people of Cinderfell.
Steiner slowed down and Kjellrunn felt his gaze on her, a glance from the side of his eye.
‘What you said this morning—’
‘I was angry. Of course I’m not a witch. I’m not scared of the Vigilants because I’m a witch, I’m scared of them because they’re decrepit old men. Men like that usually only have a couple of uses for a girl my age.’
Steiner winced. She knew only too well he thought of her much as he’d done when she was ten or eleven. Her body hadn’t begun to make the changes most sixteen-year-old girls took for granted; she felt frozen somehow, trapped in her girlhood.
‘Why don’t you go on in to Håkon’s and see if you can buy us some lamb neck or beef shin?’ Steiner shrugged. ‘I don’t know, something cheap.’ He pushed a few coins into her hand and pressed a finger to his lips so she wouldn’t tell Marek.
The shop was a single room, lined on three sides with dark wooden tables. Small panes of cloudy, uneven glass sat in a wooden lattice at the front, allowing dreary light to wash over the meat. Two lanterns at the rear of the store held back the gloom.
Kjellrunn told the butcher what she was after and endured the sour look she received. Håkon was a slab of a man, bald and compensating with a beard long enough to house hibernating animals. His eyes were small, overshadowed by a heavy brow that gave him a permanent frown.
Håkon named his price and Kjellrunn stopped a moment and regarded the selection of coins in her hand. The words were out of her mouth before she’d even thought to answer.
‘I’ve bought beef shin from you before and it never cost so much.’
Håkon shrugged and wiped a greasy hand down the front of his apron, then folded his arms.
‘Could you not the lower the price just a small amount?’
‘Yours isn’t the only family that needs to eat,’ said the butcher.
‘What’s keeping you so long, Kjell?’ Steiner had slipped into the butcher’s; despite his size he was quiet on his feet and often caught Kjellrunn unawares.
‘I …’ Kjellrunn glanced from Steiner to the butcher and down to the coins in her hand.
‘Some issue with the price, is there?’ said Steiner, a note of warning in his voice.
‘This your wife, is it?’ said Håkon.
‘She, not it,’ said Steiner, ‘and she is my sister.’
Håkon pulled on a grin as greasy as the apron he wore and held up his hands. ‘Why didn’t you say, little one?’
Kjellrunn looked at Steiner and sighed. ‘You know exactly who I am,’ she said. ‘And you always find a way to make things difficult.’
‘Is that so?’ said Steiner, his eyes fixed on the butcher, sharp and hard as flints.
‘I’m just gaming with the girl is all,’ said Håkon. ‘You know these young ones, they can’t take a joke.’
‘Maybe we’ll have some jokes next time you come to the smithy to buy new knives,’ said Kjellrunn. She took the bundle from the counter and slammed down a few coins, before taking her leave of the dingy shop.
‘I meant no harm,’ said Håkon.
‘I’m sure,’ replied Steiner in a tone that said anything but.
The butcher’s expression hardened and his eyes settled on Kjellrunn, now waiting in the street outside.
‘You watch yourself, Steiner.’ Håkon leaned across the counter, his voice rough and low. ‘She’s not right, always sneaking off to the woods and gathering herbs and mushrooms and crow feathers. Sister or no, she’s not right.’
Kjellrunn heard all of this and stood in street, rigid with fear. Her eyes darted to the townsfolk nearby to see if they’d heard the outburst, but none met her eye, scurrying away, keen to avoid any trouble. Steiner emerged a few seconds later, red-faced, jaw clenched in fury and hands closed into fists.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kjellrunn in small voice.
‘You did nothing wrong, Kjell,’ replied Steiner, though she had the awful feeling he didn’t really mean it.
‘He’s always the same, always making things awkward.’
Steiner gave a curt nod but didn’t speak. They marched down the street and Kjellrunn struggled to keep up, almost slipping in the grey slush that coated the cobbles.
‘There’s Kristofine,’ she said, pointing ahead to where the tavern-keeper’s daughter stood outside the baker’s, chatting with another woman.
Steiner looked up and his eyes widened. ‘Who is that?’
The woman Kristofine was talking to was unlike anyone Kjellrunn had seen before, and the wry smile she wore was evidence she knew it. All of Cinderfell were acquainted with the occasional sailor from Shanisrond, but there was something truly different about the stranger, not simply the tone of her skin. She was lighter than the dark-skinned sailors of Dos Fesh, and the cast of her eyes marked her as a descendant of Dos Kara; the hair that hung to her waist was raven black. Kjellrunn found it impossible to guess her age. She wore a deerskin jerkin with matching knee-length boots and her shirt sleeves were rolled back to the elbow, revealing wrists encircled by copper hoops, bright with verdigris, bangles of shining jet and polished ivory. A sabre hung from one hip and the scars on her forearms proved it wasn’t for show.
‘Hoy there,’ said Steiner, a touch of uncertainty in his tone.
Kristofine grinned and the woman beside her rolled her eyes.
‘I don’t bite. I was just asking your friend here if there’s a room I can take for the night.’
‘Ignore my brother,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘Unusual women make him nervous.’ Kristofine and the stranger burst out laughing and Kjellrunn found herself laughing along with them. Steiner scratched the back of his head.
‘I was just surprised to see Kristofine is all,’ he replied and looked away.
‘How are you, Kjell?’ asked Kristofine. ‘Been to Håkon’s? Make sure you wash that meat. You never know where his hands have been.’
Steiner pulled a face. ‘I think I’ve just lost my appetite. Possibly for the whole week.’
‘The man is a pig,’ said Kjellrunn, ‘A dirty great pig. Imagine a pig running a butcher’s, how absurd.’
Steiner and Kristofine frowned at her observation, but the stranger smiled and held out her hand.
‘I’m Romola. I like the way your mind works. Like a poet or a madman.’
‘Uh, thanks,’ replied Kjellrunn. ‘I’m not sure I’m so keen on being mad.’
Romola pouted. ‘In a world this strange, madness seems like a good option, right?’
Kjellrunn wasn’t sure what the woman meant, but drank in every detail of her. ‘Are you a pirate?’ she asked.
‘Kjell!’ Steiner stared at his sister and glanced at Romola. ‘Forgive my sister, she, uh, well …’
‘Some days,’ replied Romola.
‘Some days what?’ said Steiner.
‘Some days I’m a pirate.’ Romola turned a smile on Kristofine. ‘But not today and not recently.’
I was right, mouthed Kjellrunn to Steiner, and smiled.
Steiner began to laugh and stifled it with a cough behind his hand.
‘Why don’t you two come to the tavern,’ said Kristofine. ‘I was going to show Romola around and we could have something to eat.’
Kjellrunn