The old ones stopped their chattering and turned, watching. The warrior smiled at Will, then bowed, bending from his waist. Will relaxed, only now aware that he’d been holding his breath.
“Greetings.” The man’s speech was strongly accented, his vowels nasal.
“Good afternoon,” Will bowed in return.
“Please,” the stranger gestured to his fire. “You, join us?”
Will paused. N’tombe had said to find out who was searching for them. That probably meant he’d have to talk with strangers. And it would be good to talk about the road ahead. “Thank you.”
“Please,” said the man again. “Sit.”
He gestured to the ground around the campfire and spoke with one of the old ones in a strange tongue. The servant bowed, smiling from toothless gums. Was it female? Hard to tell from the shapeless garment. She appeared to be cast as translator. Her harsh voice was strangely accented but easy enough to understand.
“My master asks, would you care for refreshment before setting off on your travels?”
Best not to offend, thought Will, eyeing their weapons. So he nodded and tried not to shudder when Fingernail Man squatted down beside him. The old woman bent to the metal kettle on the fire and poured Will a cup of dark brown tea, adding a generous helping of yellow-white milk. Will took one sip and choked. It smelt like rancid butter, unsalted from the look of it. He inhaled the steam. Yes, definitely butter. Awkwardly, he cradled the cup. How to dispose of this without offense?
The warrior muttered something to the long-nailed fellow and they both cackled.
“My master realizes that this drink is unfamiliar to you.”
Will smiled. This was an understatement. “I have never had a drink like this.”
“We have brought our own milk,” said the woman. “Our yak has nearly run dry; I saved this last for guests.”
“Yak?” Two new words. Spotlight, now yak.
“Is like a cow,” the woman waved a hand at the hairy animal grazing the riverbank. “Very hardy. Gives good milk.” She grinned at them. “If you like that sort of thing. Personally, I think it tastes like shit.”
In relief and surprise he laughed, splattering the grass with the foul smelling stuff while his translator cackled at him. The warrior smiled at their laughter, with the empty grin that suggests the listener doesn’t understand. He barked a question at the old woman, who stopped her chuckling to reply.
“I am Fatima. And this one is my husband, Sabhir El-Shabiya. We are merchants. The Lord TeSin is our master.”
Will nodded to the two named men. But what of the man beside him, with the long nails and the breath like an open sewer. And why was a warrior traveling with merchants?
The Lord something squatted down beside Will, and Fatima translated his words. “We were told that this was a good place for trading. At Chester, they say, “Go to the Crossing”. But we have traveled for many days and our food stores are running low and the land is empty. Can you tell us where the Crossing is?”
“Aye,” said Will, surprised, “this is the Crossing.”
The foreigner spoke while the woman translated. “Well, where is the trading?” He gestured to the entertainers. The huge woman stood in the clearing nearby, tossing iron axes in a spinning ring that flashed in the sunlight, while above her the tightrope walker did handstands in midair. Clearly, there was no trading here.
Will looked at the warrior. Where was his goods, his baggage? These sad old people, who might have been merchants once, obviously had nothing to sell. Why were they sitting here at the Crossing?
The lanky Courier caught his gaze, tipped his hat down onto his head so it covered his eyes. In one smooth movement he unwound his feet, stood up and crossed over the clearing to Will, still sitting by the fire, unsure of what to say.
“Ladies, gentlemen.” The man put a finger to the brim of his hat. “May I be of some assistance?”
He put a hand on Will’s shoulder. Couriers were loners, not given to interrupting private conversations. Surprised, Will started to turn, but the man squeezed his shoulder, hard.
The Courier’s conversational tones cast ripples of silence through the small group. Fatima translated quickly. “Who are you, stranger? We did not invite you here. Are the travelers in this land so discourteous that they intrude on a private conversation?”
“I did hear you ask this young man a question. I thought maybe I’m better placed to answer it for you.” He tugged his ear lobe. “Been journeying in these parts a good while longer than this young one here. Mind you, there’s a price.”
When Fatima rubbed her finger and thumb together in the manner of greasing a coin the lord TeSin smiled, as though the request for money eased his mind.
Which it probably did, thought Will. On the road, information has value. I should have asked for payment.
“Speak, stranger,” said Fatima.
“What coin do you have?”
“We have ... sufficient,” said TeSin.
“Show me. I’m not selling information without knowing what I’ll be paid.”
“Five shekels,” said TeSin.
The stranger snorted. “Shekels! Never heard of them!”
“What do you need then?”
“Gold. Get you anywhere, gold does.”
TeSin and Long Nails spoke together in harsh tones. Then Fatima cleared her throat “We have gold.”
“Let me see it.”
The Courier bit the yellow coin, smoothing the marks of his teeth with his thumb. He nodded at them. “What kind of information are you after?”
“They want to know about trading,” said Will. “I didn’t know what to tell them.”
“It’s a simple enough question,” said the Courier. “The Fire Festival.”
Will nodded. Of course. Fire Festival was far enough away to mention safely.
There was a brief conference in the strange tongue. “When is this festival?”
“Next midsummer,” said Will.
“Ah,” Long Nails frowned, spoke to Fatima in stuttering bursts that sounded like distant explosions.
“My master says we cannot wait here for another year before trading. Is there no town nearby where we can exchange goods and buy food?”
Will shook his head. For some reason, it didn’t seem wise to tell these strangers about the Kingdom, so close across the narrow strip of water.
“We have heard tell of a land near here, where there is great wealth. You must know – a ferry brought you. Tell us, stranger, does the ferry go?”
Ah, thought Will. And here is the reason for the greeting and the tea. What to tell them? They mustn’t know about the Kingdom. Yet, they’d only have to ask the entertainers and they’d be told.
The Courier narrowed his eyes, scratching his head in thought. “No town near here, not as I know anyway. Few small farms, maybe.”
Long Nails looked hard at the man, hissing as though hearing a lie. TeSin put his hand on his sword.
The Courier watched with unemotional eyes. “Course, you can ask the Ferryman. He might know something different. Never been over the straits myself. No call to, not about here.”
“We had not seen this ferry before,” said Fatima. “How do we call it, make it come to us?”
“Outside of the Festival, only thing he answers to is a token.”
“A token?”
The Courier shrugged. Don’t rightly know what a token is. But can tell you what it looks like, though. Like a seed, sort of. Small, wooden. Finely carved.” He held up his little finger and pointed to its nail. “’Bout this size.”
TeSin pulled a gold coin from his purse.
“We have a token. How do we summon the Ferryman?”
The Courier seemed surprised. “You have a token? Really?”
TeSin groped in the small pouch at his belt. “See.”
Will and the Courier gazed at the carved bead. “You want to be careful with that,” said the Courier. “Very valuable.”
�
��So, we hold this out and call?”
The Courier shrugged. “Aye. The others know, ask them.” He waved at the other groups in the clearing and lowered his voice. “Better you be careful. Only the right and proper owner of the token can summon the ferry.”
“How does the Ferryman know who is the owner?”
“Oh, he’ll know,” the Courier grinned. “He’ll know.”
Long Nails glared at him. “So, no special words needed?”
“Not as I know, anyway. Can call silently, if you wish. Just hold the token and call and the Ferryman will come. It’s the desire and the right. So I’ve been told.”
Long Nails hissed a question, and Fatima stopped, frozen, until he finished. “He asks if the Ferryman will take us all.”
“Only if the token belongs to all of you. Ferryman can always tell the true owner.”
TeSin and Long Nails exchanged glances.
The Courier tipped his hat. “Or, you can wait here until midsummer. The farm folk nearby come to watch the players.”
“Ah,” said Long Nails and nodded.
TeSin tossed the Courier the gold coin, which he captured with experienced ease. He turned to Will. “You’re bound for Chester?”
Will nodded. It seemed as good a place to go as any. “Care for company on the road?”
Will was about to refuse. He didn’t know this man, didn’t care for his manner. Long Nails stood and slouched away.
Will stopped. He felt a hand at his back, a dark voice in his ear. I will send a guide for you, N’tombe whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dreaming
“Says she’s tired?” Mother stood outside my bedchamber. “Nonsense! She’s nearly fifteen! She’ll never have as much energy again in her life!”
Nurse’s skirts swished. She was probably curtsying. People curtsied a lot to Mother when she was in this mood. “Madam, she is growing. You know how girls of this age are.”
“I do,” Mother’s voice was tight. “I was one once. And if I say she is to attend a banquet, attend she will.”
* * *
In dreams I searched for Will, yet never found him. I was numbly unsurprised. The world Rinpoche and I inhabited seemed different to the everyday; seasons changed in a week, tides moved in an eyeblink.
Rinpoche spoke of threads of energy in the land and the water, how nothing stood alone but was connected, bound together.
“Energy is drawn from the land, the sea, the clouds. If you look, you can see it.” He waved his hand and pointed at the shore below. “What do you see?”
I peered at the distant strip of sand. “There is land below, and the waves.” I squinted at the beach. “There are boats, I think.” Small figures walked along the beach. “They’ve been fishing.” None of the people moved like Will.
“Where do the fish come from?” Rinpoche’s tone was patient, like a teacher expecting an answer.
“The sea.”
“And where does the sea come from?”
I shrugged. “The land?”
“Very good. The water runs from the land, out into the sea. And where will the fish go?”
I smiled. “People’s bellies.”
He smiled too. “And the people come from?”
I frowned. People come from other people. But where do they live? And what do they clothe themselves in? “The land.”
“Very good. So. Keep watching.”
Faint golden lines spun from the sea to the land, over the people, around the forest, even over the catch of fish, until all was gold threads. Was I imagining this?
Rinpoche shook his head. “What you are seeing is energy, passing from one thing to another.”
A shaft of interest pierced the shell of numbness. “Will I be able to see that when I wake?”
Rinpoche’s face was serious. “If you want something enough, anything is possible.”
* * *
Dreams blurred into reality. It became hard to separate the sleeping world from the day. I wandered unnoticed through the Castle, watching life around me: a guard kissing a maid behind a cupboard door, scullery boys scrapping with dogs over bones. Women gossiped over weaving. One made a mistake, selecting gold thread instead of brown. It looked pretty when it was threaded into the pattern, so I said nothing. Not that anyone would see me. Was I a ghost?
Ruth, Mother’s dresser, was talking to Nurse. I didn’t know they were friends. Nurse seemed like a force of nature; her personality repelled friendships.
“I don’t know what to do, Mistress.” Nurse shook her head. “Lies all day in that bed, staring at the ceiling.”
Ruth tssked and shook her head.
They were talking about me, so I lost interest and wandered up the stairs to Daddy’s study, where a chambermaid was dusting. Dust motes sparkled in the sunlight like tiny stars. When she left, they settled on the floor. Why did she bother?
I floated down the twisting stairs. Ruth and Nurse still stood with their heads together, exchanging worries. Ruth was talking about Mother. This was more interesting than hearing about me.
“It’s this new face cream,” said Ruth. “Loves it, she does. Can’t get enough of it.”
“I thought she looked different,” Nurse nodded.
“Like magic,” Ruth said. They looked like fat dolls. If their heads came off there would be springs in their necks. “Mind you,” she lowered her voice and looked around, searching for watchers, looking right through me. “Tis expensive. And rare, the man said.”
“What man?”
Ruth fiddled with the lace on her bodice. “I got it from a merchant.”
“A merchant? There ain’t been no merchant here since the old king.”
“Not here. The Crossing.”
A gasp of breath. When excited, Nurse talked in exclamation points. “You never! At the Crossing! Bless me!”
Will had been at the Crossing. I drifted closer.
“What else did he have?” Nurse was probably compiling a shopping list in her head.
“Mostly things for ladies,” said Ruth. “You know, creams, lipsticks. Henna. The Princess might be interested.”
Nurse looked thoughtful. “Might do her a bit of good, poor mite. Bit of color on her cheeks.” I stared at her in horror. She wouldn’t.
The emotion roused me from the dream state. I lay, watching the curtains moving in the wind. She would.
* * *
There’s only so much self-pity one can take. Roused from my bed-chamber by the threat of cosmetics, I began walking in the pleasure wood. A squirrel must have invaded the Castle, for I saw a hint of red as it scampered along a thick branch. Last year, when I was young and naïve, I would have hiked my skirts and clambered up into the trees to follow it. Now I was older and there seemed little point in chasing a squirrel. A year ago I had been ignorant. Since then, everything had changed.
I sat cross-legged, my back pressed against the thick trunk of the oak, and calmed my breathing. The grass grew high and brown, except where the gardeners mowed, making paths in the lawn. Our sandy practice arena stood empty, the wounded dummy trailing straw. As Rinpoche had taught me, I drew air in deep, a glowing column into my belly. Out, so it sighed with the leaves. Warmth flowed, gliding from my heart to my fingers, through my legs, out my toes. Breath supported life; breathing in, sighing out.
Did I fall asleep? When I opened my eyes, there were the golden threads of my dream, wrapping the tree, sifting the soil, embracing my body in golden light. They shifted and moved in the sun, dancing in the breeze with the leaves.
“So beautiful!” I blinked and the golden threads disappeared. Back in my chamber, I was surprised by my reflection’s expression.
It seemed to be smiling.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alone Again
I continued sparring. I’d been allocated a guardsman as a practice partner. This would have been insulting had it not been funny; the poor lad was dispatched in a few seconds. The Sergeant ended up sending an entire squad
– ten soldiers in all. We began unarmed, fists and elbows, feet and hands, and, as Will and I had done, progressed through staves to bound blades. It was fun, training in a group, avoiding the cut and flash of the weapon, disposing of these young men when inevitably they made an error, misjudging the distance or the speed or my agility. And fighting helped me forget, for a moment, that Will had gone, that he was traveling through a world of increasing danger.
Daddy came to watch when he could spare the time. I had a feeling that other eyes were watching too, measuring the noise and thrust of blade on blade, but when I stopped to check for an audience, there was nothing but crows roosting on the roof. Still, I felt eyes at my back. Probably I was imagining things. If there were hidden watchers, probably they were laundry maids spying on the guardsmen.
* * *
The guardsmen became, in a strange way, an extended family. Beating these boys made me one of them, an honorary guardsman, so despite my general princess-aura, they let me joke with them as they told me exaggerated tales of bravery and skill.
The Kingdom drifted slowly through summer. My birthday, always a midsummer holiday, arrived and now I was fifteen. And at midsummer, the maids and men traveled down the road to the ferry and out to the Crossing. There they watched the traveling players and bought food and trinkets from strange lands. They returned in the small hours, sighing and sleepy. I watched enviously from my window. Next year I’m going, I told myself. If the maids can do it, so can I.
The women spoke of handsome actors and the skilled hands of the tinkers, the men of the archery, and fighting skills they had seen.
“Better than mine?” I asked, piqued.
They looked at me, silent, and did not answer, which was, I suppose, an answer in itself.
“It’s the archery, Lady,” said Marven, eventually. “Tis wondrous, that it is.”
The SoulNecklace Stories Page 20
