I.xxi
By the time I make it to Worth, my leg is a touch stiff but at least feels more like flesh than wood. And my sense of all being beautiful and kind has maybe stopped its swelling a bit too, but that doesn’t stop me from thanking the light for getting me here safe.
Worth has the sort of name that makes you figure its purpose fast enough. It’s the east-most city that’s near to the serpent—the river, that is—so it gets a lot of trade. From what I hear tell, the place has plenty of merchant crews, either from those that send river boats or those caravans that follow the serpent because the path is well-tried and has plenty of towns to rest on. So when I see the set of six, seven wagons outside the city proper, I feel a bit of an excitement.
I look around for someone who may be the head of the crew, but the only person I see is sitting on a wooden barrel in front of one of the wagons. He’s got rust-colored hair and is cleaning his fingernails with a dagger.
“Hail,” I say, still astride Willow.
He looks up, curious-like, but don’t respond.
“This is a caravan, right?”
He nods. It’s not so much that his quiet puts me off my ease. It’s the way he looks at me.
“Mind saying your destination?”
He hesitates a moment, then says, “Kolmas.”
“Well, that’s a sight of luck,” I say. I am happy to hear it, but I also feel a need to be friendlier than he is unfriendly to not feel fully put off by the interaction. He still doesn’t say anything, so I ramble on a spell, not quite paying mind to all I’m blathering about.
“You trying to send a message?” he interrupts.
“A … a message? No. Why?”
“Why do you care about our destination, girl? We don’t take passengers.”
“I ain’t looking to be a passenger,” I say, less and less happy with how he’s talking to me. “I’m looking to earn a fee.”
His laughing breaks out sudden and giddy. Not a bit of fierceness or anger to it that I can rail at—just a dark and stupid mirth.
“I’m serious.”
“Oh,” he laughs on. “I’m sure you are.”
“I’ve faced my share of danger.”
He returns to picking at his fingernails with the dagger. “I’m sure you have. Sure you’ll save us all.” He keeps laughing to himself and I get the very real urge to pull a dagger of my own and show him just how much fight I have in me.
I resist the urge. Barely.
“Look, are you the one running this caravan?” I say.
“Nope.” He’s not even looking at me anymore. Apparently finds his fingernails more interesting.
“So how about you tell me who is running things?”
He looks up at me for a moment. Flicks his tongue against the back of his teeth on one side, then returns his gaze to his own fingers. He talks quick like, and I have a hard time hearing him. “Seshreth is his name,” he says, or something like that.
“Maybe I should just ask him about this operation.”
“Maybe so.”
I hesitate a moment more, knowing full well I don’t know where to find him or even what he looks like.
“Well, girl … are you waiting for something?”
“I, uh—how should I know him when I see him?”
“Brown fellow. Hard to miss.”
“And where’d he … where should I find him?”
“Counting house, I think, down in merchant square. You’re welcome to wait here if you’d rather. I imagine he’ll be back in a turn or two.”
I want to give some sort of biting remark but can’t find the wits to search one out. Instead I just spur into the city to find the counting house. The city itself is bigger than the ones I’ve been to before, but it strikes me that—once you get a sense of how cities are, generally speaking—the only difference from there is just how much it sprawls. Worth sprawls a fair bit more than Marsh did. It has some good cobbled stones for its main paths and a big cobbled marketplace in its center. I check the angle of the suns and figure it’s about halfway twixt mid-day and evening. Then I start checking on the signs here in the square until I find one with a coin and scales that I figure must be the counting house.
As Willow trots toward it, I see a man in the crowd that fits the only description I’ve been given. Brown. And I mean really brown. I said before, I’m hardly pale myself—more like beaten leather than milk and honey. But this man is thick brown, sure on from a place far off from our own. His skin’s dark is made even more clear by how he’s wearing all white, wrapped in thick cloth bands around him, almost like right huge bandages.
“Excuse me!” I yell toward him. He’s halfway across the crowd. He doesn’t seem to hear, so I yell it again. This time he looks up at me. “Are you … are you Seshreth?”
He takes a few steps toward me then speaks, rough and richly. “I may well be. What can I do for you, kind stranger that you are?”
“Do you run the caravan that’s going to Kolmas? I was told a man named Seshreth ran the caravan.”
“Not quite, but I think I am the one you are looking for. I am A’sesh Rethi. Will you walk with me as I continue?” He’s been moving closer to me as he spoke, so now he’s a stride or two off from me and Willow.
“Yes. Yeah, of course.”
“So, tell me: How can this humble stranger help one such as yourself?”
“I’m going to Kolmas.”
“I see. We are travelers who would share the same road at the same time. This is a blessing.”
I feel my voice caught up in my throat when he says that. His way of speaking is strange and his kindness so different from that of the man by the wagons that I feel put at ease—and a bit worried by that easiness.
“Tell me: What is it you hope we can do for one another as strangers sharing a road in this dangerous land?”
“I was hoping … I would like to, that is, help guard the caravan.”
He stops suddenly and moves his stance so he’s standing firm—so his legs are just past the width of his shoulders. The movement calls attention to itself and I pull back on Willow’s reins to stop her. A’sesh Rethi takes some time looking me over, and I feel real aware of myself as he does.
“You have been injured,” he says.
I nod. “I’m feeling better.”
“Yes. Your wounds hardly show, but you have blood staining your leggings. And you have used your weapons. But you don’t know how to clean them. Am I correct in this?”
“Oh, no … I just,” I glance down at my daggers and realize there’s still some dried blood from the clossies, despite all the time since the encounter. “I haven’t cleaned them. I know how.”
“Knowing how but not doing seems a pauper’s knowledge.” He smiles at me, and it seems warm, but I feel a sickly kind of shame.
“Come, let us continue.” He starts walking again. “Tell me, kind stranger: Have you ever guarded a caravan before?”
I very nearly lie, but something about him makes me feel it would be useless. “No … no, A’sesh, I haven’t.”
“Please, call me Rethi. I will tell you what we may do, kind stranger. You can travel with my wagons and take a nightly watch. You’ll be given food on the way and the safety of our armed company. And should all go well by the end of our journey to Kolmas, you will receive five fist for each day of traveling. Does this seem reasonable to you?”
“It … it does.” I don’t want to risk anything by trying to barter. Just glad to be joining with a company.
“So, kind stranger, only one thing remains that you must give me.”
My eyes go a bit wider at that. “Yeah?” I find myself holding my breath.
“Yes,” he says. “Your name.”
I breathe again, and swallow. “I’m … my name is Lidahlia. Liddy, that is. Most just call me Liddy.”
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