Part 35 (1/2)

”Good day,” said Talen. ”I need to talk to the gla.s.s master.”

”You're Horse's son?”

Talen nodded. Da had earned the name a few years back. They did not have Iron Boy then. On a wager, Da had altered his harness, hooked the plow to himself, then told Ke to keep the lines straight. They had plowed their whole field that way. Not as deeply as a horse might, but deep enough. So he had earned the name Horse.

”I'll take your request back to the mistress. You can go on around to the well to water your mule.”

As Talen walked back off the step, he got a feeling someone was looking at him. He turned and he saw a curtain slide back into place. Talen could just see the outline of someone through the curtain and wondered if it was Atra.

Talen smiled, and then the person moved the curtain slightly, very slightly and stared at him.

It was Elan. Mad Elan, Atra's older half-wit sister, hiding where she obviously thought Talen could not see her. She had a mole on her face from which long hairs grew and an awful habit of chasing boys and giving them huge s...o...b..ry kisses. As a child Talen had been terrified of her. She had caught him once, and he'd had to screamed b.l.o.o.d.y murder to escape. She still put him on edge.

Some had suggested the gla.s.s master sacrifice her. It was common for the lame, blind, maimed to give themselves up to the Divines. When a war is being waged and you cannot see, you can still give Fire to those who can. If you cannot lift a sword, you can give Fire that will allow a man to wield his sword with incredible might. In fact, the gla.s.s master had offered her up once for the war weaves a few years back. Or so it was said. But they hadn't needed her or hadn't the time to draw her. And so Elan was still with them.

He hoped Elan had learned to keep her affections to herself. Him being chased around the gla.s.s master's yard simply would not do.

He motioned Nettle to take the wagon around to the trough. He could smell the smoke from the gla.s.s works, but he could also smell the cold well water, a whiff of leather, hay, a rose, Nettle, Iron boy-far too many smells.

He glanced to the back of the house where the women were. Their talking had quieted. One woman sat breaking beans and glanced his way. Then Atra walked past the other woman, picked up a basket, and walked out of his line of sight again.

The sound of footsteps behind him caught his attention. He turned slightly. Someone holding a long arching stem of wild, white rose darted behind a tree trunk a few paces away.

”Hoy, Elan,” said Talen.

She quickly moved farther behind the tree.

You couldn't tell for sure because her face defied a precise age, but he guessed Elan was perhaps twenty-five years old: well beyond the age of marriage. But did half-wits even think about such things? Did she dream of some handsome man giving her children? Did she know that such a dream would never become reality for her?

”There's a fine scent on the breeze that I cannot identify,” he said. ”I wish I knew what it was.”

Elan didn't move. Talen walked over to the well and pretended he wasn't paying attention. A few moments later Elan sneaked out from behind the tree and tip-toed up behind him. Talen looked up at Nettle who was grinning, then turned to greet her.

Elan was standing almost right behind him. The rose stem in her hand was about three feet long and bent over to the ground. She held it out to him, beaming with delight.

”m.u.f.fin,” she said. She had a yellow ribbon tied in her hair. It did not do anything for her. In fact, it looked as if it had accidentally snagged there.

”Talen,” he said. ”You must call me Talen.”

”m.u.f.fin,” she said and smiled her huge smile. She was missing a few teeth. And while he could see no long hairs growing from the large mole on her cheek, he could see a distinct shadow of a moustache.

Talen shook his head. She'd called him m.u.f.fin Bunny ever since she'd caught him that one time.

Elan straightened and said something.

Talen couldn't understand her. She spoke like she had a severe sore throat. ”What?”

”I had a man call. Da made a good bargain.”

At least that's what he thought she said. A man called for Elan? ”Really?”

”I a strong worker,” she said. ”I better than a watch dog with babies. I not some cheap servant.”

”I'm sure,” said Talen.

”He paid gold.”

That surprised him. Who would pay gold for Elan? She was not bright, but maybe she was indeed a hard worker. Life had many simple tasks. Maybe the best deal the gla.s.s master could get was to sell her as a servant. He wondered if the purchaser truly was interested in her or was only trying to curry favor with a rich man.

”I hope it goes well for you,” said Talen.

”m.u.f.fin Bunny,” she said. ”You wet.”

Back at the house, Atra stepped outside. ”Elan,” she called.

”He here,” Elan shouted back.

Atra walked down a path that led from the back door of the house. She was wearing a sky blue, sleeveless surcoat. The armholes were huge and showed her bright red tunic underneath. The effect with her black hair was stunning. And yet, these were working clothes. The sky blue of the surcoat was from woad, not the expensive mollusk blue. And the red was not the scarlet of the grain, but something else. Beautiful, but practical.

Talen's heart quickened. He took a breath. His hair was sopping wet and a mess, so he released the tong that held his long hair together, smoothed back as much water as he could, and quickly retied it.

Atra smiled at him with a bit of chagrin then addressed Elan. ”You're not done inside yet.”

”I found him,” said Elan. ”I found him, Atta.”

”Elan,” said Atra a bit more forcefully.

Elan sn.i.g.g.e.red then walked back to the house. Before she went inside, she shouted out, ”Atra told me a secret.”

Atra only rolled her eyes.

Elan was a half-wit, but she had clearly enough wit to tease her sister. Talen smiled. There was more to Elan than he had suspected.

”A secret?” asked Talen.

Atra shrugged. ”Don't listen to her.” Then she looked up at Nettle and waved. ”How's the Captain's son?” she called.

”Loafing,” he said.

Talen looked at Atra's smooth cheeks and nose. He looked for a pimple, and saw none. How was such skin possible?

His father had once told Ke how to look at a beautiful woman and still keep your wits straight. ”Look her right between the eyes.”

”Oh, that's good,” Ke had said. ”I'll be staring at her cross-eyed. That's sure to impress her.”

”No, you won't,” said Da. ”Look at me. You can't tell I'm looking at your nose, can you?”

”Cross-eyed,” said Ke.

”I am not.”