“No,” she whispered after a moment. “It’s passed now.”
“What?”
“I thought I heard a footstep. As if someone had stepped on an unexpected rock.”
“Returning to the home tent, maybe. As I’ll be doing in a little while.”
“If it had been someone walking openly, why so silent most of the way? Why did I hear one or two steps and a little grunt instead of a whole trail of footfalls?” She shrugged. “Well, the rain, the mud. Maybe it was just another woods animal foraging for faircrumbs.”
“Or that one statue of a donkey I couldn’t animate when I wanted to on the platform, finally come alive and looking for me.”
She chuckled, barely louder than an audible smile.
He finished his herbwater, put his cup down beside the kettle, and stood.
She stood with him. “But you said you weren’t ready to make another life decision at this fair.”
“Dilarysin. Some decisions make themselves.”
They held each other.
“No,” he said at last, “not with unpleasant business waiting in the morning.”
“And if Sharilys should choose you, how polite a way would it be to make your refusal: ‘I can’t marry you after all, because I married someone else last night?’”
“Both of us overtired, one with a chilled throat, and animated statues treading in the mud around the tent.”
A soft, shared chuckle, a squeezing together that lasted no longer than a heartbeat, and they separated.
He looked around when he was outside her tent. As usual, she had put it up among those of the adventurers, where fairgrounds were comparatively quiet during daytime. He saw nothing of any person walking stealthily. On his way back to the crafters’ section he passed a larger tent which he thought was either Kara’s or Ulrad’s.
On reaching his own tent, he checked carefully by globelight, but found nothing gone and nothing added. He put his moneygems away and painted two new protective charms, one to knot with Talmar’s into his doorcords and the other to tie around his traveling-chest. They were hasty, crude, and temporary, due to his weariness and rustiness with this type of crafting; but they should work for tonight, and the extra safeguard, as well as the concentration required for charmcasting, helped him sleep better.
Chapter Fourteen
The rain stopped in the night and the clouds dissolved by dawn. Early though Judge Alrathe arrived in Kasdan’s meal tent, all involved parties except Valdart were waiting. Slightly more than the involved parties: Kara sat near Ulrad, sipping tea, as if they had come together.
Dilys sat a little apart, also sipping tea. Kasdan worked in his cooking-corner, ready to step forward when wanted. His daughter Danys worked with him. Across the tent five people sat breakfasting. At first Alrathe thought they were completely uninvolved, but another glance showed them to be Camys the weaver, Boken the furniture crafter and his son, and Arlys and Tambur the metalsmiths, whom Kasdan would have consulted in fixing the exact cost of his damages.
“I thought it might save time to have them near at hand, in case of any questions,” Kasdan explained, bowing to the judge. “Cousin, what if other early mealbuyers come before we’re done here? I don’t like losing business.”
“You’re the only mealseller at this Amberleaf Fair,” said Dilys.
“Some folk might go back and dig into their own supplies sooner than stand outside my pavilion waiting to be let in.”
Dilys bent her head and stared at the floormat. “Well, I don’t object, so long as they sit on the far side, away from us.”
“Nor I!” Ulrad said hastily.
“We’ll hope Valdart arrives before other mealbuyers.” Alrathe sat, forming a triangle with Dilys and the pair of merchants. “Cousin Kasdan, a cup of sweetblend?”
As the judge was speaking, Valdart brushed into the tent. “Morning wine for me. Your best. Double the spices and two-thirds the hot water.”
“Greetings, adventurer,” Dilys murmured.
Kara repeated the greeting more heartily, rising at the same time. “I assume you’ll want me on the far side now,” she added, looking around at them all. “Shall I take Danys with me by asking her to bring my food at once?”
“Damage to my property is damage to my daughter’s,” said the mealseller.
Kara nodded. “Fine. I’d hoped she’d have time to heat my breakfast thoroughly.”
She crossed the tent and Valdart took the place she had left, sitting with one leg sprawling in front of him. The herbwater and morning wine were quickly mixed from the mealseller’s steaming urn, and Kasdan brought the cups, smiling as he handed Alrathe one and frowning slightly as he handed Valdart the other. “I don’t have any ‘worst,’ adventurer. All my supplies are equally good.”
Valdart swallowed a long draft at once. “I’ve got my reasons,” he said when he lowered the cup, as if anyone had voiced an opinion of the possible imprudence of his drinking strong morning wine in these particular circumstances. “And they don’t all have to do with yesterday’s brawl, either. Don’t worry. I won’t be the one to begin anything today.”
Dilys held the fingers of one hand straight out from her cup, but sipped tea instead of speaking.
“Well, then,” said the judge. “Cousin Mealcrafter, what will the damages cost you?”
“Twenty-one pebbles, two small stones, and four large.”
The storyteller sucked in her breath with a soft almost-whistle. “I’d hoped your first estimate was heavy, not light.”
“Boken and Camys have already sold me new cushions and floormatting, and the smiths have my brazier to straighten after breakfast.” Kasdan glanced at the group on the far side. “You can pay them directly if you like. Less the price of their breakfasts, which you’ll pay me.”
“Needlessly complicated,” said the judge. “In my opinion, Cousin Kasdan, it would be simpler to pay you the whole sum. Dilys to pay fifteen pebbles, Valdart the remainder.”
“What?” Valdart exclaimed.
“I have compared your four accounts with care. Dilys bears the heavier responsibility, but by treading on her leg, and by certain words spoken within her hearing and presumably that of other folk, Valdart shares some measure of guilt.”
“Six, almost seven pebbles’ worth?” the adventurer protested.
“I’m satisfied.” Dilys rose, grinned briefly at Valdart, and began counting moneygems into Kasdan’s palm.
“Six pebbles, two small stones, and four large,” Alrathe repeated to the adventurer. “Besides what you owe for that morning wine, of course. I judge this fair.”
“You barely glanced at the sum! Call in the old skyreader, Cousin Judge. Have him knot your numbers. That’s skyreaders’ craft, isn’t it?”
“I weighed the division last night, basing theoretical proportions on possible sums between seventeen and twenty-three pebbles. Your protests are not mannerly, Cousin Valdart,” the judge added in a lower voice, “but I would like to talk with you privately in my own tent. You and Cousin Ulrad.”
Ulrad seemed to quiver. “I’m sure our Cousin Judge is being fair with the numbers, Brother Valdartin. I’m a merchant, an honest far-traveling merchant—I deal with fine goods, large numbers, every day. It sounds fair to me.”
“Aye,” said Valdart. “Your moneypouch is snug enough, Brother Merchant.”
“I’ll share costs with you! Here, I’ll pay it all, Brother.” The merchant got his moneypouch and glanced at Alrathe. “That’ll satisfy, Cousin Judge? If we pay and apologize right away for being rude to you?”
“You have not been rude to me, Cousin Ulrad. Nor have you shared any blame for the mealcrafter’s expenses. You will not help Valdart pay. He needs correction in this matter and you do not.” Alrathe smiled at them, thinking it would be best to get them in private immediately. “I want to speak with you both about another matter. We can breakfast afterward.”
Ulrad drew his pouchstrings tight and sat kneading the money inside as if
trying to wear holes in the cloth.
“Another matter,” Valdart grumbled. “Well. That citron I left with you yesterday, Cousin Judge? I want it back. In good condition.”
“I have it with me. But we’ll speak in my tent of who should receive it back.”
“I want it, and I say it’s obviously mine.” Then Valdart grinned awkwardly. “The truth is, Cousin Judge… Well, I found my pendant this morning. Snug beneath a pile of pinefeathers on my tent floor. I must’ve bought that citron myself sometime, set it down and forgotten to eat it.”
“You have found your orangestone pendant again, safe?” Alrathe repeated. This threw the judge’s calculations askelter. “But how could you forget buying a citron? Citrons are not light-priced.”
Valdart shrugged, that rather shamed grin still stretching his handsome faace. “Maybe I still had one left from Horodek Fair. Or maybe someone gave it to me, for my charming manner. And sometimes, you know, when your lungs are full, well, your brain gets a little dizzy with all the good, boistering air and you buy something fine on impulse. Anyhow, it must be mine and I want it back.”
“If it is yours, bought on giddy impulse,” said the judge, “all the less reason you should balk at paying Kasdan a share of his damages. Did you find your pendant in the middle of the floor or at one side, near the tentwall?”
“At one side. Right at the edge.” Valdart took another long drink of wine and frowned at his cup. “I’m lucky some little animal didn’t burrow in and get it.”
“And beneath a pile of pinefeathers,” said the judge.
“That’s right. I spread pinefeathers instead of floormatting. Some of us can’t afford woven floormats.”
“And some prefer not to carry the extra weight from fair to fair. Was this recovery of your pendant among the reasons you called for strong morning wine?”
“Aye. For all the joy there’s left in it now.”
“Will you still want to talk to us in private, Cousin Judge?” asked the merchant.
Alrathe looked from him to Valdart and the others. Dilys had counted out her payment and was lingering to finish her herbwater and be formally dismissed. Kasdan clearly hovered in wait for Valdart’s share. Kara seemed to watch them with a hint of amusement from the pavilion’s far side, but the group of crafters wrapped each other in their own politely quiet conversation as they breakfasted.
“No,” said Alrathe. “I will not want to speak with you this morning, after all. But I will keep the citron for now. And, Cousin Valdart, I cannot direct you in this as judge, since you were complainant, but I urge you as friend to go to the toymaker and tell him yourself that your complaint against him is dissolved.”
* * * *
“You didn’t sell anything yesterday,” Nar told Torin half complainingly and half as if to make sure of the fact.
“Nothing except magic displays.” The toymaker felt relaxed now that yesterday was over and today starting like any usual fair day, with his showledge set up for business outside his tent in the autumn morning sunlight. “And a few little statues I animated for the showbuyers,” he added.
“Your stone turtles?”
“One.” Rabbits and squirrels had been more popular.
She stared at the four tiny turtles remaining on the showledge. “The one I wanted?”
“You wanted one special turtle? I’m sorry, maybe it was. I couldn’t set all my turtles aside until you came. But I’ll try to animate any other one you want and not charge any extra moneygems for the magic.” He reached below his ledgetop and brought out the darkring top and the turtle he had set aside for Nar at random.
“That’s it! Oh, that’s it!” Nar almost snatched it from his palm. “How did you know?”
“Your thoughts must have gathered around it so thickly they pulled my hand without my guessing why. I’ll still try to animate it if you like.”
She thought a moment and shook her head. “No. When it stopped, maybe it wouldn’t be the same as it is now. With its head turned and one toe up like that. How much?”
She began digging in her pockets. Torin looked up and saw Valdart approaching.
Valdart grinned rather foolishly. Torin attempted to return the smile. Nar, unaware of the grown-ups’ grins flying above her head, found a small stone, obviously hoarded with care, and handed it up to the toymaker. He gave her a large stone in change. Valdart reached the showledge.
Torin nodded. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Brother.” The adventurer nodded back and waited, looking on while Torin found a bag for Nar’s turtle and top.
By now the child appeared to sense something of what the men had not said to each other. No doubt, also, she had heard gossip. Taking her purchases, she said good-bye and walked away sedately, as if trying to combine manners with a lingering chance to overhear.
Torin sat, took out Arlys the metalcrafter’s silverwood necklace, that she had brought him two days ago to be mended, and began carving a new snowflake link to replace the broken one. Valdart cleared his throat.
“That judgment this morning didn’t come out exactly as I’d thought it would,” the adventurer said at last. “Alrathe made me pay part of the mealcrafter’s damages. Almost seven pebbles. I expect that storyteller told you about it.”
“A little, last night. I haven’t seen her this morning.”
“Oh. She didn’t come by to… Well, never mind.”
Torin was grateful Valdart stopped before saying something that might have tightened the strain on the rest of their interview. “Seven pebbles? Well, it’s a good excuse for me to host you for some extra suppers this winter.”
“Almost seven. So it’s handy that orangestone and bluemetal pendant of mine…uh…sprouted up from beneath some pinefeathers on my tentfloor this morning.”
“It did?”
Valdart caught Torin’s glance and grinned. “Aye, Brother Torinel. I was surprised myself. Thought I’d sifted my floor pretty well before I started bumbling around yesterday like a bee in a patch of dried-out clover. So Cousin Judge hasn’t come by to chat with you this morning, either?”
“No. I assumed you came because Alrathe assured you I hadn’t taken it. So that wasn’t necessary? Well, even more reason for you to share plenty of suppers and winter evenings with me this year.” Torin wanted to add, you and Sharilys, if she accepts you and if you and Dilys learn to relax in each other’s company. But he still could not hope that Sharys would marry the adventurer, and Valdartak might sense the insincerity.
“Well,” said Valdart, “maybe we can start by sharing a little something now? Kasdan’s tent shouldn’t be overcrowded, it isn’t midmorning yet, but my throat would welcome a little something hot and spicy. Oh, and, Torinal…if the little conjurer decides…”
“I should visit the mirror-maker anyway,” said Torin. “A frame I have to return to her. I mended it in exchange for the mirror shards. And she was interested in buying a spangle-chain necklace. I’ll take that along.” The toymaker smothered a sigh at breaking normal business again so soon, and put away the metalcrafter’s necklace and half-carved new link. “Walk with me, and we’ll visit Kasdan’s pavilion afterwards.”
“Aye, Brother.”
Valdart helped carry the showledge inside, then wandered out and waited while Torin wrapped Merprinel’s frame and necklace.
“You just mended that frame this fair?” the adventurer asked, as if to be saying something, while Torin knotted his charm to the doorcords. “When?”
“Early this morning. I woke before dawn and couldn’t sleep again.” He must have mended Merprinel’s frame about the same time Dilys was receiving judgment. “I just fitted in a new side to replace the cracked one, sanded it a little and rubbed in a few drops of oil. Varnish wouldn’t have dried by tomorrow, but Merprinel almost never uses varnished frames. Doesn’t like too high a gloss around her mirrors.”
Valdart nodded sagely. They kept the conversation to craftwork details most of their way, falling at length int
o a silence that Torin thought not too uncomfortable. At least, not until the shifting angle of their approach revealed Dilys buying something at Merprinel’s showledge.
Torin paused. He might suggest that Valdart wait for him. Then he stepped on eagerly, the suggestion unvoiced, leaving the old friendship to keep close or linger behind as the old friend chose.
Before Valdart made his choice apparent, a gray mule came careening round the corner of the Scholars’ Pavilion, knocked one post awry, caught its balance, and headed toward Merprinel’s tent at a gallop, eyes rolling and long lead-rope dragging.
Dilys snatched up several mirrors and jumped to one side, Merprinel grabbed both ends of her showledge and stood braced, Torin started forward with some vague idea of shouting and turning the runaway’s course.
But Valdart pushed him aside, ran to meet the animal midway between the Scholars’ Tent and Merprinel’s, caught the lead-rope at the mule’s chin, laid his other hand on its neck, straightened his legs, and pulled, throating some deep, calm near-words all through the process.
They spun and whirled for a few seconds, seeming about to topple, the man dancing quickly to avoid a kick—then the mule stopped and stood, sides heaving, muscles quivering, head bobbing with teeth aimed at the lead-rope, but under control.
“Adventurers’ craft!” Valdart called cheerfully between measures of a song he was lulling to the animal.
“It came through the scholars’ section,” said the toymaker. They were hearing some shouts now, but they would have heard many more, much earlier, had it run through a craftsellers’ part of the fairgrounds. “Talmar!”
“Don’t run,” said Valdart. “Don’t startle this fellow again.”
Torin walked a wide, rapid semicircle around mule and adventurer, almost bumped into the shaken tentpost, and once out of the mule’s sight ran round to his brother’s tentdoor. Talmar and Sharys were looking out, he holding back the curtain with one arm while she insistently supported him by the other. They were gazing toward Laderan’s tent at the outermost edge of the grounds, but turned at Torin’s approach.
At Amberleaf Fair Page 15
