by TJ Muir
One of the others laughed. “We all know what that means.”
“Yeah. some poor sod is about to get his heart broken. Just doesn’t know it yet.”
They all laughed at that.
She tilted her head, smiling fondly at Jomar. “You know too many of my secrets,” she said, as she bumped the end of his nose with her finger, laughing. So, the man wasn’t her husband. But Jedda was curious about who she was.
.He saw her several times over the next span, increasingly with Raifen. Jedda knew she pretended to be visiting a friend. He knew she told her family, or tutors, one thing- and then did another. He smiled, watching her slip through the square.
He also found out that Diya was not just one of the wealthy merchants or students who roamed the city. She was the daughter of So’har Ral’Jan Shaifan. Maybe that explained the difference, Jedda thought, watching her and Raifen in the market.
“Oooh, I love this pendant,” she said, holding up a dark blue stone set on a silver chain. “It will bring out the gray in my eyes perfectly.” she said, and then looked at Raifen. “You can buy it for me,” she said, flashing a smile at him.
The dramatic romance intrigued Jedda, for no reason he could grasp. Diya was young, attractive, and clever. If she were a man, he might think she was a womanizer. But she wasn’t like most of the other girls Jedda was used to watching. She was a social butterfly and a terrible flirt. But she was less passive than the girls. She had a way of getting what she wanted, and of taking matters into her own hands.
As with all things, he passed this information along to Hak’kar: snippets about love tokens exchanged, trinkets, fights, and tears. He kept hoping he might find something more useful. He didn’t tell Hak’kar that he was impressed by her- that wasn’t the kind of thing Hak’kar would be interested in.
And once again, He had a feeling that she was planning something, as he followed her across the quad. She ran into some friends.
“How’s Raifen?” one asked.
Diya just shrugged, noncommittally.
“I hear he was at a party last night, and quite cozy with Leanna again.”
Hearing that did not make Diya happy. Diya did not wait for events to happen. She headed off, with a determined look on her face. He had a feeling she was going to go directly to the source. So’Har Diya headed across the square. Jedda strolled behind her, pretending to look at some scarves displayed at a merchant's stand. He had a good idea of where she was headed.
Diya found Raifen at one of the terraced gardens near the upper harbor. It wasn’t very far from their first encounter. There was an alcove by the entrance, between a shrine to the mythical Red God and a holly bush. Masterful landscaping created a small opening that led to a very private tiny garden, away from all prying eyes. A little hidden niche that even Jedda hadn't noticed. He had a hard time seeing anything from his perch, just a corner of the bench where Raifen was sitting.
Yes, she was definitely taking matters in hand.
Jedda could hardly wait to report to Karrahk what he had discovered during the week.
“‘n then she tells him loud and clear like, that as he han’t chosen, she was choosin for him.’ ‘N she takes off the bracelet, all glittery with fancy stones, and slaps it down like, and leaves,” Jedda described the interaction, as he had witnessed it. It truly surprised him, that Diya left the bracelet behind. It was clearly an expensive gift. Why would someone throw that away?
He reluctantly handed the bracelet over to Karrahk. Karrahk fingered the finely wrought jewelry, with a look that said he knew just how valuable it could prove to be.
“And then she told him that since he had not chosen,” Karrahk said.
“'Ats what I said,” Jedda said, with a slight huff, before he realized Karrahk was correcting him, once again. So Jedda repeated himself, using Karrahk's words and proper accent.
Jedda had become more aware of how people spoke, the differences between rich and poor, differences in accents from the north, or the western coasts, and even the unique speaking traits of the Faenyr- that mysterious other race that shared the world but rarely came to Tatak Rhe. Jedda listened, and with time, found he could imitate many of them. So now, when Karrahk corrected him, Jedda repeated himself, perfectly mimicking the jilted lover. Karrahk smiled at that, amused and satisfied. As a protégé, that smile told Jedda he was proving his worth. In the retelling, Jedda's thoughts wandered to Diya-- wondering what she was doing and why she had broken off her relationship.
“Well enough,” Karrahk said. Jedda realized he had missed something the man had said. But their meeting was concluded. Karrahk handed him the coin purse- a little bit heavier this week. Jedda knew this intuitively, could feel the tiny increase in weight when it landed in his hand. He was almost certain there were three additional silvers in the little pouch. This time, the increased coins came with instructions. “I will not be able to keep our next two meeting.” his patron informed him, and then added “Also, visit the bath house. Good soap, and a brush.” This must account for the extra coin. “And there will be a package, waiting for you.”
Something different. A change! Jedda’s heart raced, on and off- whenever he thought about what it might mean as he wandered down into the city. Lost in his own thoughts, rather than ‘working,’ as he almost always was. Karrahk had told him to be clean, which also made him more self-conscious all week.
Jedda liked it when he could surprise Karrahk with some small treasure of information. It made Jedda feel proud. So his horde of secrets grew. But his most cherished secret was Karrahk's true identity. He wanted to show Karrahk how clever he had been, in discovering his identity. As many ideas as he had, from the 'accidental' name slip to letting Karrahk 'discover' Jedda lounging by his personal barge- he never acted on them. He didn't know how Karrahk might react. Jedda tried to convince himself that Karrahk expected Jedda to discover his identity. Maybe Karrahk would be disappointed if Jedda did nothing. Jedda fretted over this more and more, completely unsure what to do about it.
Lost in thought, he found himself in one of the parks but didn't feel like tracking any of his usual targets. In his wandering through the manicured greenery, he noticed an older man seated comfortably on a bench in front of a reflecting pond. The pond was a work of art as well as a place for fish and ducks; with stone steps that hovered, or appeared to hover over the water, leading to an island garden in the center. Jedda’s developing senses wondered how it worked. He was soon distracted from that by the older man, who was absorbed by something in his hands.
As Jedda got closer, he could see that the man was carving something- turning a small block of wood into an owl. Jedda watched this entire process, fascinated. He felt an itch in his hands- the same kind of itch, or tingle that he felt whenever he used to spot a coin purse easily lifted.
Later that day, he dipped into his precious stash of saved coins and bought a small carving knife. He knew he probably could have stolen a knife for carving, a better one even than he could afford to buy. But for some reason, he felt the need to try to do things fairly, as fairly as he could. In his mind, stealing was only for survival, when he had no other way to stay fed or warm.
It took him a while to get the feel of using the knife. He had several small gashes in his hands before a span had passed. He kept at it, learning how to cut and peel along the grains of wood, how to nick the wood and create grooves and channels. After a while, he began to get a feel for it, and his hands took to carving and whittling with ease. At first, he just made plain simple shapes, crude and awkward. He stuck with it, carving away all day and into the night. He carved more at night, happy to have something he could do, tucked safely away in his softly glowing den.
Then, he tried to mimic the old man's owl. It was his first real attempt to carve something living. It came out rough, without much detail.
When he was done, he was unsure of his success. He frowned at his chunk of wood. The old man’s owl had looked so serene, so wise, perched patiently. In
comparison, Jedda thought his own owl looked wrong. Crude and different. He almost threw it away. But he had created it with his own hands—hands that had done so many bad things in the past. He carried it around with him undecided.
Several days later, he brought it with him to the park and showed it to the man. The older man’s eyes narrowed, examining the piece, nodding. “Impressive,” he said. “How you captured it, just about to take flight!”
Jedda blinked, unconvinced. When he looked at his finished owl, all he had seen, was that it had not come out the way he had wanted; it wasn’t like the old man’s owl. It wasn’t all neat and perfect.
“I tried to copy yours,” Jedda explained, disappointed.
“It’s like that, with wood, and with art. Sometimes it wants to be what it wants to be, more than what we want it to be.”
Jedda’s face became a question mark. He looked down at his owl, focused intently on the words. He knew he was hearing something important, but he couldn’t quite make out the deeper meaning beneath the surface.
Carving became Jedda’s first and only hobby. Whenever he found himself waiting, or watching, he passed his time carving. He had become very good at observing without appearing to watch, particularly in public places. Having his hands busy, carving added to that disinterested, preoccupied manner. So as he gathered bits of gossip for his patron, his skill and feel for carving improved.
Sometimes, he would find the old man and sit in the park, and they would carve together. He liked that because the old man didn’t talk much. That was a relief to Jedda. People made him uncomfortable when he had to deal with them directly. He never knew what to say, or what they expected.
He learned to carve quick things, rough shapes which he could give to the canal children to play with: toys in a world with limited pleasures, especially for the little ones. Food on the table was more important than toys on the floor. He didn't really have any friends among the other homeless people-- even they kept a distance from him. But the children's little faces would light up when handed even the crudest toys, and he delighted in their joy..
One day, he was sitting on the wall of the private garden, hoping to catch sight of Diya. There had been no sign of her, despite the golden sunny day after a week-span of rain. But he sat and carved, patient. He kept one eye on the garden, with particular attention to the bench where she liked to read. While he daydreamed, he found that his hands and the knife formed their own understanding. He set out to carve a simple shape. There was a cat sitting in the sun. He had meant to try to copy the rough form.
Instead, he found his shape filled with elaborate and intricate detail. And it looked nothing like the little ball of fur warming itself in the afternoon sun. A rough cat, became a wildcat, with carved lines that even showed the thin wisps of hair in its ears, eyes sharply focused on invisible prey. When he looked down at the finished piece, he was a bit scared. Jedda didn’t know what to make of it. Most of his carvings were passable, but nothing exceptional. This one, looked as though it were alive. He was proud of it, but also distressed. He didn’t know how he had managed to create such an elegant creature. And when he stared at it, he felt it staring back at him.
It wasn't long before Jedda had a small collection stashed away in his secret hiding spot: a small ledge in his den, just above where he kept his hidden stash of coins. It was only a handful of possessions, but they were his own. He hugged himself, standing there, admiring his personal gallery. He smiled to himself, as he considered that these were his own personal protectors, totems that served to guard his treasure cache.
He took out the little shell pendant again, from its extra-secret hole in the back of the shelf. He didn’t like carrying it around now that he moved around so much, for fear he would lose it in all his climbing and scampering. He thought for a moment that perhaps he should get a chain, so that it could be worn around his neck, safely hidden under his clothes. But part of him felt a need to keep this little bit of him extra-safe and extra-secret. So, he wrapped it back up, in a piece of cloth and a small leather pouch, and tucked it back into the hidden niche in the back of his shelf.
He tucked his latest addition onto the little ledge, but once he took his hands away, one of them fell off the shelf. Strange. He had spent a while, leveling and clearing the space for his carvings. He looked closely at the escapee, a falcon perched on a hollowed out tree trunk. He frowned to himself, looking at the bird, before slipping it into his pocket. He would sort out his mystery later. It was getting late, past dark, and he had places to go tonight.
Jedda woke up with the horrifying realization that he was supposed to meet with Karrahk the very next day and he still needed to buy soap, visit the bathhouse for the bath and pick up the mysterious package. He rushed through his morning routine and bolted for the market.
He asked Turner if he had any in his shop. But Turner shook his head. He was a grocer mostly and carried fresh foods. He told Jedda to go to the merchant on the far side of the square, who sold soaps, and perfumes, as well as scarves and gift items. So Jedda trotted himself across the square, peeking in the window first. He wanted to be sure he had the right shop, so many of them looked alike. He walked into one of the stores, looking around to see where the soap might be. A large imposing man appeared from behind a counter.
“What are you doing here? Scruffy little thief,” the man said before Jedda even had a chance to speak.
“I'd like some soap please,” Jedda said, trying to speak as correctly and politely as he knew.
“There's no soap in here, scoundrel! You just trying to see what you can steal with those miserable filthy fingers of yours,” the man scowled, as he thundered, words hurled like threats as he bore down towards Jedda.
Jedda knew what would happen next. He turned and spun on his heels and ducked out the door as fast as he could, dashing around the corner- safely out of sight.
After his first failed encounter, Jedda crept back towards the shops. This time, he peeked into the windows first, trying to see if he had gotten it right. While he was lurking about, he heard a pair of women coming out of a nearby shop, the smell of perfume wafting ahead of them. Jedda perked up and made his way in that direction. A look through the painted glass confirmed that this was indeed, the correct shop.
“I'd like some soap, please?” Jedda asked timidly, confidence minimal after his first failed attempt.
The merchant had looked at Jedda suspiciously until Jedda showed him his coins. Jedda even handed him a silver penny, to prove his good intentions and honesty. This appeased any lingering suspicions, and the merchant produced several different soaps for Jedda to finger and smell. A tangy creamy cake of orange soap caught his fancy, and he handed over the soap to be wrapped up.
With the rest of his silver penny, the merchant drew out another bar of soap. Jedda looked at the man as though he were crazy. Two bars of soap?
“For your hair,” the man explained.
“Why canst I just use the soap I already got?” Jedda asked, slipping back into his own accent.
“It will help with, umm, the itching,” the merchant added, as Jedda scratched his head, automatically.
Jedda narrowed his eyes, wondering if this was some trick. After a moment, his hand went up to his head again. Jedda nodded his agreement for the second bar of soap. The merchant offered Jedda the polite suggestion to change all of his bed linens, to ensure no repeat issues. Another nod. He was so engrossed in his purchases, and so distracted by all the rich scents, that he almost forgot about the brush and comb, as per instructions.
Finally, Jedda left the shop, feeling quite grand. He felt extra-special, with the way the shopkeeper had treated him once he had the coins in his hand. It made him glad he had decided to not-steal the items. It had been expensive- it cost as much as eating for two whole days! But he continued to sniff it, smiling to himself, until finally, the moons rose up, cresting over the city in the east.
Breshan and Triappa were both full, his soft blue glow
mixing with her honey-colored light. The combined light from the dancing twins, binary moons, kept the night from being truly dark. It was time for him to head to the bath house. He knew that the buildings would be mostly empty at this time of night. He headed down the side alley, just off the Lower Square- a shortcut that would bring him out just above the bath house. He slipped around the corner at the end of one of the alleyways. As he did, his hair bristled. A man stepped out of the shadows. Or, more like the shadows opened up, allowing the man to escape. The shadow man caught him off guard- a rarity, and his step faltered slightly, from the surprise. His senses went on instant alert, a drainpipe, a side alley, and a balcony as possible escape routes should trouble present itself.
The man held something in his hands. A bundle. Jedda relaxed, his deeper senses told him this was not a chance encounter- nor did it pose any threat.
When Karrahk said there would be a package, Jedda hadn’t stopped to consider how this package would be delivered.
The man was reasonably well dressed- enough to be left alone, but not so well-dressed that he would draw attention to himself. He stepped forward, extending a wrapped bundle to Jedda. Jedda recognized the auburn hair and freckles; they were not common in Tatak Rhe. He particularly noted the dark green eyes. Green, like his own. This man was one of the two people he had seen around the city and thought might be following him.
“After your last meeting, the So’har instructed me to deliver this to you, here,” he said, handing the package to Jedda. “I didn’t realize the wait would be this long. It is the only bathhouse in the area.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize--” It never occurred to him that Karrahk might have others in the city as well. He knew he had servants, but right now he felt a twinge of jealousy for this man.
“I've seen you,” Jedda blurted out, part question, part accusation.
The man nodded, acknowledgment. “As your patron instructs. Or rather, our patron.”
The So'har's man. Why would the So'har have someone following him? But Jedda relaxed, and carefully took the package from the man.
