do? The gajos blockade the Channel. We can't leave England."
"Bororavia's a long way," a third man said. She recognized this voice, Evan, the old man they'd rescued from the muggers. "A long way to travel, with war and cossacks every step of the way."
"There are old trails, or so I've heard. Paths only Rom know," the stranger said. "It's getting past the blockade that will be hard. We need a ship."
"We can't get a ship," Beng said.
"Toma says he can," Evan replied.
"Toma." Beng hawked and spat, then went on. “Why you listen to that Calderash boy? He's not even rom baro."
Not a man, Sara interpreted. Oh, great, she'd ended up involved with an old-fashioned tribe where you had to be married before anyone would listen to you.
"I like the boy," Evan said.
/ do too, she thought, pleased at the old man's opinion of Toma.
"That's the problem," the stranger said. "He'll never be anything but a boy unless Beng gives in."
"He's not marrying my Sara. He's half gajo."
And what's wrong with that? Sara wondered indignantly. Not that she planned to marry Toma, of course.
"Sara spends most of her time with gajo," Evan answered. "Your own sister married one, Beng. If Sara spends more time with the gajo maybe she'll want to marry one like your sister did."
"I won't talk about what my sister did. Someone has to deal with the English, and Sara is good at it.
That's all there is to it," Beng said. "She earns a good living. She helps the whole familia. "
"But no one but Toma has offered a bride-price for her," the stranger said. "Men suspect the virtue of one who deals too much with the gajo. Not I," he added quickly. "But some do. Toma cares for her."
"Toma is not one of us."
"He's a good lad,"'Evan defended him. "Let him marry the girl."
"No. And what has Sara's marriage got to do with our returning to Bororavia?"
Yeah, Sara thought, more curious than disturbed by the conversation. She didn't feel as if they were really talking about her. What's the connection between me and Bororavia?
"If Toma can get us past the English blockade," the stranger said, "and the French ships beyond the English ships, he deserves the girl for his efforts."
"No," Beng said again.
A voice called them from across the camp before the discussion could go on. The men moved away in response, to see after the horses. Sara wondered where the bathroom was as she got up, then remembered there wasn't one. She was thankful when she spotted a wide-mouthed pot, but not at all happy about having to use it. She was just thankful Beth was already awake and out of the tent so she could answer the call of nature in private.
When she was done she found a jug of water and splashed some over her hands. The water reminded her that she hadn't eaten or drunk anything since she'd woken up the day before. Just thinking about food made her stomach growl. There were copper pots and a small chest next to the fire pit, and a small mound of twigs lying on the ashes of the last fire. Sara thought about where the water came from and decided boiling it before trying to drink it might be safer. Fortunately, it didn't take her long to figure out how to use the flint and steel she found among the cooking things, though it did take a while to get it to work. She found a flat loaf of bread and some fruit in the food chest. There was also a bag of loose tea.
She threw some leaves into the pot of water and ate while she waited for the tea to boil. She was waiting for the tea to cool when she noticed the big bag Evan had given to her the night before.
There was something familiar about the curve of the covered shape. She picked the thing up. She untied the cord holding the bag closed, then slid the cloth carefully down, revealing the rounded, honey-colored body of a finely made guitar. She held the instrument up, examining it with critical pleasure. The neck was narrow, dark wood inlaid with mother of pearl. She cradled it, strummed a D
chord across the wire strings, then adjusted
"Bororavia's a long way," a third man said. She recognized this voice, Evan, the old man they'd rescued from the muggers. "A long way to travel, with war and cossacks every step of the way."
"There are old trails, or so I've heard. Paths only Rom know," the stranger said. "It's getting past the blockade that will be hard. We need a ship."
"We can't get a ship," Beng said.
"Toma says he can," Evan replied.
"Toma." Beng hawked and spat, then went on. “Why you listen to that Calderash boy? He's not even rom baro."
Not a man, Sara interpreted. Oh, great, she'd ended up involved with an old-fashioned tribe where you had to be married before anyone would listen to you.
"I like the boy," Evan said.
/ do too, she thought, pleased at the old man's opinion of Toma.
"That's the problem," the stranger said. "He'll never be anything but a boy unless Beng gives in."
"He's not marrying my Sara. He's half gajo."
And what's wrong with that? Sara wondered indignantly. Not that she planned to marry Toma, of course.
"Sara spends most of her time with gajo," Evan answered. "Your own sister married one, Beng. If Sara spends more time with the gajo maybe she'll want to marry one like your sister did."
"I won't talk about what my sister did. Someone has to deal with the English, and Sara is good at it.
That's all there is to it," Beng said. "She earns a good living. She helps the whole familia. "
"But no one but Toma has offered a bride-price for her," the stranger said. "Men suspect the virtue of one who deals too much with the gajo. Not I," he added quickly. "But some do. Toma cares for her."
"Toma is not one of us."
"He's a good lad,"'Evan defended him. "Let him marry the girl."
"No. And what has Sara's marriage got to do with our returning to Bororavia?"
Yeah, Sara thought, more curious than disturbed by the conversation. She didn't feel as if they were really talking about her. What's the connection between me and Bororavia?
"If Toma can get us past the English blockade," the stranger said, "and the French ships beyond the English ships, he deserves the girl for his efforts."
"No," Beng said again.
A voice called them from across the camp before the discussion could go on. The men moved away in response, to see after the horses. Sara wondered where the bathroom was as she got up, then remembered there wasn't one. She was thankful when she spotted a wide-mouthed pot, but not at all happy about having to use it. She was just thankful Beth was already awake and out of the tent so she could answer the call of nature in private.
When she was done she found a jug of water and splashed some over her hands. The water reminded her that she hadn't eaten or drunk anything since she'd woken up the day before. Just thinking about food made her stomach growl. There were copper pots and a small chest next to the fire pit, and a small mound of twigs lying on the ashes of the last fire. Sara thought about where the water came from and decided boiling it before trying to drink it might be safer. Fortunately, it didn't take her long to figure out how to use the flint and steel she found among the cooking things, though it did take a while to get it to work. She found a flat loaf of bread and some fruit in the food chest. There was also a bag of loose tea.
She threw some leaves into the pot of water and ate while she waited for the tea to boil. She was waiting for the tea to cool when she noticed the big bag Evan had given to her the night before.
There was something familiar about the curve of the covered shape. She picked the thing up. She untied the cord holding the bag closed, then slid the cloth carefully down, revealing the rounded, honey-colored body of a finely made guitar. She held the instrument up, examining it with critical pleasure. The neck was narrow, dark wood inlaid with mother of pearl. She cradled it, strummed a D
chord across the wire strings, then adjusted
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