Читать книгу The Windsingers - Megan Lindholm - Страница 5

The boy worked his way through the breathless market stalls, his bare feet raising puffs of hot dust. The cries of hawkers and the muted arguments of the bargainers only made the day hotter. How could folk trade on a day such as this? Yet they did, and he worked at his own small craft, the carrying of messages through the congested town. Too soon, he knew, the sudden storms of autumn would come. Then he would long for hot dry days like this as he slogged through rain and mud. He licked his dusty lips and wriggled through a knot of farmers.

He was in the hiring end of the market now. Harvest workers stood about, shovels and scythes resting beside them, hoping some late harvester would come seeking them. But it had been a dry year, as the Windsingers had threatened. Most farmers had found it short work to harvest the paltry crops the earth had let forth. The boy sought no harvest workers.

Beyond them were the teams for hire. Teamsters stood restively in this shadeless place, trying to keep the buzzing green flies from stinging their pawing, shuffling beasts. The boy skirted the tossing horns of a team of oxen, and made a quick jump away from a yellow-toothed nag that snapped at him. The teamster laughed, baring teeth as stained as his animal’s. It was not hard to spot the one he sought.

Her tall painted wagon stuck up high above the buckboards and dog carts of the others, but the hind end of her wagon was flat and bare, awaiting a cargo to haul. Her team did not stand and sweat in harness, but were tethered in what small shade the wagon offered. The teamster herself dozed on the high seat. The boy lost all respect for her. A careless fool, to doze thus in the middle of a busy market day when every second person on the street was a thief. He stood in the center of the street and looked up at her. Her voluminous blue skirts made her look even smaller than she was. Her embroidered blouse was damped with sweat. The brown hair that fell to her shoulders curled away from her forehead in damp tendrils.

His bare feet were soundless in the deep dust of the street. He reached up a hand to tug at her skirt hem. Her green eyes opened and fixed him with a stare when his hand still hovered by her skirt. ‘Cat eyes!’ hissed the boy, and jerked his hand away without making the intended tug.

‘You wanted something of me?’ Ki asked, ignoring his strange greeting.

‘Not I, teamster. I am but sent to say, “If you wish to work for fair wages and a good client, bring your wagon to the black stone building, at the end of the road that runs past the smithy shops and cask makers.” Have you any questions, teamster?’

‘Who lives in the black building, boy?’

The boy squirmed. ‘I do not know.’

‘What am I to haul?’

‘I do not know that, either.’

Ki looked down to the upturned tanned face, at the worn tunic dangerously short on the sprouting youth. ‘Why do you ask if I have any questions, if you have no answers?’

The boy shrugged. ‘It is what we say, after we have given the message. In case you did not understand what was said.’

‘I see.’ Ki fished in the flat purse at her belt and came up with one of the copper shards she had received in change from her last dru. She had spent it this morning for grain for herself and her team. She doubted the copper was enough for the customary tip, but it was all she had. She flipped it through the air and the boy caught it adroitly. He started to slip it into his pouch, but hesitated unwillingly. ‘The one who sent me paid all in advance, even the receiver’s tip. She said she doubted you would have enough.’ He tossed the small bit of metal up to Ki, but she batted it back to him with a quick flip of her hand. ‘Keep it, boy. I, too, am afflicted with an honest nature, and know how seldom one is rewarded for it.’

The boy gave her a flash of white teeth in a surprised grin. He darted off with a flash of white buttocks before the teamster could change her mind.

Ki stretched, and wiped a layer of dust and sweat from her forehead. Clambering from the seat, she began to coax the great grey horses into their harness. She wished she knew more about her mysterious patron, including how she knew Ki was perilously low on coin. She could no longer be fussy about whom she worked for. She didn’t like to think that others might know that. It attracted hard bargains and semi-legal hauls.

Sigmund stood stoically in his place but Sigurd leaned and shifted as she strove to arrange leather and fasten buckles. He had grown fractious from three boring days of standing in the hot market waiting for someone to hire them. Ki jerked the final strap flat. ‘By nightfall, I’ll have you too tired for such tricks,’ she warned the great grey animal. He snorted skeptically.

She climbed up on the box and gave the reins a flip, easing the wagon forward. She edged it out into the center of the street, and then stood on the seat, shouting for the right of way. Hawkers and buyers gave way before her grudgingly. The wagon rumbled slowly through the market amid a chorus of curses at the dust it raised. Ki set her jaw and shook the reins slightly to encourage the team. Sweat began to stain their coats a darker grey.

Finding the street of smithy shops was easy. The clang of hammers falling on red metal was a sound that carried far on a hot day. Ki pitied the apprentices working bellows to blow coals red to white. Stifling waves of heat rolled out from the sheds to assault her and her team as they plodded past. She was grateful when the smithies gave way to barrel makers. But she passed the last of the cask makers’ shops and no black building was in sight. Instead, her wagon creaked past tottering and empty wooden buildings, where not even beggars moved. This dead section of a busy town bothered her, until she passed the dried-up public well. In a climate of seasonal extremes, she, too, would wish to live by a ready source of water.

The lumber of the old buildings had shrunk and twisted away from the framing in silvery splinters. This had to be one of the oldest parts of Dyal. Instead of the dangling door slats currently popular, grey slab doors sagged or sprawled on splintery thresholds. These, and the height of the archaic rectangular window holes, told her that this part of Dyal had been built by a Human population. The wide, winding streets were a Human preference. Kerugi engineered straight, narrow streets and crowded through them like seething insects in a hive.

The street gave one more twist. She spotted her building. Black stone walls reared up above the shaky grey buildings, as if they feared that prying eyes might breach their fastness and steal away their secrets. The huge black stones of the walls had been dressed by masons into precise cubes. They fitted mortarless together, with no chink for moss or for a scrabbling sneak thief. They glistened unweathered, but the huge dead tree that twisted by the wall had branches bent awry by that stony fastness. The tree had sprouted, grown and died in the shade of the wall. Lightning had blackened it before its reaching branches had equalled the height of the walls.

A pair of wide gates, their timbers stained as black as the stone, gaped open. The team slowed outside them. Sigurd snorted and chewed his bit. Ki slapped the reins firmly on the wide grey backs, and with another snort from Sigurd the wagon creaked forward into the courtyard.

The inner courtyard looked as abandoned as the grey wooden buildings. Uprooted brush had rolled into all corners to settle against the walls. Dead trees stood as markers to what had once been careful plantings. The black stone mansion was impervious to the dead courtyard it centered. Ki halted her team and let her eyes drift up the high walls. Rectangular Human style windows gaped dark, high overhead. The ground floor level showed no openings for windows, nor for anything else, save one stout wooden door. The stretch of wall above the high windows was likewise smooth. Whatever chambers were within must do without the light of the sun.

‘Cheery place,’ Ki remarked to her horses.

‘Well. Am I to stand all day holding the door open, awaiting my lady’s pleasure, while every stinging thing that flies finds its way in?’

Ki jerked at the waspish voice. Her eyes snapped to the black door held ajar by a black-gowned old dame. Her look was as sour as her greeting. She reminded Ki of a gallows bird, with her wattled neck and snapping black eyes.

‘Did you send for a teamster?’ Ki asked, hoping this was an error.

‘Yes, but I suppose you’ll do. Does your rump come loose of that plank, or do your folk customarily bargain out in the sun?’

Silently Ki set her wheel brake. She gave her team a gruff command to stand and clambered down from the wagon. This was going to be bad. And without a dru in her purse, she was going to have to swallow it.

The house matron did not wait for her, but set off down the hallway as soon as Ki approached the door. Ki shut the door behind herself, with perhaps a louder thump than necessary. She had to hasten down the tall corridor to follow those swishing black skirts. Sunlight was left behind, and the few sconces were widely spaced and badly tended. Ki’s shadows stretched and snapped about her, and her boots rang hollowly as she strode along. The matron turned a sudden corner. Ki broke into a half-trot lest she lose sight of her.

But as Ki turned the same corner, she found herself within an immense chamber. There were no signs of servants or other house folk. The ceiling was implausibly high; the echo of her boots bounced back at her. Grey daylight fell into the room from one of the windows she had glimpsed outside. The watery beams dimly lit a small carven table in the center of the room. It was the only furniture in the cavernous place. The house matron stood beside it and dust motes danced over it.

She halted, looking about uncertainly. How could one bargain in such a place? There were no chairs in which one could lounge disinterestedly, no wine or ale to sip to cover up a moment of thought. Ki would have been more comfortable doing this business in the sun from her wagon. Bird-eyes gave her no time to reflect.

‘You are to take the freight from Dyal to Bitters. Seven crates. They must be delivered before four days have passed from tomorrow. That you must agree to, or pay the consequences. Four days will give the servants time to put the new place in order before the belongings arrive. But we shall not want to do without them for any longer than that.’

‘I’ve not said that I’ll work for you,’ Ki pointed out quietly.

‘I never said I wished you to! Nor would I, if the choice were mine. But the Master has picked you, and won’t be swayed from his decision.’

For the first time, Ki realized that this imperious old woman was not the owner of the mansion, but only the chief servant. The woman’s attitude annoyed her, but she put it down to her age and post. Such as she must expect idleness from the lesser servants. Still, it irked Ki not a little to have the woman take that tone with her, let alone voice such an opinion.

‘I repeat, I have not said that I’ll accept the cargo.’ Ki took pleasure in being perverse now. ‘I conduct my business a bit differently from other teamsters you may have dealt with. I limit the weight of what my team will haul, and I talk half payment in advance for any trip.’ She kept her words cool, but already she was thinking of the hill route that would let her make the journey to Bitters in three days or less.

‘I know your terms, girl!’ snapped Bird-eyes. ‘Do I look like some silly little maid who would hire a teamster sight unseen, with no knowledge of the rates and customs? No, Teamster Ki, you were selected, though, now that I look at you, I cannot say why! The freight will not be heavier than your usual load, and all will be packed securely for you ahead of time. The family wishes you to take the greatest care with this load, to avoid breakage. They will precede you to Bitters, so that they may receive it from you, and inspect the seals to be sure that none are broken.’

Ki raised her brows appraisingly. ‘What do I carry to rate all this caution and mistrust? I’ll warn you, my rates go higher for illegal cargo.’

‘I’ll wager they do, and often, too. Not that it’s any of your business, magpie, but the cargo is household goods; old family items of small value to any save blood relations. You need not fret about them. All will be packed securely. The city gates will not halt you. Your only task is to haul them to their destination, and there receive the rest of your pay. Now, what will you have for a trip to Bitters?’

‘This time of year, thirty dru. In winter it would be a full two tallies. But the year is still mild and the roads unrutted. So thirty dru it shall be, and a bargain to you at that.’ Ki folded her arms sternly and braced herself for the counter-offer.

‘La, a bargain, she says! I warned the old Master, but no, you he would have on the word of one of his beggar friends. What’s his name to come to with the company he keeps, I don’t know. Well, he told me to pay your price. You’ll get your thirty dru advance, but mind, if even a one of those seals be but scratched at, not a copper shard shall you get at Bitters…’

‘I’ll be here for my load at first light tomorrow,’ Ki interrupted. She had expected fifteen dru advance and another fifteen at the end of the haul. But to receive thirty now, and another thirty at Bitters…well, as the old matron had said, that was small bargain to them, but one Ki would not sniff at.

‘Wait,’ Bird-eyes said. Ki had used that tone earlier, when she had directed her team to stand. The matron whirled with a swishing of skirts and was out the door before Ki could utter a word. She listened for the tapping of her feet down the corridor, but heard nothing. The temptation to go to the door and peer out was great, but Ki conquered it. She walked once around the room, but found nothing that she had not seen in her first glance. The ridiculously high windows were a puzzle without clues.

A chink of coins spun her around. The old matron stood beside the table. On it were two fifteen-coin stacks of dru atop a larger square of creamy parchment. Bird-eyes tapped a yellowed fingernail on the edge of the table, then gestured to the items on it.

‘Your advance. And the contract the old Master drew up for its delivery, safe and sound, four nights hence. I will read it to you, and you must make your mark upon it, to show you understand and agree.’

Ki advanced, boots clicking on the black flagging. She silently placed one hand flat on the parchment. With the other she scooped up the stacked coins and transferred them to the worn pouch at her belt. Moving her hand so that she could read the parchment while still pinning it to the table, Ki leaned over it.

The grey light was uncertain. The contract had been written by a strong hand, firm dark strokes across the smoothed surface, in the T’cherian characters. It was brief, but tightly written. Ki must deliver her cargo to the door of Karn Hall, in Bitters, in four days. The cargo must be perfectly intact, no seals broken, and all pieces accounted for. She agreed to make every possible effort to see to its safe arrival. Should she fail to do so, she forfeited the rest of the payment, and must return six dru of the advance. She scowled to herself. If misfortune plagued her, she might finish the trip to Bitters with only twenty-four dru. Possible, but not likely, she told herself. And twenty-four dru was still an ample fee for such a leisurely trip as the hill route would provide. Twenty-four dru were much better than the one copper shard her purse had held this morning.

Ki drew the parchment closer to her and glanced about for a writing tool. The house matron coldly interpreted her look, and drew a small case from a voluminous pocket. Within were brushes and a vial of ink. Ki accepted them just as coldly, dipped the brush, and stroked her name in T’cherian characters. Watching the matron from the corner of her eye, she rashly added the character for a freeborn, and another for one of no political allegiance. The matron covered her amazement well. If anything, she treated Ki more haughtily than before.

‘You should be on your way now.’

‘I intend to take on supplies first,’ Ki informed her.

‘As you will. But, remember, you have only four days for your trip.’

‘Woman, look you. You have seen to your duty. Now let me tend to mine. I’ll return at first light to load the cargo, but I’d like to see it now, to judge the weight. Where is it?’

‘On your wagon.’ The matron turned on her heel. Without a backward glance, she strode from the room. As before, her footsteps made no sound. Ki snorted at the doorway. She waited for a short time by the table, and then paced the room twice. With growing anger, she realized at last that the matron did not intend to return and show her out. She had not gone to fetch the traditional ale that bargains were sealed with. Never before had Ki encountered such rudeness.

She found her own way through the bare and chill hallways, emerging to blink in the brightness of the day. Bird-eyes had spoken the truth. Seven boxes (Ki counted carefully) had been stowed on her wagon. They were of varying sizes, and made of rough yellow wood. Their seals were no more than lumps of lead crimped below the knots of the coarse rope that bound them. It was packing more fit for salt fish than family treasures. Ki sent a glare around the dusty courtyard, but there was no sign of whoever had loaded it. Only the black walls festooned with long dead vines received her scowl.

She swung up onto the wagon and climbed over the boxes, trying to find fault with the way it had been loaded. But it was balanced and steady. An inspection of the ropes lashing it to the wagon revealed knots she would have sworn were her own. It was uncanny. There was the added sting that someone had made so free with her wagon, and she had heard not a sound from her team. It disturbed her. She stood atop the load, frowning down on it. With a shrug, she climbed down and mounted the seat of the wagon. She had thirty dru to spend before she left Dyal.

By nightfall, less than two dru remained to her. The cupboards of her wagon cuddy were comfortably replenished. Ki took a deep breath, savoring the smells of plenty. Strings of dried cara root and spicy sausages swung from the central joist. Bins held chunks of pink salt, yellow-brown flour and brown beans. Strips of dried meat and fish rested on a shelf, wrapped in clean sacking. The earthenware pot of honey and the rosy Cinmeth in its flask were luxuries, but she had salved her conscience by buying squares of leather to sew new boots for herself. A final extravagance had been a small vial of oil of Vanilly.

Ki wrapped the vial in a small cloth and tucked it into a drawer. She rose from her crouch to glance about her cuddy. It was a small and tidy space, made up of only the front half of her wagon. No space in the tiny room was wasted. The sleeping platform across one end of it was supported by cupboards. Shelves and bins, hooks and drawers lined the interior of the cuddy, except for one small window, shuttered now against road dust. A cover of shag deer hide had been thrown across the wool blankets on the bed. In one corner of the cuddy, the worn hilt of Vandien’s rapier winked at Ki.

He would be in Bitters by now. Ki wondered if he had found a team yet, and what kind of bargain he would wrangle. That he would get a team she doubted not at all. He had a tongue that could persuade a Dene to eat meat. If his wheedling could not win them over, he would resort to using his personal trinkets as collateral. If that did not work…Ki shut the thought out of her mind. Vandien took care of himself. He wove his life in and out of hers in a random pattern. He did not fear commitment; he simply saw no need for it. He was an impulsive, reckless, and totally loyal friend, and she refused to sigh over him. He’d be back soon enough, dragging disorder and self-indulgence through her tidy life. It was all so much simpler when he wasn’t around. The worst part of it was that he was becoming a habit with her. Damn.

She crawled out of the cuddy, sliding the door closed behind her. Settling on the wagon seat, she picked up the reins. A kick freed the wheel brake and a shake of the reins roused the team. Dusk was settling, bringing with it a small coolness. The moon had begun to claim the sky when she rolled out of the city gates, past guards singularly disinterested in her cargo. Tonight she would sleep on green grass beside her wagon, and let the team graze free. She was weary of shutting herself tight within the stuffy cuddy and listening to her beasts stomp and shuffle all night. It was good to be working again.