“In a few weeks I’ll find out your ability to learn—your strengths and weaknesses. I’ll also know how the council’s likely to react to you. You won’t have a formal sponsor—that is, a knight or a noble to vouch for you,” Flinn added.
Jo’s eyes were wide and unblinking. “Must I have a sponsor, Flinn? And—” she hesitated “—can’t you sponsor me?”
Flinn returned her gaze, a strange pain in his chest. “No. I can’t sponsor you. I’m no longer a knight,” he said heavily. “As to whether you need a sponsor, the answer is no, but you’d be better off to have one. Still, we can get around it.”
Jo nodded, her gaze intent. “Fair enough, Flinn, fair enough.” She smiled quickly, handing him the plate of bread. “Now, let’s eat. You’ve had a long journey. Time enough to talk about this later.” Her eyes were shining, and he sensed a terrible tension in her. “Flinn,” the girl’s voice was barely more than a whisper, “thank you.”
“The rabbit stew’s excellent, Jo,” Flinn said after a few swallows. “Tell me more about Specularum, and… tell me about you,” he added after a moment’s consideration.
The girl looked at him abruptly, as if unsure what to make of his last remark. She looked down at her bowl and finished chewing a bit of food.
“It’s true that I did hunt wharf rat for food. I learned how from a crippled fisherman who lived by repairing nets. Pauli taught me how to make a thin, strong twine from unsalvageable netting. He showed me how to place a loop trap where the rats’d run.” She shrugged. “I had a choice: I could hunt wharf rats, scavenge rotten fish, or steal marketplace food.” The girl leaned toward him. “I chose to hunt.”
“Tell me about the city,” Flinn requested.
“Specularum? It’s crowded, filthy, and unwelcoming. What would you expect from the largest seaport around? The stench is unbelievable. Even a week after I left the city I couldn’t smell anything.”
“Why did you leave the city? Really?” Flinn asked suddenly.
Jo looked at him for a moment, then her eyes crinkled and she laughed. “I left because a drunken lord tried to get frisky with me in an alley—he must’ve stumbled down the wrong way in the dark, for no lord had ever been down that street before, I’ll warrant. Anyway, I bit his ear off.”
Flinn snorted derisively.
“The next day there were warrants out for the arrest of the ‘fiend who had accosted Lord Arston’. It seemed a good reason to leave Specularum. I stowed away on a river caravan heading north for the Castle of the Three Suns, but the captain found me and threw me overboard. I followed the river north, but somehow I ended up in Bywater instead of at the castle.”
Flinn smiled at her, freshly amused at the girl. “You came up the Castellan instead of the Hillfollow. The Hillfollow would’ve taken you straight past the castle.”
Jo smiled back and shrugged, then she said, “There’s something I want to show you.” She went to the bed, reached under a soft fur, withdrew a foot-wide square of blue silk, and handed it to him. “I found what was left of your tunic and did what I could to salvage it.”
Flinn fingered the square of cloth in his hands. The girl had skillfully taken apart the embroidery of the suns and used the thin yellow strands to sew the midnight blue cloth together. From a distance the contrasting stitches were hardly noticeable, but close up they created a pleasing mosaic pattern. The three suns, though now much smaller, were still situated on the front of cloth.. Flinn touched the frail golden threads that ran through the yellow threads, surprised to see the strands shimmer.
“The gold threads are still enchanted, Flinn,” the girl said. “When I pieced them together they glowed, though only faintly. Whoever cast the spell must have been a powerful wizard.”
“Camlet the seamstress took great pride in her work. I’m not surprised the threads still glow.”
He looked up at Jo standing beside him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. “It’s beautiful, Johauna,” he said simply. “Thank you for saving as much as you could.”
Her voice was breathless. “You’re more than welcome, Flinn.” She stroked the three suns briefly. “I know this square can’t replace the tunic, but perhaps you can keep this as a… a favor, I think the knights call them.”
“They do.” Flinn pointed at one of the sacks he had brought in. “I have a present for you, too. Take a look in there.”
Johauna looked in a long, narrow bag and pulled out a wooden sword. The dull gray wood that formed the blade had a fine, tight grain. Although the sword was thicker than a normal steel sword, its beveled edge was very sharp. The leather-wrapped hilt and fitted, wooden guard fit perfectly in Jo’s hand. She said nothing, her eyes searching his inquiringly.
“I didn’t give it to you earlier because—” Flinn paused, rubbing his neck uncomfortably, “—I didn’t know if you were serious enough.” He gazed toward her, his face reddening. He continued, “It’ll do for us to parry with. I figured I would teach you first how to defend yourself.” He took the sword from her and gave it a few swings. “I made it from a piece of ironwood. It’s virtually indestructible and almost as heavy as steel.” He shrugged. “It’ll make a good practice blade for you. It doesn’t have the bite of metal, of course, but it’ll dent just about anything you’ll find in these woods.”
A shadow crossed the girl’s face. “Even the creature that attacked me?”
Flinn considered his words, then nodded slowly. “Even the creature that attacked you.”
“I don’t understand!” Johauna shouted at Flinn, one week later. She was lying flat on the now-packed snow of the commons between the cabin and the barn. The tip of Flinn’s blade rested squarely on her chest.
“That’s because you’re not trying!” Flinn shouted back. He abruptly stuck his sword into the ground and jerked her to her feet. “You’re not listening! You’ve got to learn defense before you can think about attacking!”
“What do you think I was trying to do? I had my sword out! I tried to stop you!”
Flinn’s hands clamped firmly on his waist. “Well, it didn’t work, did it?”
“I did everything you said!” Jo mimicked Flinn’s posture. “You’re not teaching me right!”
“Hah!” Flinn snorted. “You’ve got another think coming there, you thick-headed girl!” Angrily he picked up Jo’s sword where it had fallen in the snow and then grabbed his own. He threw the wooden blade at Jo, who caught it handily this time. Flinn grunted his approval. “That’s better,” he snorted again and went into a crouching position. “This time, let me attack and you defend,” he said.
Johauna, too, crouched in the ready position and held her sword like a bar before her. “I don’t know why you won’t let me have a shield, Flinn,” Jo said as she blocked Flinn’s initial move.
“I told you!” Flinn whirled his blade in a fast, low arc. Jo barely jumped in time. “You don’t need a shield. Your sword’s everything you need to stay alive. The shield might protect you, but it won’t save your hide like a sword will.” He swung his blade overhead, letting it come crashing down on Jo’s wooden blade. She winced at the force of the stroke and fell to one knee, but she didn’t release the blade.
“Good girl,” Flinn said quickly and backed away, preparing his next move.
“What if I lose the sword? Then I’ll need the shield,” she said. She blocked his next move easily and smiled, only to find his sword at her stomach.
Flinn sighed in exasperation, backing away. “If you lose your sword, Jo, you’re dead! Think! Hold onto your sword as though your life depends on it—because it does. A shield is expendable; you haven’t time to worry about expendable distractions. Devote your attention to what is necessary. Now—prepare yourself!”
Flinn advanced toward her again, his blade swinging out in faster strokes. His gaze passed over the spot on her calf where one of his strokes had nicked her. He had taken extra care since then. Jo fended the first few strokes well enough, but then Flinn’s sword flashed faster. She stepped back, fumbling with the blade.