"He'll catch cold in his face now," Barak predicted.
"Will you stop that?" she told him.
The coast of Nyissa slid by on their left, a blank wall of tangled vegetation, festooned with creepers and long tatters of moss. Occasional eddies in the breeze brought the foul reek of the swamps out to the ship. Garion and Ce'Nedra stood together in the prow of the ship, looking toward the jungle.
"What are those?" Garion asked, pointing at some large things with legs slithering around on a mud bank along a stream that emptied into the sea.
"Crocodiles," Ce'Nedra answered.
"What's a crocodile?"
"A big lizard," she said.
"Are they dangerous?"
"Very dangerous. They eat people. Haven't you ever read about them?"
"I can't read," Garion admitted without thinking.
"What?"
"I can't read," Garion repeated. "Nobody ever taught me how."
"That's ridiculous!"
"It's not my fault," he said defensively.
She looked at him thoughtfully. She had seemed almost half afraid of him since the meeting with Chamdar, and her insecurity had probably been increased by the fact that, on the whole, she had not treated him very well. Her first assumption that he was only a servant boy had gotten their whole relationship off on the wrong foot, but she was far too proud to admit that initial mistake. Garion could almost hear the little wheels clicking around in her head. "Would you like to have me teach you how?" she offered. It was probably the closest thing he'd ever get to an apology from her.
"Would it take very long?"
"That depends on how clever you are."
"When do you think we could start?"
She frowned. "I've got a couple of books, but we'll need something to write on."
"I don't know that I need to learn how to write," he said. "Reading 'ought to be enough for right now."
She laughed. "They're the same thing, you goose."
"I didn't know that," Garion said, flushing slightly. "I thought-" He floundered with the whole idea. "I guess I never really thought about it," he concluded lamely. "What sort of thing do we need to write on?"
"Parchment's the best," she said, "and a charcoal stick to write with - so we can rub it off and write on the parchment again."
"I'll go talk to Durnik," he decided. "He'll be able to think of something."
Durnik suggested sailcloth and a charred stick. Within an hour Garion and Ce'Nedra were sitting in a sheltered spot in the bow of the ship their heads close together over a square of canvas nailed to a plank. Garion glanced up once and saw Aunt Pol not far away. She was watching the two of them with an indecipherable expression. Then he lowered his eyes again to the strangely compelling symbols on the canvas.
His instruction went on for the next several days. Since his fingers were naturally nimble, he quickly picked up the trick of forming the letter.
"No, no," Ce'Nedra said one afternoon, "you've spelled it wrong, used the wrong letters. Your name's Garion, not Belgarion."
He felt a sudden chill and looked down at the canvas square. The name was spelled out quite clearly - "Belgarion."
He looked up quickly. Aunt Pol was standing where she usually stood, her eyes on him as always.
"Stay out of my mind!" He snapped the thought at her.
"Study hard, dear, " her voice urged him silently. "Learning of any kind is useful, and you have a great deal to learn. The sooner you get the habit, the better." Then she smiled, turned and walked away.
The next day, Greldik's ship reached the mouths of the River of the Serpent in central Nyissa, and his men struck the sail and set their oars into the locks along the sides of the ship in preparation for the long pull upriver to Sthiss Tor.