Boghaz’ eyes widened, then narrowed shrewdly. He thought it over. Then he shrugged. “I suppose one can always die. It’s worth trying. Anything’s worth trying.”
He tested the point of Ywain’s dagger. It was thin and strong. With infinite skill, he began to pick the lock of the Earthman’s gyves.
“Have you a plan?” he asked.
Carse grunted. “I’m no magician. I can only try.” He glanced at Ywain. “You stay here, Boghaz. Barricade the door. Guard her. If things go wrong she’s our last and only hope.”
The cuffs hung loose now on his wrist and ankles. Reluctantly he laid down the sword. Boghaz would need the dagger to free himself but there was another one on Scyld’s body. Carse took it and hid it under his kilt. As he did so he gave Boghaz a few brief instructions.
A moment later Carse opened the cabin door just widely enough to step outside. From behind him came a good enough imitation of Scyld’s gruff voice, calling for a guard. A soldier came.
“Take this slave back to the oar bank,” ordered the voice that aped Scyld’s. “And see that the lady Ywain is not disturbed.”
The man saluted and began to herd the shuffling Carse away. The cabin door banged shut and Carse heard the sound of the bar dropping into place.
Across the deck, and down the ladder. “ Count the soldiers, think how it must be done!”
No. Don’t think. Don’t, or you’ll never try it.