Raccciman’s World

Allma peered cautiously sideways and upward, and was relieved to see that Pier didn't seem to be too hostile.

“This one begs you to let him hide in your cabin. This one swears to be quieter than a mouse!”

“Now why would I do that?” Pier wondered. He looked out over the water, and the breeze played in his damp hair. “It seems to me that your Master Bectus has a right to know where you are.”

Allma hung his head.

“And besides, why would I want to share my cabin with a trouble maker?”

Allma shook his head earnestly. “Oh no, gracious sir. This one wouldn't make any trouble for you. This one had been good for twenty-five whole days before you arrived in Revenhew.”

“Twenty-five days?” Pier drawled. “From the stories I heard last night, that must have been quite an accomplishment.”

“This one would have stayed out of trouble for twice that long if you hadn't...”

Pier chuckled. “If I hadn't asked you to 'fix' my salad. I have to admit I don't blame you much for takin me up on that.”

Allma grinned. “This humble penitent grovels for your kind and merciful forgiveness. Please hide this one away in your cabin!”

Pier shook his head. “Why, if you were going to run away, did you run away to here?”

>

Allma thought back to his deliberations of the night before. He had thought of going to Atisva, and he still wasn't sure exactly what had made him try this instead. “This one has never seen Ilam, or the desert, or one of the flying cities. This one wanted to be where Asond fought the dark hordes, where Mungo, the half-man, flew on a gryphon, where the dragons fought. This one wanted to do something important, to help Master Bectus.” He looked down at the deck, and scuffed at it with his sandal. “This one didn't want to be left behind.”

“Well now, I'll tell you what,” Pier answered jovially. “If you promise not to play any tricks...”

“This one solemnly swears,”

“...and do what you are told...”

“Yes, gracious sir.”

“...then I'll tell your master I'm willing to share my cabin with you.”