you? At least it’s shorter.’
Some five days later, the Great Krysello and his beautiful barbarian maidservant found themselves a suite of chambers in one of the most expensive inns in Myleton. Since the innkeep had plenty of experience with travelling showmen, he demanded payment in advance, but once Salamander gave him a generous handful of silver coins, he turned servile, showing them up to the suite personally, bowing often, and muttering words that Jill interpreted as being ‘hope my humble quarters are suitable’ and other such pleasantries. The innkeep’s boy carried up their travelling gear and laid it down on top of a low chest, then retired with an awe-struck look for the pale hair and eyes of his guests, rarities enough in Bardek to be a show in themselves. Although Salamander announced that he was pleased, especially with the piles of cushions and the purple divan, Jill found the squareness of the room uncomfortable, and the echoing tile floor and stark white walls amplified every sound they made. Near the ceiling ran a painted dado of fruit and flowers, so realistically done that she would have sworn you could have plucked them off the wall. When her gnome appeared, it sniffed round the corners like a dog.
‘Now Jill, listen,’ Salamander said. ‘When we go to the marketplace today, you’ll have to peace-bind that sword with a thong or suchlike, or the archon’s men will confiscate it.’
‘What? The bloody gall! What kind of a place is this, anyway? What if some thief attacks us?’
‘They don’t have that kind of thief here, thanks to those very same archon’s men. If you get your pocket picked, you see, you lodge a complaint, and the archon’s men hunt down the thief for you and arrest him.’
‘Sounds like a waste of public funds to me, when I’m quite capable of slitting the dishonest bastard’s throat for him.’
‘I fear me you’re going to find Bardek a great trial, and doubtless Bardek will find you one in return.’
‘Let them. Do you think Rhodry’s here in Myleton?’
‘I only wish life would smile upon us so warmly, my little eaglet. I’m willing to wager that he came through here, though, because this town is the centre of the slave trade. Anyone with an expensive property like our Rhodry would be insane to sell it somewhere else. I’m just hoping he went at government auction. They keep careful records of every sale, and for a few coppers we’ll … that is, I’ll be allowed to read them.’
‘One of these days I suppose I should learn letters. It seems like such a wretched bore, puzzling them out.’
‘Not once you learn, and truly, you should. Let me just see if I can pick up our Rhodry’s trail now that we’re back on land.’
In a corner of the room stood a rectangular charcoal brazier, made of cast iron, on a solid-looking bronze stand, with a layer of kindling and charcoal all ready for a fire. Salamander lit the fuel with a wave of his hand, then stared steadily into the pale and tiny flames. Jill felt a cold trembling of fear. For all they knew, Rhodry had never been sold at all, but still suffered at the hands of the Hawks of the Brotherhood. When the gerthddyn groaned dramatically, she leapt to her feet, thinking he’d seen Rhodry dead or maimed.
‘He’s been sold, sure enough, to some kind of caravan leader,’ Salamander said. ‘It certainly looks as if he’s being well-treated.’
‘Oh ye gods, you chattering elf!’ She felt tears misting her eyes and took refuge in anger. ‘Then why did you have to make such mournful noises?’
‘Because they’re travelling on a road through the grasslands, heading toward the undistinguished, unremarkable, and boringly bland mountains that cover half this island and a good chunk of the next, too. I have absolutely no idea where they may be.’
Jill muttered several foul things under her breath.
‘Fortunately,’ Salamander went on, ‘we can draw upon resources other than dweomer. We can check the afore-mentioned government records, and we can ask questions of the private traders, too. An expensive barbarian like our Rhodry will have been remembered.’
‘Good. Let’s get on our way.’
‘We might as well, O Gilyan of the hot blood. Besides, we have to go to the market to buy supplies and to get a permit. Tonight we put on our first show.’
In spite of the constant anxiety that underlay her mind like the sound of the waves in a harbour, Jill found Myleton splendid with its longhouses and painted garden walls scattered through the forest of flowering trees. When they came to the market, she was doubly impressed. The vast plaza was a sea of brightly-coloured sunshades, rippling in the wind over the hundreds of booths spread out around the public fountains. Here and there was a small stage where performers struggled to get the crowd’s attention. Salamander told her that at noon the market would shut down while everyone slept the hot afternoon away, then reopen at twilight. They wandered around, eating cakes sticky with a white, sweet powder while they looked over heaps of silverwork and brassware, oil lamps, silks, perfumes, jewellery, strangely shaped knives, and decorative leatherwork. Salamander pawed through all the gaudiest merchandise and made his purchases; they ended up burdened with two brass braziers, packets of charcoal and resin incenses, yards and yards of red cloth, a long drape of cloth-of-gold, a tunic stiff with floral embroidery for her and a brocaded robe of many colours for the mighty wizard to wear on stage. While he shopped he kept chattering away, but Jill noticed just how much information he managed to extract as he did so, from the best place to buy horses to the current political temper of the city, and most important of all, the names of several private slave traders along with the news that at the last public auction, at least, no barbarians had been offered for sale.
The first trader they visited informed them sadly that he’d seen no barbarians for over a year, but he did direct them to a man named Brindemo, who spoke the barbarian tongue well and was thus the private trader of choice for someone who had a barbarian for sale. After a quick stop at their inn to unburden themselves of their packages, they followed the convoluted directions and managed to find, at last, Brindemo’s shabby compound. When they knocked on the door, it was opened by a slender man, too young to grow a beard, whose dark eyes darted this way and that as he greeted them. Salamander bowed to him and spoke in Deverrian.
‘Where is Brindemo?’
‘Very ill, my lord. I am his son. I will serve you in his stead.’
‘Ill? Is there a fever in your compound?’
‘Not at all, not at all.’ He paused to run his tongue over his lips. ‘It was strange. Spoiled food, mayhap.’
While Salamander considered him, the boy squirmed, his eyes looking everywhere but at the gerthddyn.
‘Well,’ Salamander said at last. ‘Tender my humble apologies to your esteemed father, but I insist on seeing him. I know many a strange thing, you see. Perhaps I could recommend a remedy.’ He paused for effect. ‘I am the Great Krysello, Barbarian Wizard of the North.’
The young man moaned and squirmed the more, but he threw the door wide open and let them into the grassy yard, where a couple of young women sat together near the well in a dull-eyed slump of despair. When Jill realized that she was seeing human merchandise, her stomach clenched, and she looked away.
‘I must see if my father is awake.’
‘We’ll come with you while you do,’ Salamander said.
With a groan of honest terror the boy led them round the longhouse to a side door which, it turned out, opened directly into his parents’ bedchamber. Lying amidst a heap of striped cushions on a low divan, Brindemo raised his head drunkenly and stared at them with rheumy eyes, his dark skin ashy-grey from fear and fever. Her hands clasped over her mouth, his stout wife stood frozen in the corner. Brindemo looked at her and barked out one word; she ran from the room. Salamander stalked over to the bedside.
‘Look at my pale hair. You know I’m from Deverry. You had a barbarian man here for sale, didn’t you?’
‘I did, truly.’ The fat trader’s voice was a harsh whisper