“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 shine 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, and 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 glass 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 glasshouse 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 glass 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 glassworks, protecting the glassworks instead of the home.
Talen knew that sand was a part of glassmaking. 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 glass 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 glass 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 glass to keep them from breaking. Three women sat at the side of the glasshouse weaving willow sticks around large glass 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 glass 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? And if the glass 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 nobody was in the yard, Talen would have to strike their bell.
He smoothed back his hair the best he could. Then wiped his wet hands on his tunic and walked up to the door.
A brass 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 footstep 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.
“Good day,” said Talen. “I need to talk to the glass master.”
“You’re Horse’s son?”
Talen nodded. Da had earned a new 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 slobbery kisses. As a child Talen had been terrified of her. She had caught him once, and he’d had to screamed bloody murder to escape. She still put him on edge.
Some had suggested the glass 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 glass 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 glass 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 glass 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 dr
eam 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.
“Muffin,” 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.”
“Muffin,” 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 Muffin 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 glass 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.
“Muffin 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 it back, wringing out 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 more forcefully.
Elan sniggered, 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.”
“Are.”
“Am not.”
They had argued until Da finally chased Ke out into the pasture.
Atra turned to Talen again. “So what brings you to our vale?”
Nothing bespoke confidence more than the eyes. Talen wasn’t going to be the shy little boy staring at girl’s noses, so he looked her right in the eye. And promptly forgot what he was going to say. All that came into his mind was Nettle’s line about breeding. The silence stretched on a bit too long.
“The sun burns brightly,” he finally said, “and so does your face.” He cringed inside. What kind of an idiot statement was that?
Nettle laughed and tried to cover it with a cough.
Atra looked at him quizzically, then gave him that chagrined half smile again. Something was off. When he’d last seen her, they’d spoken and it seemed the stars and moon and torchlight had danced in her eyes. All that was gone.
“You’re wet,” she said.
“It’s quite hot out,” he said, “isn’t it?”
“Not too bad,” she said.
Talen waited for her to go on, but his question was clearly not one of River’s helpful types.
“Right,” he said. “Well, it’s been a dusty road. My Da was summoned to the Council. We’re on our way back.”
“I’m surprised you two dare to travel alone,” she said. “We heard about the creature coming for that woman. To think she’s loose again to work her depravities. My Da hopes the Skir Master mounts a hunt the likes of which has never been seen. When he catches her, Da will volunteer to fetch the crows that will pick her head to a nub.”
“Oh?” said Talen.
“Yes, he’s been quite affected by this whole thing. Did you know those people?”
He thought about the two hatchlings back at the house. “What do I know?” he said. “Nothing. Except that this woman should be brought to justice. Tell me what you’ve heard.”
Atra began to talk, repeating many of the same rumors Talen had heard today. He nodded and added a comment here or there, but mostly he just let her talk.
She was definitely an irrigation ditch.
Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe “tell me” was one of those helpful questions. Thank the Creators he’d stumbled on it.
He began to hope that he’d mistaken the shift in the feeling between them and that her talking would restore the ease they’d shared the time before.
As she talked, Talen looked at her eyes. He concentrated on them. He noticed that they were not all of one color. There was a darker ring of brown inside a lighter one. Talen wondered if that’s what perhaps made them so beautiful. But he decided against it. It was more their size and the loveliness of her brow.
Then Talen realized she had just said something and he had no idea what it was.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I fear the new baker puts more than flour and honey in his small cakes. What did you say?” Da was right. She’d gone from sleth to something else and he’d missed the whole journey looking into her eyes.
She shook her head. “I said that it seems Koramites are out of favor.” Her mouth was drawn in a line of disappointment. Had she just told him he was unwelcome?
“Well, not all Koramites I hope.”
She did not reply immediately, and Talen’s heart began to sink. “You can’t judge a whole people by the actions of a few.”
“No,” she said. “But some people do.”
Then she changed the subject. “Would you like to see my new saddle?”
“I’ll gladly view anything you want to show me.”
She looked at him oddly.
“Anything having to do with saddles,” he said.
The delight he’d enjoyed before flashed across her face, but then faded. Talen needed another helpful question. He couldn’t quite believe, didn’t want to believe she’d said what she had about Koramites. Maybe she didn’t lump him in that group becaus
e he was going to be part of the Shoka.
“Tell me about your saddle.”
Atra turned to Nettle. “Does the loafing Captain want to see a saddle?”
“Naw,” he said. “One saddle is pretty much like the other.”
“Your loss,” she said and turned to Talen. “This way.” And she walked into the stable.
“Fish monger,” Nettle mouthed.
Talen rolled his eyes and followed Atra to the back of the stable. It wasn’t proper for a boy and girl of courting age to be alone, but Talen decided they weren’t really alone: they were just going to look at a saddle. Nor were they courting. Besides, Nettle was in the yard. They would come right back out.
She laid her hand on one of the finest saddles he had ever seen. It had silver trim worked around the edges. The leather had been dyed black. The many tassels of green and scarlet all ended in a bead of silver. The horse blanket was indigo blue. Her horse was black and well-muscled. Such a saddle on that creature would look magnificent! Talen felt the smooth surface. “It’s perfect,” he said.
Atra told him about the quality of the silver, which required frequent polishing, and showed him the fine stitching of the leather work. He wondered if he would ever be able to afford such a saddle. He might. But a saddle wouldn’t be enough. That was the way of the fine things. You couldn’t just purchase one. You had to purchase sets and pairs. A fine blanket to go with a fine bridle to go with a fine saddle for a fine horse. Fine horse combs. Fine servants to take care of the fine horse. He could work all his life to have the wealth contained in only the glass master’s stable.
Better to be plain than servant to such a master.
“You’re a graceful rider, Atra. You’ll look stunning at the races.”
She smiled. “You won a number of contests at the dance.”
Talen had won nothing. There hadn’t been any contests. “I don’t remember receiving any prize.”
“It wasn’t a public contest. Just among us girls.”
What was she talking about?
“We rated you all during the King’s March.”
There were a few dances just for the men. He loved the King’s March more than any of the others.
Servant: The Dark God Book 1 Page 30
