Part 34 (2/2)
”Of course, he'll be willing. He trusts your father. Your father trusts me.”
Nettle nodded. ”Well, then let's get out of here before that Fir-Noy troop comes riding back down the road.”
The road to the gla.s.s master's home was broad, but it wasn't straight, and they were constantly worrying they'd turn a bend and run into some vigilante patrol. When they came to the part of the road that crested a hill and gave them a view of the gla.s.s master's vale, Talen heaved a sigh of relief for there were no Fir-Noy to be seen. Just the fields, the gla.s.s master's house, and the gla.s.shouse itself belching smoke out two of its five chimneys.
Talen had walked the whole way from the tree trying to work the baker's criminality through his system. But he was thirstier than ever. And the itch in his legs had grown. He told Nettle to stop, then drank deeply from the water barrel, dumping a good quant.i.ty over his head.
He hadn't worked anything out of his system, and he began to doubt he would-slethery wasn't something that could be sweated through the skin. ”You know the stories of people bewitched to dance until they starved,” Talen asked, ”until their very bones turned to dust? Do you think it's possible to curse someone like that?”
”So now our hatchling wasn't just a post when she kissed you?” asked Nettle.
”She was a post,” said Talen. ”It's just my legs have put me to thinking what could have happened in the night.”
”Who knows?” said Nettle. ”If you wake up tomorrow and find yourself dancing some chicken trot with Prince Conroy, then I'd be leaning towards curse.”
”Gah,” Talen said.
”We could take you back to the Skir Master,” Nettle said. ”I'm sure he could ferret it out.”
”Yeah, after a little torture, I'm sure he'll have it all set right.” Talen shook his head and began down the slope. He needed to take his mind off his troubles. He was just going to get worked up, and that wouldn't do anyone any good. So he began to think about what he was going to say to the gla.s.s master. And his daughter.
Atra, the gla.s.s master's daughter, had expressed an interest in him at the last harvest dance. Or at least it had seemed she had, and he'd thought about her ever since. He knew it was nothing more than a fancy, but such an arrangement would be good for everyone: Da would get a family member into a clan; Uncle Argoth would keep his promise to his sister; the gla.s.s master would be able to tie his interests with a man close to a warlord of the Nine; and Talen, if she accepted him, would be able to serve and ponder and love one of the most stunning creatures he'd ever beheld.
Talen said, ”If Atra comes to the door, I need to have something to say. Otherwise, I'll be staring at her like a great ox.”
He remembered that River had told him once the key to conversation is good humor, maybe a little banter, and a few helpful questions. Questions. Not the stupid lines men came up with after a few pints of ale.
”Helpful?” he'd asked.
”Yes,” said River. ”A question that makes it easy for the other person to talk.”
”Well, how's a question going to do that? Either they have something to say or they don't.”
”No,” River said. ”Everyone has something to say. There are some people that are like an irrigation ditch. You pull the stop up, and they'll go on until you shut them off. But others aren't like that. Other people are like a pond or lake. You've first got to make an outlet for them; only then will they flow.”
”I've never heard you go on and on about a man's questions,” said Talen. ”All you talk about is their brilliant parts and all the presents they bring.”
River smiled. ”Trust me, little brother. The splendor of fine hair fades quickly.”
”Yeah, well I'd rather fade than never s.h.i.+ne at all.”
Except after trying to think up great things to say, Talen was thinking maybe River had the right of it: let them do the talking. But he'd never asked River for examples. What was a helpful question? How did you make an outlet for them to flow?
Well, it couldn't be that hard. He began to mumble questions to himself.
”What are you doing?” asked Nettle.
”Thinking up something to help Atra flow like a river.”
”What?”
”I'm thinking about making conversation.”
”We've got men bent on doing us harm, and you're worried about conversation?”
”I've had enough of hunts and hatchlings and baker's come-backs. I want to think about something pleasant for a while. Is it going to tax you?”
”No,” Nettle said. Then he grinned. ”Maybe you can tell her she looks beautiful, then ask her if she wants to breed.”
”Sure, I'll do that right after I impress her with a little bit of farting.” Talen rolled his eyes. Maybe he could ask after Atra's mother's health.
”Girls can smell desperation,” Nettle said. ”You need to be like a fish monger. If the first person doesn't want your fish, you call out to the next. You don't want to get yourself attached to any one customer. Who cares what you say?”
”I do,” said Talen. ”It doesn't matter what you do; you're Captain Argoth's son, Shoka wrist and all. Honor and cattle hang on you like apples from a tree. You can do what you want and still be attractive. But I have to make a good impression, especially when I tell them I need an escort and then have to wait around for the gla.s.s master to gather one. Besides, we don't want them asking us questions, do we?”
”You have a point,” said Nettle.
”So?”
”So we keep it short. You've been threatened, falsely accused by Fir-Noy. I show them my ear. Then we say it would be mighty nice to have some Shoka with us the rest of the way home.”
Talen nodded. Short and to the point. And if he got to talk to Atra, that would be a small gift in a day that was turning out to be less than stellar.
They reached the bottom of the hill, rode through the fields, and stopped at the border of the yard proper. Sometimes it was dangerous to walk into the grounds of a place where the dogs did not know you. But nothing barked, and so he led Iron Boy in.
The gla.s.shouse sat a distance from the yard, its chimney's smoking. The doors stood open, revealing men moving about the shadowed interior. He could not tell what they were doing, which was precisely why it had been set apart from the house. The gla.s.s master wanted to avoid prying eyes that might discover his secrets. And that was also why the dogs hadn't greeted them for the dogs were lying under a wagon in front of the gla.s.sworks, protecting the gla.s.sworks instead of the home.
Talen knew that sand was a part of gla.s.smaking. And a fiery furnace. This land had once been covered with trees, but they'd chopped down at least a square mile of the wood and fed it to the furnace. A gla.s.s maker needed wood to make charcoal to burn in his ovens. And so there was heat involved. He knew they used lime. He'd heard the dark blues were made with cobalt. But how it all was put together and blown into shape, he'd never know. Nor would anyone outside the gla.s.s guild. It was a rare art, and the secrets were guarded with oaths and penalties of death.
A grove of willows grew all up and down a creek. The willow branches were used to weave about some of the gla.s.s to keep them from breaking. Three women sat at the side of the gla.s.shouse weaving willow sticks around large gla.s.s jugs.
Back at the house some women busy in the back room laughed. Talen wondered if Atra was there. He also began to wonder about his plan. The gla.s.s master was an important man, and his expressed interest in Talen might have been nothing more than a polite gesture. Furthermore, he supposed proper young men did not come begging favors in soggy clothes, but what else could he do? On the other hand, if the gla.s.s master did agree to send some of his men, Talen would probably end up waiting here for an hour or two. An hour or two that could land them in more danger.
His thirst was such that he thought about going straight to the well, but that would be rude. And because n.o.body was in the yard, Talen would have to strike their bell. So he smoothed back his hair the best he could. Then wiped his wet hands on his tunic and walked up to the door.
A bra.s.s bell hung to the side of the door post. The artificer had engraved delightful scenes of bears and deer on the bell. He'd engraved the symbols for health and welcome upon the striker. Together, the bell and striker were beautiful.
Talen's family could never afford such things. When people came visiting his home, they simply said, ”Hoy,” and waited for someone to respond.
He struck the bell twice.
He heard footsteps as someone came to the door. He hoped it was not Atra. Then the door opened, and Talen saw a serving girl of maybe twelve years.
<script>