Jo Clayton - Drinker of Souls

“Don’t be silly, Sammo. I’d have to spend more time worrying about you than getting on with the business. The children will take care of me. There’s no way the Temuengs can harm them. Strike at them and they fade and are something else, somewhere else.”

“Not you.”

“While they live, I live.”

He grunted, then laughed. “Don’t think I want to go deeper into that.”

Laughter from the woman. A long comfortable silence. Taguiloa felt the amity and warmth moving between them, filling the silence, was angry and sad at once that such a communion was beyond him. Even as he felt this, the woman repelled him and the things they said frightened him. He thought of leaving, decided he’d wait for Csermanoa and see what happened then.

As if it took a cue from him, a child’s voice broke the silence. “)aril says Csermanoa’s coming.”

Taga listened, heard nothing for a few breaths, then the crunch of feet on the gravel path, then Csoa’s voice ordering the guards to take up their posts. Taga smiled to himself. Csoa the Sharp making sure they weren’t close enough to hear what was said in the pavilion, yet where they could come running if he needed them fast. Heavy footsteps as he came on alone, protesting planks as he climbed the stairs to the pavilion’s door, faint squeal of hinges.

“Well, Sammang?”

“Precariously, Saiim.” He spoke Hina with very little accent.

“Ah.” Creak of wicker as the rotund little merchant settled himself across the room from the man and woman. “Didn’t expect you till the end of summer.”

The Panday chuckled. “The gods dispose, Sadm.” A short silence. “This isn’t business. I’m calling in a couple favors. Business we’ll discuss tomorrow.” Another short silence. “Sorry about your uncle.”

“An old man full of years.” Wariness in the merchant’s voice. Taguiloa grinned into the darkness, seeing the film sliding over Csoa’s eyes, the stiff smile stretched his lips. For him, favors meant coin and he never parted with coin until he got as much as he could for it.

“My friend needs a place to stay hid and needs tutoring in Hina and Temueng ways.”

“She speak Hina?”

The woman broke in with a rapid question to the Shipmaster, wanting to know what was being said. She listened and told him she’d be speaking Hina the next day, the children would give it to her.

“She will,” the Panday said, finality in his voice.

Loud creaks from across the room, the wicker complaining as Csoa’s shifting weight stressed it. Taguiloa imagined the fat man leaning forward to stare at the woman, his narrow black eyes sliding over her as if she were a sack of rice he thought of buying. “Stay hid?”

“That’s the other favor. Don’t ask.”

“Ah.” The wicker creaked again, Csermanoa settling back. “Dombro won’t gossip, he knows better. Grum wouldn’t talk to his mother if he had one. Who else saw her?”

• “My crew, but they won’t talk, not about her. We came the back ways, no one credible saw her.”

“You had that hair covered? Good. Old woman’s hair with a young woman’s face catches the eye. Can she read and write? Her own gabble, I mean. Yes? Good. She’s got the idea. Shouldn’t be too hard to give her a fair sense of Hina script if she’s willing to work at it.” Silence. Taguiloa imagined the merchant running shuttered eyes over the woman again. “Is she prepared to earn her keep?” An angry exclamation from the Shipmaster. “Not while she’s here,” Csermanoa added hastily. “I ask so I’ll knovi, what to teach her.”

Switching into rapid Panay, almost too rapid for Taguiloa to follow, the man reported to the woman what he and Csermanoa had been saying.

“Samna, I’m not going to he earning my way, you know that. He’s fishing, it’s nonsense. I’ll survive,” she added grimly. “Leave how I do it to me.”

Taga smiled. As I thought, he told himself. A tough one Csoa can go milk a rock and get more than she’ll give him.

“You don’t want the imperial guard waiting for you.” Sammang speaking angrily. Careless, Taguiloa thought. I’m sure Csoa knows some Panay, and the word imperial is a bad slip, has to tell him more than they want him to know.

“Who knows to wait?”

“You think the Temuengs in… where you come from don’t send messages every day to Durat?”

“So?”

“They’re not stupid. By now they know you’ve escaped them, and they’ll have an idea where you’re going. They will be waiting for you. You’ve got to be sly and cunning, you’ve got to know the ground.”

“All right, all right, I hear you. I admit you’re right. Get on with the bargaining. I’m sleepy.”

Be careful, Taguiloa thought, Csoa may owe you favors, but you’re not Hina, remember that and beware, how he treats the woman depends on how much he still needs you. Don’t let him know the Temuengs will hunt her down and stomp everyone connected with her. He made a note to himself to stay as far away from her as he could manage.

Switching to high Hina, the Shipmaster said, “Sao Csermanoa, will you provide shelter and tutoring for the freewoman and her child companions?”

Taguiloa wished he could see the merchant’s face. That was a most formal request, phrased in the elegant high Hina more suitable for use with one from the few Old Families left after the Temueng clearances in the bloody aftermath of their invasion. He nodded with appreciation. A touch. A real touch. Shrewd though he was, Csermanoa would bite.

In the same high tongue, with the same formality, Csermano answered the Shipmaster. “I say to you, O Sammang Schimli, shelter will be provided and tutoring for the freewoman and her child companions.” Slipping into less formal language, he went on, “You said companions. I only see one child. Silent little thing.”

“Her twin watches outside.”

“A bit young.”

“But very competent.”

Competent? Taguiloa thought. Haven’t found me… he jumped and almost betrayed himself as a small hand touched his arm, a soft laugh sounded in his ear. He looked down, saw the boy’s face as a pale oval in the shadow, then it dissolved into the golden light that had touched him not so long ago, then the light was gone; there was a faint rustle to his left as if something small was pattering away. No wonder the woman wasn’t worried. Witch with demon familiars. He shivered and renewed his vow to keep away from her, shivered again when he realized the boy would tell her about him as soon as Csermanoa left. He fidgeted. He wanted to get out of there now, he knew enough to play with, but he couldn’t chance the guards. They’d be just bored enough to catch the slightest sound and mean enough to enjoy stomping him.

“Favor for favor,” the merchant said.

“Name it and I’ll think about it.”

– Tomorrow, Shipmaster.” Wicker creaked. “You said business tomorrow.”

“Sen, would you promise blind?” Sounds of the Panday shifting his feet, softer noises of the woman standing beside him. “Thanks for listening. I’ll make other arrangements.”

“Sit, sit.” Csermanoa spoke hastily, a querulous note in his voice. “There’s no question of swearing blind. Certainly not. We’ll talk about that tomorrow.” Grunts, more creaking, a few thuds. Csermanoa standing. “The woman may stay, of course she may, servants will be provided, food, the tutoring you ask. All I ask is discretion.” Heavy steps on the tiles, crossing to the door. “Come to the ghostwatch, Shipmaster, before you leave.” Sound of door opening, closing. Heavy feet stumping down the steps. Csoa calling to his guards, walking off with them.

Taguiloa stayed where he was until he heard the gate clunk shut. He straightened, turned to follow Csoa out. Then he heard the Panday and the witch start talking, hesitated, squatted once more, cursing his stupidity but unable to break away.