Winter 50, 506 A.V. The sun was beating down on Will’s bare head even though it was mid-winter, the heat jumping and shivering off the rooftops in shimmering waves. When Lia Buttercup had said Ahnatep was hotter than Ivak’s balls , she hadn’t been exaggerating. Will was certainly not averse to the comfort of the balmy southern seas – especially when the winds in the north blew stinging ice crystals to freeze a man’s fingers to the bone. But this was a bit much. They had apparently arrived in the sumptuous city of the Eypharians during an unseasonable heat wave. How fortunate. But there was a lot of trading to be done, as the route along the coast of Eyktol was long and bereft of any decent ports of call. The slow trip had allowed the three pods that were traveling together to amass quite a bit of their craft ware, though, and those with stock to barter and sell were anxious to do so. Will, having spent most of his time during the voyage studying the coast, the currents, and the stars, had no real business to conduct in the huge, open air market the locals called the Pavilion. He had been conscripted, however, by his mother to help carry the heavy hemp rope that she had spent countless hours braiding. Having deposited it, and her, in a corner of shade near to the other Svefra who were plying their wares, he was now wandering about aimlessly, taking in the sights – and unfortunately, the smells. Humanity, on land, was far more odiferous than out on the sea where the breeze was constant and everyone spent part of each day in the water, if at all possible. The more well off inhabitants of the city were fascinating, with their extra limbs and exotic hair, make up and clothing. But there were also an abundance of workers and slaves who did not appear to bathe on a regular basis. The idea of both forced captivity and lack of hygiene was almost enough to prompt Will to return to the boats. Philosophically, though, he told himself this was the first, and perhaps last, time he would see the city, so he might as well make the best of it that he could. Seeking some refuge from Syna’s bold rays, he ducked under the fringed edge of a tent-like structure. Underneath the pinnacled roof of brightly colored fabric was an impressive display of all things leather. Boots, shoes, slippers, belts, vests, jackets and hats – pouches, satchels, bags and trunks – stools and chairs – and even the trappings for horses – or perhaps camels. Will had heard of the hump backed beasts but had yet to catch a glimpse of one. The air was redolent of the scented oil used to polish the items and keep them supple and new in the dry heat. In the middle of it all sat an enormously fat merchant, with a small pointed beard and a strange item of headwear – something like an upside down cup surrounded by cloth. He smiled and pointed and spoke rapidly to the few customers who were perusing his inventory. His smile ran away into the creases of his fat face and his tone became much sharper as he addressed either of the two young girls who seemed to be tasked with actually showing items to the potential buyers – for the man seemed too gargantuan to move much at all. Will, being Svefra, and therefore of that rather unique frame of mind as regards the concept of ownership of personal property, wasn’t in the market to buy. He wasn’t looking to lift anything conveniently not nailed down either – for he had already been warned of the Eypharians idea of swift justice. He valued his hands too much. So, for a while, simply in order to escape the blazing sun, he walked slowly about the perimeter of the tent. The elephantine merchant continuously pointed to this or that item, keeping up a non-stop chatter in the common tongue. Between his thick accent, and Will’s own indifference to both the language and the torrent of words, the Svefra missed most of what the man said. Will had a few mizas in his pocket, but he had no need for any of the items on display. Finally, feeling he was outstaying his welcome, he headed back towards the open side that gave onto the market. As he reached the edge of the tent, he had to step aside to allow a small party of newcomers to enter. They too appeared to be foreigners in this land, though he took little enough note of them, other than one pretty young woman with long, flowing dark hair that rippled down her back in waves. Her brown eyes had turned to his blue ones just as they stood face to face. Of course, as he moved left, she moved right. He stepped back right, just as she went left – both trying to get out of the other’s way. Will smiled cheekily. In passable common, he said, “I’ll stand, you walk.” She smiled in turn and then proceeded, unobstructed this time, to enter the tent. Pretty girl were always a pleasure to look at, Will thought, still smiling and moving back out under the brutal sun. He hadn’t gone a step though, when there came a cry from within. It was clearly the merchant, and he sounded outraged. Turning, Will ducked back under the edge of the roof. What he saw caught at his heart. Little Saffron, one of his many, many cousins, was held tight in the grip of the fat man. In the merchant’s other hand was a leather quoit, raised to strike. Will knew exactly what was going on. You can tell a Svefra to be on their guard, and to not help themselves to whatever seemed unattended, but you can’t really make them understand that concept, especially not the youngsters. Will strode over to his little cousin, who looked up at him with huge blue eyes filled with alarm and indignation. “I didn’t take it, Will!” She said in Fratava, her slender eight year old frame stiff with the anger of the wrongfully accused. In her palm, she held a half eaten orange and she held it out. “See? I bought it! Lia gave me a silver miza. She sold all her knitting.” The dark haired child glared at the merchant who was almost howling with indignation. “I was only looking for the kitten. I was playing with it and then it scratched me and ran away.” There was a long fresh scratch running down her inner forearm that bore testament to her words. “I chased it in here. That’s all. I don’t know anything about his oranges!” The girl was far from being on the verge of tears. She looked more as if she would like to kick the still seated behemoth in the shins. His assistants hung back, looking confused. The one who had, in fact, earlier eaten her master’s orange looked as innocently puzzled as she could. Will could not make out the flood of threats and imprecations streaming from the man’s blubbery lips, but he did catch “guard” and “prison” and “sword.” Holding his hands out in a gesture of peace, he said slowly, trying to make himself heard, “I’ll pay! I’ll pay – see?” he fished in his pocket and withdrew a silver miza – enough for ten oranges here in this southern port. The merchant, though, seemed hell bent upon retribution and not compensation. He was clearly telling one of his slaves to go fetch the city guard. Saffron was shaking her dark curls vehemently. “I didn’t take it! I didn’t! Ask her!” With the orange she pointed to the dark haired young woman. “She saw me buy it. Ask her, Will!” As the child was still speaking Fratava, it was anyone’s guess if the foreign woman was getting any of this. Will, a half frown of disbelief on his face – Saffron was a Svefra after all - turned to the young woman. “Um . . . “ He began in his accented common. “Did you . . . “ He hesitated and then spoke very rapidly and somewhat softly, turning to face her and have his back to the still muttering man, thinking perhaps the merchant would not catch what he was saying. “Didyouseethischildbuyingthisorangeandifyoudidn’tcouldyoustillpleasesaythatyoudid?” His eyes were clearly trying to send her a message – please - play along. But whether she’d get it or not, he had no idea. |