Emily Rodda - The Shifting Sands

Orwen put his great arm around her shoulders. “You cannot blame yourself for losing to Brianne. After all, she went on to become Champion. She is a great fighter. And think how hard the people of Lees worked to prepare her.”

“She was treated like a queen, they say,” said Joanna bitterly. “Extra food, no duties except her training. Her people thought she would be their salvation. And what did she do? Ran off with the money as soon as she had it in her hand. Can you believe it?”

“Of course,” the man said grimly. “A thousand gold pieces is a great fortune, Joanna. Very few Games Champions return to their old homes after their win. Most do not want to share their wealth, so they hurry away with it to start a new life elsewhere.”

“But you would never do that, Orwen,” Joanna protested fiercely. “And neither would I. I would never leave my people in poverty while I could help them. I would rather throw myself into the Shifting Sands.”

Lief stiffened at her last words and glanced at Jasmine and Barda to see if they had heard.

Joanna and Orwen strode on, shoulder to shoulder, towering above the rest of the crowd.

“That she mentions the Shifting Sands means nothing, Lief,” Barda said in a low voice, looking after them. “The Sands are as familiar a nightmare to folk who live in these parts as the Forests of Silence are to the people of Del.”

His face was grim, deeply marked with lines of weariness. “A more important matter is to decide whether we are wasting our time trying to compete with such as Joanna and Orwen. In our present state —”

“We have to try,” Lief mumbled, though his own heart was very heavy.

“There is no point in talking of this now!” Jasmine broke in impatiently. “Whether we compete in the Games or not, we must enter the city. We must get some food — even if we have to steal it. What else are we to do?”

Rithmere seethed with people. Stalls lined the narrow streets, packed together, filling every available space, their owners shouting of what they had to sell and watching their goods with eagle-sharp eyes.

The noise was deafening. Musicians, dancers, fire-eaters, and jugglers performed on every corner, their hats set out in front of them to catch coins thrown by passersby. Some had animals — snakes, dogs, even dancing bears, as well as strange creatures the companions had never seen before — to help them attract attention.

The noise, the smells, the bright colors, the confusion, made Lief, already light-headed with hunger, feel faint and sick. Faces in the crowd seemed to loom out at him as he stumbled along. Some he recognized from the highway. Most were strange to him.

Everywhere were the hunched forms of beggars, their gaunt faces turned up pleadingly, their hands outstretched. Some were blind, or had missing limbs. Others were simply starving. Most people paid no attention to them at all, stepping over them as if they were piles of rubbish.

“Hey, girl! You with the black bird! Over here!”

The hoarse shout had come from somewhere very near. They looked around, startled.

A fat man with long, greasy hair was beckoning urgently to Jasmine. The three companions edged through the crowd towards him, wondering what he wanted. As they drew closer they saw that he was sitting at a small table which had been covered by a red cloth that reached the ground. Leaning against the wall behind him was a pair of crutches. On the table stood a perch, a basket of painted wooden birds, and a wheel decorated with brightly colored pictures of birds and coins.

It was plainly some sort of gambling game.

“Like to make some money, little lovely?” the man shouted above the noise of the crowd.

Jasmine frowned and said nothing.

“She cannot play,” Lief shouted back. “Unless it costs nothing.”

The man snorted. “How would I make my living that way, young fellow-me-lad? No, no. One silver coin for a spin of the wheel, that is my price. But I am not asking your friend to play. No one can play at present. My bird just died on me. See?” He held up a dead pigeon by its feet and swung it in front of their noses.

Jasmine glared at him, stony-faced. The man’s mouth turned down mournfully. “Sad, isn’t it?” he said. “Sad for Beakie-Boy, sadder for me. I need a bird to turn the wheel. That’s the game. Beat the Bird, you see? I have another two pigeons back in my lodgings, but if I go and fetch one now I’ll lose my spot. Lose half a day’s earnings. Can’t afford that, can I?”

His small eyes narrowed as he looked Jasmine up and down. “You and your friends look as if you could do with a good meal inside you,” he said slyly. “Well, I will help you out.”

He threw the dead pigeon on the ground, kicked it under the table, and pointed at Kree. “I will buy your bird. How much do you want for him?”

Jasmine shook her head. “Kree is not for sale,” she said firmly, and turned to go. The fat man clutched at the sleeve of her jacket.

“Don’t turn your back on me, little lovely,” he whined. “Don’t turn your back on poor old Ferdinand, for pity’s sake.”

Kree put his head to one side and looked at the man carefully. Then he hopped onto the table and stalked right up to him, inspecting him closely, his head darting this way and that. After a moment he squawked loudly.

Jasmine glanced at Lief and Barda, then back at Ferdinand. “Kree says, how much would you give for his help just for today?” she said.

The fat man laughed. “Talks to you, does he?” he jeered disbelievingly. “Well now, that is something you don’t see every day.”

He took a small tin from his pocket, opened it, and took out a silver coin. “Tell him from me that I’ll give him this if he turns the wheel till sunset. Would that suit him?”

Kree flew back to perch on Jasmine’s arm and squawked again. Jasmine nodded slowly. “For one silver coin, Kree will turn the wheel thirty times. If you want him to do more, you pay again.”

“That is robbery!” Ferdinand exclaimed.

“It is his price,” said Jasmine calmly.

Ferdinand’s face crumpled, and he buried it in his hands. “Ah, you are a cruel girl! Cruel to a poor unfortunate trying to make a living,” he mumbled. “My last hope is gone. I will starve, and my birds with me.” His shoulders shook as he began to sob.

Jasmine shrugged, apparently quite unmoved. Lief, glancing at Ferdinand’s crutches propped against the wall, felt very uncomfortable.

“It seems harsh, Jasmine,” he whispered in her ear. “Could you not —?”

“He is acting. He can afford ten times as much,” Jasmine hissed back. “Kree says he has a purse at his belt that is bulging with coins. It is hidden from us by the cloth that covers the table. Just wait.”

Sure enough, when after a moment the fat man peeped through his fingers and saw that Jasmine was not going to change her mind, he stopped pretending to sob and took his hands away from his face. “Very well,” he snapped, in quite a different voice. “For a bird, he drives a hard bargain. Put him on the perch.”

“The money first, if you please,” Barda put in quickly.

Ferdinand shot him an angry look, then, with much groaning and sighing, passed the silver coin he had taken from the tin to Jasmine.

Satisfied, Kree fluttered onto the perch.

“Stand aside, you three,” Ferdinand said sharply. “Make way for the customers.”