Men In Chains
Page 2
“Well then, do not stand there blocking the path. Come in. I want to talk to you before we see the pigs.” Delinda started to go in, but again Ostyn hesitated. “Oh, for the Goddess’ sake, hurry up. I’m thirsty!”
Defeated, Ostyn followed her into the teashop and stood behind her with downcast eyes as she approached the counter. “Take the parcels to a table, Ostyn, and wait for me. I want to talk to the proprietress,” she said, trying to peer around the curtain behind the empty counter. Delinda heard footsteps approaching, and a large-faced woman of indeterminate age moved the curtain aside and shuffled in, unsmiling.
“Help you?” she said, squinting at Delinda.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Delinda briskly. “I’d like two cups of your finest coar blossom tea. I presume you carry it?”
“Yes, I have it,” the woman replied, fixing suspicious eyes on Ostyn. He had chosen the darkest corner of the shop, but did not escape her narrowed gaze. “Do ye want both cups at once,” she continued, “or should I wait ’til ye finish the first to serve the second?”
“We will have both cups now, thank you.” Delinda started toward the table and was stopped by the woman’s abrupt clearing of her throat. She turned back, her eyebrows raised. “Was there something else?”
“Ye canna have yer slave sittin’ at the table. This is a respectable shop and we do not serve males,” the woman declared. “Yer welcome to the tea yoursel’ and he can wait ‘round the back if ye like,” she added in a more conciliatory tone. She was eyeing Delinda’s jewelry and was no doubt torn between pleasing a potentially lucrative customer and sticking to her principles.
“Nonsense,” replied Delinda amiably. “I am prepared to pay for the tea and I should be able to do with it as I choose. And I choose to buy it for my employee.”
The woman looked befuddled by the use of the word.
“And,” Delinda went on, “Ostyn and I need to discuss an important business matter this morning and therefore he needs to be with me, not hanging about in the alley.” The woman looked as if about to burst, but Delinda forged ahead, “Also, as there are no other customers in your shop at this moment, I can see no reason my employee and I should not sit where we like.”
She turned toward Ostyn, who was frozen in the attitude of a small animal crouched in the path of an oncoming carriage. At the shopkeeper’s first words he had started to rise, but Delinda’s firm rejoinder had stopped him from fleeing. “Ostyn,” she commanded, “bring the parcels and move to this larger table near the window. I cannot see you in that dark corner.”
This was finally too much to bear for the stout shopkeeper, temporarily stricken dumb by Delinda’s bold impropriety. “Ye canna do that!” she shrieked, moving around the counter with more speed than Delinda would have thought her capable. She snatched up a broom and brandished it like a weapon. “Ye’ll make me a laughingstock and I will not have it, do ye hear me well?” Her voice screeched with a volume that would surely draw notice from passersby.
Startled, Delinda took a step backward, colliding with Ostyn, who was either rushing to her aid or making a dash for the exit. The parcels were knocked from his arms and a bag of candy drops burst open, sending the colorful confections bouncing across the floorboards. Furious, Delinda turned on the red-faced woman.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, which was at least a head above the woman’s greasy topknot. She made her voice icy. “I special-ordered those to be sent from Harcanum, and there are no more to be had in this sector. They cost at least twenty times as much as your miserable tea, and I suppose you would feel yourself ill-used if I expected you to reimburse me!”
The woman spluttered and her thoughts were plain on her face. She was astonished to find the tables turned and considered herself the injured party, not Delinda.
“I’ll not be talked to that way in me own place,” she howled. “Get out and take your bloody male with you. And do not ever come back!” She panted with rage, her eyes bulging from their sockets.
Delinda made herself even more imposing and cool, a tactic she had learned from watching her mother deal with rude tradeswomen and high-handed noblewomen alike. “I will be more than happy to leave your establishment,” she said so crisply that the words came out like a slap. “I obviously made a huge error coming here in the first place. I was looking for someplace civilized to have a quiet business conversation and a cup of tea. I will be more careful with my choices in the future. Good day!” She swept out the door with more dignity than she was feeling and found Ostyn cringing just out of sight of the window. “Come along Ostyn,” she said, just loudly enough to be heard through the still-open door. “We must find a place interested in doing business instead of trying to regulate the behavior of its customers.” She stalked off, Ostyn trailing in her wake.
As Delinda had feared, the shopkeeper’s outcry had been heard by passersby, some of whom had stopped to see who could possibly be the object of such fury. In the face of now open stares, she held her head just a fraction higher as she continued down the walk, too furious to pay attention to where she was headed. She could hear snatches of the excited half-whispers as she marched on, not turning her head.
“Look at that hair, just like you-know-who’s…”
“I wonder why she came back after all this time…”
“She’s as crazy as her mother, I’ll warrant!”
This last comment stopped her, but she reminded herself these ignorant women could not possibly know her mother’s side of the story. She continued resolutely along the path. Ostyn, his legs much shorter than Delinda’s, trotted to keep up.
Finally her rage cleared to the point that she realized she must be going somewhere—it would not do to look confused, or worse, backtrack in front of these awful gossips. She surreptitiously glanced around and was relieved to see a sign above a shop door indicating clothing and shoes could be purchased therein. She swiftly opened the door and stepped through it, motioning for Ostyn to follow. To his credit, he did not hesitate at all this time. He seemed as eager to be out of the street as Delinda.
The shop was warm and quiet, and looked clean and well stocked. A pleasant-looking woman with white hair braided neatly into a crown was rearranging items on a low shelf and turned politely as Ostyn closed the door.
“Good morning, Miss,” she said. She looked Delinda up and down unselfconsciously. “I hope I can be of some service to you today, but I must warn you, I have nothing so fine as what you are wearing.” She bent to peer at Delinda’s feet. “What an excellent pair of boots!” she exclaimed. She focused shrewdly on Delinda’s face. “You must be the girl who just moved back here from the city. Goddess, but you are the image of your mother at your age.” She smiled so broadly that Delinda could not be offended by her informality.
“I don’t need anything fancy,” said Delinda, warming to this stranger. “I brought plenty of clothing when I moved here. I’m here to buy some decent clothes and shoes for my employee, Ostyn.” She inclined her head to indicate the man, who was standing behind her, trying to be invisible.
The woman raised her eyebrows. “Your employee,” she mused. “I see.” She looked speculatively at Delinda, then at Ostyn, and then back at Delinda. She seemed to make up her mind about something and nodded.
“All right then, er…what is your name again?” She turned to Ostyn, who appeared to have been struck dumb.
“Ostyn,” supplied Delinda.
“Ostyn,” repeated the woman. “And I am Korin, Miss…?” she turned to Delinda.
“Delinda,” she replied.
“Ah yes, Delinda,” murmured the woman. “I should have remembered. But then I have not seen you since you were—what? Five? Six?”
“We left when I was not quite six,” said Delinda. “And I have only the vaguest memory of my life before the city.” She was a bit surprised to find herself confiding in a stranger, but had the feeling the woman did not find it unusual at all.
“Go on, Ostyn,” prodded Delinda. “There’s nothing to be concerned about.” Looking miserable, Ostyn reluctantly followed Korin into the back room. Delinda looked around at the monotonous selection of sturdy, practical clothes, shoes, hats and gloves until Korin returned.
“Can I offer you a cup of tea?” she asked, blue eyes twinkling with curiosity and intelligence. Delinda ascertained the price of the tea would be a firsthand account of the village’s newest and most intriguing resident—herself—but she was thirsty and still unsettled from her earlier encounter.
“Thank you, I would love one,” she responded. Then, as Korin turned toward the kettle sitting on the stove in the corner of the room, “But…”
“Yes? But what?” responded Korin, when Delinda hesitated.
“Would you mind giving Ostyn a cup as well?” she asked. “I tried to buy him one earlier at the teashop down the lane, but…” She shrugged.
Korin hesitated only for a moment. “Of course, my dear. I’ll just take it to him and be right back.” She poured a cup of tea and disappeared briefly into the back room, returning empty-handed. She poured two more cups and carried them to a small table where two comfortable-looking chairs waited invitingly. “Will not you sit down for a moment?” When they were both seated, she nodded thoughtfully. “The teashop down the lane…that would be Venda’s place.” She chuckled ruefully. “I can imagine the reception you got from her.”
Delinda was surprised to find herself smiling at the incident. “She certainly did not make a new customer out of me. I hope that isn’t the only place in the village to buy fine tea.”
“The general merchant can order anything you want from the city,” replied Korin, “as long as you are in no great hurry to get it.” She sipped her tea and scrutinized her visitor over the rim of her cup. Delinda got the impression she was eager to ask questions but did not want to appear rude. She decided to ask a question of her own.
“Did you know my mother?” she blurted. She could not believe she had started with the question that required the most delicacy, given her family history. But Korin smiled even more warmly.
“I did indeed,” she said, “and a finer woman never lived.”
Delinda leaned forward eagerly. She missed her mother and had come to this place with the knowledge that many people here would be unwilling to talk about her or, if willing, would have nothing good to say. Despite what Mother had told her, Delinda had harbored the stubborn hope that for every person who despised her mother’s memory there was another who still remembered her fondly and did not believe the lies that had been spread by her enemies. It appeared she had accidentally come upon just such a person.
Korin did not speak immediately. Her eyes had taken on a faraway look, which Delinda hopefully interpreted as a sign she was about to share a memory. Instead, Korin’s expression changed and she turned, giving Delinda a direct look. She leaned forward and, still staring into Delinda’s eyes, closed her hand firmly over Delinda’s own.
Immediately Delinda felt a rush of warmth, followed by a mild tingling sensation that moved all the way up her arm. With growing certainty, she realized what she was feeling. It was power, pure and unmistakable, and quite strong. Before she could consciously react, her own power, the rahnta within her, answered.
There was a surge of something like the crackle one feels when too close to a lightning strike, and the room grew brighter. Their eyes still locked, Delinda felt Korin’s power gently probe her own and found she could, ever-so carefully, respond in kind. Still motionless, Delinda felt the rahnta spread throughout her body, causing even her hair to tingle and stand up. She knew Korin was feeling the same sensation, and yet the eyes into which she stared remained fixed and the face calm. A sense of tension, as if something must burst or break free, grew steadily, and a buzzing began to rise in Delinda’s ears.
“Korin? Miss?” a voice said. Korin took her hand from atop Delinda’s. Instantly, the buzzing stopped and the light in the room was as it had been. Delinda shook her head, wondering how long the strange incident had lasted. Seconds? Minutes? She looked at Korin, who appeared perfectly normal.
“What is it, Letta?” asked Korin, sounding not at all shaken. Delinda was not sure she would have trusted her own voice at that precise moment.
“Will the, er, will your, um…will Ostyn be needing shoes?” asked a pretty young woman with white-blonde hair. Korin turned to Delinda and raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
“Shoes?” replied Delinda blankly. “Oh, yes, of course. Shoes.” Delinda recovered somewhat. “Yes, he will be needing at least two new pairs of work boots for his duties around the estate, a pair for wearing inside the house and perhaps something a little nicer for, er, special occasions.”
“Yes, Miss.” Letta disappeared again. If she found it unusual for someone to order four new pairs of shoes for a male, she did nothing to indicate it. When Delinda turned back to Korin, she found the woman smiling mildly.
“I am sorry if I startled you,” she said, “But I had to be sure. I was afraid, given her history, your mother would be afraid to pass her rahnta to you. After all the trouble it caused her, it would not have been surprising.”
I had to beg her, thought Delinda. And then she still almost changed her mind. “I was startled,” she replied. “Mother told me about the joining, but I’ve never experienced it before.” Another thought struck her. “I do not have much experience,” she said cautiously, “but it seems to me your power is strong. And yet you are not…you are only…” She hesitated, not wanting to seem rude.
“And yet I am only a shopkeeper?” Wry amusement showed on Korin’s face. “You assumed a woman of power would have a more exalted position.” Her eyes twinkled again and Delinda could see she was not in the least offended.
“I do not know what I expected,” admitted Delinda. “Mother told me about what happened, of course, when I received the rahnta and we talked a great deal about the responsibility of power. I thought women who carried the rahnta would have a certain prestige in a small community like this.”
“Most do,” replied Korin. “But I never wanted that, at least not after my daughter died.” When Delinda leaned forward, about to express her sympathy, Korin hurried on.
“‘Twas a long time ago, when I was young. Now…” She sighed, looking around at her tidy shop. “Now I am content with my shop and with Letta, whom I love as much as any daughter, and have no wish to remind the village there may be a bit more to their humble tailor than meets the eye.” She smiled and assumed an attitude that indicated this was all she was going to say on the subject. Delinda did not press the point. What she really wanted to hear about was her mother.
At that moment Letta returned from the back room, trailed by a scarlet-faced Ostyn. “I’m done with the measurements, Miss,” she said, “but Ostyn here says he cannot tell me just what you intend to purchase.” She grinned at Ostyn, causing his blush to deepen. “Other than the shoes, of course,” she added, nodding respectfully at Delinda.
The front doorbell jingled as a pair of women entered the shop. Korin excused herself and went to greet them. Ostyn faded into the shadows and Delinda consulted with Letta on what could be purchased ready-made, what would require alteration and what would be made to order.
She found herself liking the younger woman and casually rested her hand upon Letta’s arm to see if she felt any trace of the power that flowed through Korin. She was not surprised at its absence, as it was unusual—if not impossible—for two women of the same maternal line to share power simultaneously. Her touch, however, put Letta at ease and made her comfortable enough to speak spontaneously.
“I do not consider Ostyn to be my slave,” corrected Delinda. “Although in the eyes of the law of the sector, I know that is the case. I consider him my employee, and I intend to compensate him for his work.” She watched Letta to see her reaction. Could this bright young woman be a candidate for phase two of the plan?
Letta considered this idea. “You mean give him his own money? To spend as he likes?”
“That is exactly what I mean,” replied Delinda.
“Good!” said Letta. “A male—I mean a person—should be able to have something of his or her own,” she continued. “That’s what Korin says. She insists on paying me—not a lot, mind you—but I never asked it of her and was grateful enough for her taking me in. But she told me I would be of more value to myself, and therefore to her, if I could hold something in my hand I had earned with my own labor and she was right.” Letta looked a little embarrassed after such a long speech, but Delinda’s heart was warmed by the words that echoed her own feelings and she liked her all the more for it.
Delinda’s selections were made and she spent much more time than she had intended in the shop. Ostyn had been persuaded to put on one of the ready-made outfits, and Letta was happy to arrange for the rest of the purchases to be picked up later, with custom-made items to be delivered. Delinda bade Letta farewell, waved at Korin, still busy with her other customers, and stepped out into the lane.
She was pleased to see none of the gawkers from the earlier incident had been interested enough to wait around while she and Ostyn lingered inside, and they would not have to run a gauntlet to get to the livestock broker. She had already discussed exhaustively with Ostyn her wishes regarding pigs the night before, her statement that she needed to have an important business conversation only an excuse to insist he be served at the teashop.