Part 27 (1/2)
The second man wrested his arm from the other man's grasp. ”Well, well. The Koramite-lover's boy,” he said. ”All alone out here while Daddy is in the fortress. Where's your wet nurse?” He pointed at Nettle's belt. ”I see they're letting you dress up like a man, are they? Good for you.”
Nettle clenched his jaw, but he didn't say anything.
So Talen spoke up. ”He's man enough to knock one of your armsmen about.”
”Quiet!” said Da.
The second guard licked his bottom lip. ”Our orders,” the first guard said, ”are to search every Koramite. Now strip.”
”And you,” the second said to Nettle. ”You may move along. Wouldn't want you to get a hang nail.”
”Don't listen to them,” said Nettle.
Da held up his hand. ”Talen and I will satisfy the requirement.” Then he began to pull off his tunic.
Dozens of Mokaddians in the other line stood and watched. One wife stood with her arms folded and a scowl across her face as if this were their just desserts. Talen turned his back on her and gave her the b.u.m. Soon the two of them were naked except for the poultice around Da's neck and the dark G.o.dsweed braid around Talen's arm. They stood in the sun, their legs spread and arms held wide, while the guards and flies came to investigate.
When the guards found no sleth-sign, they allowed Da and Talen to pull their clothes back on and bring the wagon round. But another guard stopped them there.
”It's four coppers to enter,” he said. One of his ears looked to have been chewed off.
Da shook his head. ”Every man who works on the wall has rights to enter.”
”Every Clansman,” said the guard.
”No,” said Da, ”every man.” He pointed at the Sea Gate in the distance. ”I helped build that tower.”
The guard looked over the contents of the wagon. ”Four coppers, and I want that small sack of barley.”
Da did not raise his voice in anger, instead he enunciated every word. ”I am here at the Council's request.”
The man put his hand to his sword. ”There are many who think we should just beat you on principle. I'm doing you a favor.”
”You're robbing me.”
The guard shrugged. ”Everything has its price.”
Da clenched his jaw.
The guard flipped open the basket with the smoked meat. ”Ah,” he said. ”This looks good.” He pulled out strip of salmon and took a bite. Then he grabbed another strip and tossed it to the other guards. ”I've got to let you in,” the man said, ”but I don't have let your wagon through.”
”I'll pay you four coppers,” said Da.
”No,” said Talen.
”Be quiet,” said Da.
”Very good advice,” said the guard.
Da reached into his purse and withdrew the coins. ”The Council's going to hear about this.”
”Give them my regards.”
Da picked up the reigns and flicked Iron Boy on.
Talen hated the Fir-Noy. But he was beginning to hate some of the members of his own race. The smith and his wife-they had tainted all the rest of them. Brought down a load of grief. He was happy the smith died. He deserved it. His wickedness was treachery, a stab in everyone's back. He thought about what Da was doing with the hatchlings. That was treachery too. Couldn't Da see that?
Smoke from a mult.i.tude of city's chimneys trailed into the sky, the wind blowing it like a number of sooty smears toward the sea. Da, Nettle, and Talen followed the road. The farther they traveled, the taller and more closely placed the houses became. More and more were made of brick and stone. Yet, between roofs, Talen caught glimpses of the temple on its hill and the seven statues for the coming Festival of Gifts. At the end of the festival, the community would pull down the statue for Regret, tie it to a boat, and send it out to sea. And while it burned upon the water, thousands would sing the hymn of defiance along the sh.o.r.e lines. This same ritual would be repeated by the other Clans in their cities, but none would match the festival held here in Whitecliff.
Of course, this year it would not be the same. Usually, the reigning Divine would bestow gifts during the festival, including healings for man and beast. The festival was one of the regular times for people to offer the days of their life up for the good of all by letting the Divine draw quant.i.ties of their Fire. It was also during the festival that common men were raised to the ranks of the dreadmen. But none of that would happen this year.
Talen took his eyes from the temple and looked up the road. They were almost upon the lodger's field. Not all of the merchants could afford to raise a booth or tent in the central square. And many of those slots went to many of the permanent families who held homes in the city itself anyway. But there were three other spots in the city where merchants paid to set up their business. This was the largest of those spots, a ten-acre field filled with tents of all colors-blue and white trimmed with yellow, scarlet and black, green and blue-each with pennants above them declaring who they were and what they sold.
”Look,” Nettle said and pointed. ”The Kish.”
Talen looked and saw the black and white tent of the Kish bowmaster. He was surprised that merchant was here. In the last four years of Bone Face raids, many merchants had become wary of sending s.h.i.+ps to the New Lands. And now with the sleth, it was a wonder those who did come would stay. Kish bows were the finest made. They were small and powerful, made of wood, sinew, and bone. And it came to him that one of those hatchlings would buy him the finest bow for sale along with a hundred bundles of arrows.
They pa.s.sed by the lodger's field, watching a merchant's guard chase two boys away from a wagon, and then, with a b.u.mp, the road turned from a humped, dirt affair with weeds growing in the middle to a flat cobblestone street. What a fine arrangement for the rich to be able to step out of their houses in the middle of a rain and not muddy their boots.
Up ahead, people thronged the way. In front of them a man led an a.s.s laden with bundles of dried hemp. To the side a young woman wearing a yellow hat pointed to a clay prayer disc lying on a holy man's table. Each disc was engraved with some type of boon-the holy man would write your name on the disc in ink, then you could hang it on the wooden statue in front of the temple and let the fires carry your request to the ears of the Creators.
A young boy carrying a yoke of water across his shoulders cut in front of the wagon, followed by a girl in a pale blue dress selling candles that hung from a pole fitted with a double cross.
The sound of a woman singing to a lyre wafted down from a window one level up on the other side of the street. Talen turned and saw it wasn't a woman at all, but a girl. A tall Mokaddian girl who watched him as she sang.
A few minutes later, Da turned off the busy street, following the lane that led to Master Farkin's. Farkin's house stood three stories high and had half-a-dozen smoking chimneys. Talen wondered how it would be to have a hearth in almost every room. One thing was sure: a lot of work or money in firewood. Perhaps the woodsman they'd seen earlier was on his way here.
A servant stood outside Farkin's door. Da went inside to see what price he could get for the pelts they had brought. Talen waited on the back of the wagon and watched two carriages roll by, their curtains drawn. When Da came back out, he had Talen and Nettle help him carry the pelts down an alley to the back of the house.
Master Farkin was, according to Da, one of the few merchants who bargained a fair price with every man, regardless of clan.
While they were making the exchange, Master Farkin said, ”Have you heard the news about the Envoy?”
”Mokad has sent an Envoy?”
”Not only an Envoy, but a Skir Master. The message just came today. We're saved.”
”Is he here to stay?” asked Da.
”n.o.body knows. There was no word of his coming until the birds arrived today. But it bodes well. We can, at the very least, hope for a hunt.”
”Creators be blessed,” Da said, smooth as cream. But Talen knew he didn't mean a word of that.
”And look at this one,” Master Farkin said of Talen. ”I would suspect that the girls would find much to admire there.”
”If they do,” said Talen, ”they have a funny way of showing it.”