status and the new servant. In any case their
conduct was constrained by the fact that Arnobius had snapped out of his withdrawal and at night Jeremy
heard faint sounds from the deckhouse indicating that only one of the two beds was in use.
Jeremy had other matters to concern him. He thought the time was ripe to ask the Scholar whether he
knew either of the people to whom Jerry was supposed to convey the message.
"Yes, though I don't know Margaret all that well she's a visiting scholar, from Morelles I think and
Professor Alexander, of course, a sound man." Arnobius ceased his contemplation of whatever it was that
he was thinking about and turned to look at the boy with interest. "How did you happen to hear of my
colleagues?"
Jeremy was ready with what he hoped would be an acceptable answer. "Someone in our village . . . told
me that she had worked for him once."
"Ah," said the Scholar vaguely, turning away again. If there was anything wildly improbable in the claim,
he did not appear to notice it. And Jeremy had chosen a moment when Carlotta was not around.
Emboldened, he pushed his luck. "I thought if I might talk to the professor, then he might offer me a job.
When I've finished with the job you've given me, of course."
Arnobius once more looked at him with his usual air of benign remoteness. "Well, who knows?" Then a
new thought occurred. "I might possibly be able to retain you in my employ when we get home. Reliable
people are hard to find, and you've shown yourself reliable though of course if you wish to speak to
Alexander it won't hurt for you to try." A pause. "Where is your family?"
"They're all dead, Scholar."
"I see. That is sad." Arnobius nodded, blinking. It seemed that in his remote, abstracted way he actually
felt some sympathy. "Did they all die at the same time? Fever, perhaps? Or maybe you'd rather not talk
about it ?"
"I don't mind. Yes, sir, they all died at about the same time."
As he spoke the words they seemed quite true. "There was an attack on my home village. I don't know
why."
"War," said the Scholar, nodding wisely again. "War is always . . ." He made a gesture of futility and let it
go at that.
It was still difficult for three people to propel and steer the catamaran, especially in narrow channels, but
after all, their goal was downstream, and mere drifting would get them there sooner or later if their
enemies did not show up to interfere.
Jeremy still looked back, from time to time, over his shoulder, for the boats full of armed men, or the
furies, who could be pursuing him from upstream. They were still comfortingly absent.
And from time to time he noticed that Carlotta also kept looking back, along the way they had come,
while Arnobius rarely glanced up from his table of what he preferred to call not magic but odylic
computations.
On the walls of the cabin there were posted maps, or charts, including one ancient-looking one.
Arnobius was about convinced now that there wasn't any real reason to go back there, and so he treated
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Fred Saberhagen - The Book of the Gods 1 - The Face of Apollo
that map as unimportant.
But Carlotta studied the map so intently that Jeremy got the idea she might be trying to memorize it.
TWELVE
On a morning when everything for once seemed to be going smoothly, with the catamaran drifting more
or less steadily downstream, Carlotta briskly discussed with the new employee the matter of wages. In
return for a certain increase in the sum already contracted, payable on reaching port, he would be
expected to double as sailor and personal servant for the duration of the trip.
It appeared that the Scholar was going to have little to say on this or any other practical matter and,
though now fully recovered from his fainting fit, was perfectly willing to leave all such affairs to his
young companion. When circumstances required the efforts of all three people to move the boat, he
followed her orders, or even Jeremy's, willingly enough and with his usual abstracted air.
Jeremy had no way of knowing whether the pay he was offered was generous or stingy, but for his
purposes it hardly mattered he would be provided with food and shelter and, above all, would be living
within the walls of the Academy. There, presumably, he would be able to move around with some degree
of freedom, enough to enable him to keep his pledge to Sal.
Jeremy still tended to grant Carlotta the title of Lady in his thoughts, however false her claim to it must
be. As she laid down the conditions of his employment she couldn't seem to think of many Jeremy
stood nodding his head, scarcely listening, agreeing to it all. Once he was inside the gates of the
Academy, locating the man he had to find ought not to be too hard.
As the days passed, the girl's overt behavior gave little indication that she remembered the midnight
encounter she had enjoyed with her new servant. And indeed, that event now seemed almost unreal to
Jeremy as well.
The only clue that the girl had not entirely forgotten the interlude came when she actually blushed once
or twice when Jeremy looked at her directly, as if she were reading more into his glances than he was
aware of putting into them. Jeremy felt faintly amused to see her blush, but his main emotion was a
remote but profound surprise at his own ability to maintain a cool and casual attitude in the presence of
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