by Kevin Hearne
“That would be lovely. I’m sure the comfort of these cots will leave much to be desired. Perhaps you could inquire what that might cost when you see him next.” I did not have inexhaustible funds and could not count on my friend to refurnish my home for me beyond what he already had provided. What he had delivered had no doubt been intended for someone on Survivor Field, and I would have felt guilty accepting it save for the fact that Elynea was one of those survivors.
“I will. Actually …” She stopped and looked down.
“What?”
“He might have a job for me. Mostly painting or staining assembled pieces. Some sanding, perhaps some other finishing work.”
“I didn’t know you were a woodworker.”
“I’m not. But I might as well learn a new skill since I cannot tend goats I do not own or land I do not possess.”
“And he’ll pay you for this? It’s not an unpaid apprenticeship?” I would have an objection to make if this Garst was looking to take advantage of Elynea’s desperation.
“No, it’s paid. I can’t formally apprentice with him since he’s not a master anyway. But there’s so much demand for pieces right now and people are so strapped for cash that they can’t afford master-made items anyway, so Garst has all the work he can handle. Most people are willing to take them raw, but if I finish them, we can charge a bit more, and with increased production he can take on more work.”
“I see. Well, that certainly sounds good if you’ve planned what to do with Tamöd and Pyrella.”
“I was hoping we might continue our arrangement where you looked after them in the mornings. I would go to his shop before dawn and return before noon when you have to leave.”
I nodded. “That would be fine most days except for the few I have to have breakfast meetings. Perhaps we could ask Dame du Marröd to help on those occasions or someone else you might know.”
“Dame du Marröd would be perfect if we can convince her.” She looked down at her kids, stroking Pyrella’s hair. “You two liked her, didn’t you? You wouldn’t mind spending just a few hours with her once in a while?”
“That would be okay, Mommy,” Pyrella said. Tamöd was somewhat doubtful.
“Does she know any tidal mariners?” he asked.
I felt a small upwelling of hope on behalf of Elynea; a job would help her move on more than anything else. But since I had been so abysmally wrong about everything I thought yesterday, I wondered what I was missing now. Where was Garst du Wöllyr getting his lumber, for instance? And if he needed help finishing pieces so badly, why had he not already hired someone else from the vast pool of labor clamoring for work right now? It bore investigation, but I didn’t want to pry or sour what could potentially be a great blessing. Rather than swim against the currents, I would swim with them and wait.
I met Fintan at the Siren’s Call and purposely took him to eat at a Kaurian café, guessing that they’d have fresh ingredients from their homeland since a boat had come in the previous night loaded down with citrus and who knew what else.
On the walk over there through Pelemyn’s streets, I neglected to tell him that my house had been robbed; he’d ask what happened to the pages I’d written thus far, and I’d be forced to explain that they’d been tossed around but not destroyed or taken. A fortunate thing, that, considering what I had been writing, and perhaps doubly fortunate that I had a better lock on my home now. Taking even further measures to hide the manuscript as it was completed might be wise. Perhaps an enchanted Hathrim lockbox, one of the fireproof ones, hidden away somewhere beneath the floorboards. Rölly might have one I could use.
“How has the Siren’s Call been treating you?” I asked him as we squeezed past a crowd of people shouting at a fishmonger for his freshest catch. “You said the ale was good, but what about the rest?”
“It’s been delightful. I sing one song when I walk in after the performance on the wall, and then I eat and drink for free the rest of the night. People want to tell me their stories, and I want to listen. It’s a perfect arrangement, really.”
“What have you learned from these stories?”
“Lots of different accounts from the northern cities along the Gravewater River. The Bone Giants seemed intent on raiding the outlying farms as much as the cities.”
“Makes sense. The way I hear it, they were pretty hungry.”
“But they were also degrading your ability to withstand a siege of any kind,” Fintan pointed out.
“It never came to that.”
“True enough. Have you ever seen one of them in the flesh?”
“No. They never got over Pelemyn’s seawalls. I’ve only heard tales. Have you seen them?”
“Aye. But that story is weeks away. I began in the west and didn’t come this way until somewhat recently.”
As I suspected, the Kaurian café had some fresh limited-time specials: spicy grilled shrimp and baby longarms over cilantro lime rice pilaf and even garnished with lime wedges. Citrus like that was hard to come by in our part of the world. Fintan was impressed, and I thought it was a boon to know what had just arrived at the docks.
Though I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised, Fintan was recognized by the server, a dour gentleman with a short beard and an expansive forehead. His face lit up in a brilliant smile as his eyes took in Fintan’s Jereh band.
“Reinei give me breath, you’re him, aren’t you? The Raelech bard?”
Fintan beamed at him. “I am, sir.”
The Kaurian gushed for a minute and welcomed us both and rushed away to tell the owner of the establishment that we were there. She emerged from the kitchen, smiling widely, and insisted that our lunch was on the house and it would be her privilege to serve whatever we liked from the menu. We ordered the lime-squeezed special.
Once they left our table, my expression of wonder caused Fintan to flick a finger at my face. “Close your jaw, Master Dervan. You could hurt yourself.”
“Does this happen to you all the time?”
He shrugged, a tight smug grin on his face. “Let us say most of the time. It will be like this from now on, I expect. If they somehow miss that my skin is lighter than a Brynt’s and my hair is straighter, then the Jereh band is a giveaway that I’m Raelech, and if they know their colors, then they can easily put together the rest even if they’ve only heard me, never seen me.”
My eyes flicked down to his Jereh band, which all Raelechs wore to signal their status through the polished stones set in a bronze or gold torc wrapped around their biceps. They forced all foreign visitors to wear one while within their borders, too. There were always three main stones that echoed the ritual of their formal introductions—patron goddess on the left, rank in the middle, and profession on the right. Fintan’s Jereh was citrine for the poet goddess Kaelin, amethyst for the master rank, and then another citrine stone representing the bards. His wife, Numa, wore a ruby for the huntress Raena, a master’s amethyst, and mother-of-pearl for her profession, linking it visually with the Triune Council, whose members also wore mother-of-pearl on the right side. If you knew the Jereh table—as all Raelechs did—you’d be able to tell at a glance who you were dealing with, and I saw the practicality of that.
“How many people know the colors, would you say? I mean, how familiar are Brynts in general with the Jereh table?”
He winced and sucked at his teeth. “I can point to any fish in the sea and a Brynt can name it for me, but most of you can’t tell a Raelech miner from a beekeeper without a guide. And that’s not a knock against you; it’s the same wherever you go. Most people who aren’t Raelechs don’t know more than the few colors they might see in their daily lives, you know? They know the colors for merchants, certainly, and the blessed craftsmen who are typically employed abroad, like stonecutters and masons, and people in government know about couriers and diplomats, but otherwise we usually have to say out loud who and what we are. Most people miss the relationship status, too.”
“What? I didn’t even k
now—where’s that?”
Fintan reached across with his left hand and tapped the metal with his finger. “Gold means I’m married, bronze means single.”
“Ah. I have a feeling you brought that up because someone missed that signal.”
He nodded. “I have been the subject of spirited flirting at the Siren’s Call. When I tell them that I’m married, they are utterly surprised even though I advertise it clearly. It’s simply ignorance.”
“Sure, I understand. Maybe I can help a bit with that. Would you mind helping me write down a current Jereh table? For an appendix, perhaps. I don’t know it all myself.”
“Certainly. It’s changed in the last five years anyway.” There was a small bowl of fruit on the table—citrus, of course—and as I got out my writing materials, Fintan casually removed an orange and held it in his palm, considering it. “Do you know what this color signifies in Rael?”
“No.”
“We use the same stone—a special orange garnet—for millers, merchants, coiners, and thieves.”
His eyes fixed on mine as he said “thieves,” and I almost laughed. Rölly had been right; he would say things merely to gauge my reaction. I’m sure he knew that Pelenaut Röllend was dressed entirely in orange that day and furthermore knew that I’d had breakfast with him in the palace.
“Fascinating,” I said. “A reminder to merchants, millers, and coiners that they’re being watched at all times?”
“Yes.” He dropped the orange and sighed. “I know how they must feel now.”
That did elicit a chuckle. “I am not watching you so much as enjoying your company,” I said, acknowledging that I knew he was being watched but carefully making no comment about it.
“True. Aside from performing, it’s my favorite part of the day. Thank you for that. Shall we fill out the Jereh table now and see if we can work faster than the kitchen?”
“By all means.”
That kept us busy until the food came out; it was utterly delicious, and Fintan promised to mention it on the wall, which pleased the owner no end. I waited for him to pull my chain again to see what flushed, but he had no further prodding scheduled, and I didn’t feel like asking him about the Triune Council just yet. That could wait. We worked over drinks, chatted with the Kaurian staff and some other customers who wanted to talk to Fintan, and then it was time to return to the wall. Inspired perhaps by our earlier conversation and a desire to forestall further flirting, he shared a Raelech children’s song about growing up couched in the colored stone markers of their social hierarchy.
Jade and marble till we’re twelve,
Into studies we will delve
And earn our brown apprentice stone,
Keep it till our craft is known
Then step into our journey blue,
Grow until we’re ready to
Go test for master amethyst,
If we’re lucky we’ll be kissed
And marry someone wise and bold,
Turn our bands from bronze to gold.
“Today we begin by checking up on Kallindra du Paskre, the trader’s daughter who chronicled her family’s encounter with one of the Bone Giants. I mentioned at that time that the du Paskres weren’t the only ones to see them in advance of the invasion. Kallindra’s family had been on their way to a trader clave in Setyrön, where she learned more.”
He cast down his seeming stone and took the form of the sleepy-eyed teenage girl. Whereas before she had worn a wry smirk, she now appeared almost jubilant about something.
I cannot tell you who was most excited in my family to finally reach the trader clave in Setyrön, nor can I tell you who hid their excitement best. I would like to think I won in both categories, but Jorry caught me smiling once too often for no apparent reason.
“You can stop pretending you don’t care about the clave,” he said. “I see you there smiling like a kid at a tide festival.”
“I wasn’t smiling about that,” I said, scowling at him.
“Then what?”
“Dad getting robbed the other night.”
Jorry frowned. “That’s hardly anything to smile about.”
“Mother sure smiled about it. She nearly died laughing.”
“But we were robbed.”
“And we’ll remember it well, won’t we? It was an excellent lesson for us all. I can’t remember half the things our parents have tried to teach us, but I’ll never forget that.”
Jorry snorted and allowed himself a half smile. “No, I guess not.”
In truth I was smiling because the clave was one of the few times and places where we could relax. It was safe and everything smelled good and tasted delicious, and those things are the fundamental building blocks of a great day. And we had many such days to look forward to.
Father, however, stopped thinking claves were safe a couple of years ago. Ever since I came of marriageable age, in fact. Nope, not a coincidence! He seems to think I would abandon the family at the first proposal, and so he tries to forestall any attempted courtship with his looming presence, following me around most of the time. That was all right with me. I’m not chafing to be free just yet; I have yet to find someone who suits me. The handsome boys my age tend to be more than a little doltish, and older unattached men tend to be unattached for good reasons. I’m not sure marriage would suit me, anyway. Men so far appear to be more trouble than they’re worth.
The clave was being hosted by a farmer outside Setyrön who had yet to plant his crop for a fall harvest and wasn’t using his field for anything else. He’d pocket a healthy sum for letting us trample all over it and enjoy clave prices in the bargain.
When we pulled up to the posted, gated entrance to the farm, there was a friendly greeter there to take our entrance fee and register us.
“Ask him, Father. Ask him.”
“All right! Patience!” he said, then turned to the greeter. “Could you tell me if the du Lörryls are here yet, sir?”
The young man smiled. “You’re not the first to ask. They are indeed. I think you’ll find them already busy.”
Jorry and I clapped and made high-pitched noises of excitement. We passed on to find a spot to park our wagon, necessarily taking a spot on the periphery. It wouldn’t be the periphery much longer; more wagons would arrive and form rings around us.
“Go on, kids,” Father said. “See where everything is and find our friends. I’ll expect you back in an hour, and then I’ll want you to take me to the du Hallards, Kallindra.”
Jorry and I shot out of the wagon like bolts, clutching our purses with the few coins in them that Mother had given us when Father wasn’t looking. I think Father knew, though; he was too shrewd with his money not to know where it all went, which made me wonder why he pretended not to know.
We called out greetings to families we knew who worked the inland routes, and they called back. We depended on them to supply us with wool and honey and wax, and they depended on coastal traders like us for fish oils, inks, imported goods, and so on. I asked the du Nedals where we could find the du Lörryls. Dame du Nedal smiled at us and said, “You want that honey-apple bacon, don’t you?”
“My mouth is already watering,” I said.
“Yours and everyone else’s. You can almost smell it from here. They’re frying it up two rows over and north. Hurry before it’s gone, now.”
We thanked her and dashed between wagons, turned to our right, and spotted the line. We joined it gladly and knew it would keep growing. The du Lörryls had found a farmer somewhere upstream from Göfyrd who made the world’s best bacon and furthermore dealt exclusively with them. They got premium prices for it, and deservedly so. We always bought some at every clave and never held on to enough of it to resell, though Father claimed every year he was going to buy five stone of it and make a fortune marking it up.
“You smell that, Jorry?” I said. We both took obnoxiously loud, deep whiffs of the air, making little wafting gestures with our hands around our noses. “Smells
like bacon.” And money. And earth ready for replanting. And perfect contentment, that sublime moment when you’re at peak anticipation for something and you know you’ll get it soon. I often think that moment is better in some ways than getting the thing itself: it’s the awareness of your own joy at being alive and that the gods of all the kennings have blessed us, even those of us who never seek a kenning.
The couple in front of us were strangers and we gave them tight smiles of greeting, but Mella du Bandre came along a few seconds later and joined the line behind us. Her family was coastal like ours, working between Setyrön and Gönerled, and we competed in a friendly manner with them for customers in Setyrön. She had a hug for me and a shy smile for Jorry. His smile in return was a bit goofy as he stammered out a hello, and I could see already that this present awkwardness would be fertile ground for future teasing. I take my sisterly teasing duties very seriously because it’s so much fun.
Mella had grown up and filled out a bit since last I saw her, so it’s no wonder that Jorry noticed. She had pretty eyes and a quick wit that I’d always appreciated. If Jorry managed to win her consent, I’m sure both of our families would be delighted to see them matched.
“How have the tides treated you?” Mella asked. “Wash up anything interesting?”
“Yes, but why do you ask?” I said, because I sensed it wasn’t a casual query. “Have you seen anything strange?”
Mella nodded, “Yes, but you go first.”
Jorry caught my eye and gave a tiny shake of his head. Perhaps he didn’t think I should share the fact that we had been robbed. But it was only a map, not our entire inventory. And if there had been more people like that strange woman—Motah or whatever her name was—I wanted to know about it.
“The tides brought us a very tall woman who looked like she was starving.”
