can be just as important. A man with a dirty beard is bound to be dirty elsewhere … You know what I mean. Bloodshot eyes and a red nose, and he’s going to drink. Nor would I take a man with pale skin. Never met a healthy one yet. Nor one with scars. Working scars on a man’s hands, they aren’t bad. A game leg or bad back might mean he’s just clumsy, or stupid. But scars elsewhere don’t come from being sweet and gentle.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Ki ventured to disagree. She glanced down at her own weathered hands. ‘Anyone who’s lived much is bound to have a few scars. And,’ she added as she smiled to herself, ‘certain scars add character to a man’s appearance.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, girl,’ Trelira advised her with maternal tolerance. ‘I know what you’re thinking. But only silly little girls think a duelling scar means romance. Quarrelsome is more likely. Most times it just means a nasty temper. Look at that one, for instance. You can bet he’s a mean bastard. Don’t stare, now.’
Ki swung her gaze obediently toward the portal. A narrow man, a bit taller than Ki, was framed against the bright daylight. He pushed dark heat-damped curls off his forehead as he squinted around the room. His eyes were darker than one would have expected, even in his deeply tanned face. The easy sureness of his quick movements hinted at ready muscles beneath the loose white shirt. In a land where many wore robes and went barefoot, he wore a wide leather belt and tucked loose trousers into the tops of his kneeboots. He could have been handsome, but for the scar that seamed his face. It began between his eyes and ran down beside his nose past a small, trimmed moustache until it trailed off at his jawline. It was a fine score, nearly invisible against his weathered face but for a pull that tugged at one of his eyes when he smiled, as now. The warmth of that small smile belied the grimness of the scar. He caught Ki’s gaze upon him. The smile widened and he came toward them.
‘Here comes trouble,’ Trelira sighed warningly.
‘Don’t I know it,’ Ki replied wryly. The stranger dropped onto the bench beside her, and picking up her glass, drained it.
‘Vandien.’ Ki made it both a greeting and an introduction. Trelira rose hastily, looking abashed.
‘No offense meant,’ she murmured.
‘None taken,’ Ki replied smoothly, adding in a wicked undertone, ‘You’re absolutely right, anyway.’
Vandien had swallowed the wine and was coughing politely to cover up his shock at its sourness. Ki thumped him on the back pitilessly. ‘Meet Trelira, the owner of this caravansary,’ she invited him when he could breathe again.
‘A lovely place,’ he managed. His smile included her in the compliment. Ki watched with amusement the sudden reappraisal in Trelira’s eyes. With that smile and a story or two, Vandien could scavenge a living anywhere. Ki knew it. A shame, she reflected, that Vandien also knew it.
‘It’s a very dry day out there,’ he added smoothly. ‘Could I trouble you for another glass, and perhaps a bottle of Alys?’
Trelira shook her head at the unfamiliar word. ‘This wine is all we offer, this time of year. Tariffs are too high on the rest; no point my buying what my customers can’t afford. But I’ll bring a fresh bottle.’ She departed the table quickly, her bright, loose garments fluttering around her.
‘Not even the water in this town is drinkable,’ he confided to Ki when Trelira was out of earshot. ‘It’s redder than this wine, but not as sour. Leaves more dregs in the cup, though. Did I interrupt something? Smuggling offer, perhaps? That woman looked guilt-stricken when I sat down.’
‘Nothing important. She had just observed that no woman in her right mind would put up with an evil-eyed wretch like you.’
‘I’ll bet,’ he scoffed loftily. A serving boy crept up to set a bottle and glass before him, and scurried off, his bare feet soundless on the soft sand floor. ‘Any luck here?’
‘None. How about you?’
‘Not much better,’ he conceded. ‘I spent the whole morning with some minor official, getting our papers renewed. I told him we had bought our journeying permits at the border already, but he said they were out of date. So we have new papers, with a different seal, for twice as much coin. Made me wish we were back where the Merchant’s Councils ran everything. This Duke everyone speaks of has his officials too scared to take a bribe. And his Brurjan patrollers are everywhere. I never saw so many Brurjans in one place before. Could pave a courtyard with their teeth.’ From inside his shirt he drew a roll of parchment and a flat coin-bag. Ki took them silently. Her face was sour. He shrugged and continued.
‘Then this afternoon, I damn near fell asleep on my feet in the hiring mart. Trouble is that the wagon looks like a peddler’s wagon. Folk ask me what I have to sell, not what I can haul. We did have one query, though. Two sisters came up and asked if we were taking passengers. I gathered that the older girl was running away from home to join her sweetheart. A very uncommon-looking girl she was. Her sister had curling dark hair and blue eyes. But she who wished to run away, she had hair red as a new calf’s hide, and one eye blue and the other green. She …’ He let his words run down in disappointment. Ki was already shaking her head. ‘I know,’ he conceded reluctantly. ‘I had the same visions of outraged kinfolk. I told them we didn’t haul people, and they went away, whispering together. Did hear of one other thing, secondhand. A fellow has twenty chickens he wants to send to his cousin in Dinmaera, about three days from here. A gift of breeding stock to celebrate a wedding.’
‘Damn!’ Ki hissed. ‘Much as I hate hauling livestock, I’d have taken it, if we had the proper wagon for it. But as it is, they’d be inside with us. In this heat.’
‘They’re supposed to be in stout wooden cages.’
‘They’d still stink. And make noises.’
Vandien was taking a cautious sip from his own glass. ‘I left word with the fellow next to me that anyone looking for a wagon and team to hire could find us here. I’m starving. Is the food as bad as the wine?’
‘I haven’t been that brave yet,’ Ki replied distractedly.
‘Shall we order something and find out, or go back to the wagon and fix something ourselves?’
When Ki didn’t reply, Vandien turned to her. She was staring moodily at her wine glass. Her elbow was on the table, her chin propped on her fist. Deft as a cat’s paw, his hand hooked her elbow off the edge of the table, snapping her attention back to him.
‘The wagon,’ she said suddenly, ‘is the whole damn problem. All house and no freight bed. I don’t know why I bought a caravan like that.’
‘I do. It was cheap, and it was there, and we were both in one hell of a hurry to get out of Jojorum. If you wanted a wagon like your old one, with room for freight in the back, you’d have to have it specially built.’
‘Maybe,’ Ki conceded. ‘But that peddler’s wagon hasn’t saved us time or coin. It’s built all wrong; top-heavy and unstable in a river crossing or on a rough road. And where it should be built sturdy, it’s built flimsy. I nearly went right through the door-step yesterday. You know what we should do?’
‘Get a new wagon built?’
‘Yes. Go to the wainwright in Firbanks and get him to …’
‘No.’ Vandien’s denial was absolute. ‘Too many of the people between here and there would remember us too well. And a good number of them are Windsingers that could sing up a killing storm. There’s no going back north for us, Ki.’
‘Just for a short time,’ Ki argued grimly. ‘To get a decent wagon. Look at the thing we’re driving. I can’t even make a living with it. It’s an ugly old peddler’s wagon, not a freight wagon. There’s no space to haul anything. It’s all closed in.’
‘Just like every other Romni wagon I’ve ever seen,’ Vandien cut in smoothly. ‘They seem to cope just fine with their wagons being all living quarters.