He stood awkwardly in the scented room, twisting between his fingers a fur pouch that contained something round. Through the windowpane drifted a vibrancy of violin and flute. Vardrai made it worth those beggar musicians’ while to keep station below this wall.
48
The Unicom Trade
“I … have a … proposition for you,” he mumbled. Strange how he blushed, like a virginal boy, this man who had dared hurricanes and spears.
“Oh, I tike, propositions.” Vardrai drew close to him and ruffled his whiskers.
He seized her and kissed her. She seldom wanted a kiss on the mouth, but found that this time it was different. “What a woman you are,” he groaned.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she laughed, and fluttered her lashes at him. “Shall we try if that be true?”
“A moment, I beg you.” Haako stepped back and took her by the shoulders. His callouses scratched her slightly, arousingly, as he shivered. Otherwise he was gentle. His eyes sought hers. “Vardrai, II’ve come into a chunk of money. Left to myself, I’ll drink and dice it away, and soon have nothing for you … and my ship will be calling two or three times yearly in Seilles hereafter, it will.” The words tumbled from him. “Here’s my proposition. What say I give you the sum, right this now, in pure gold and you let me see you free of charge, always after, whenever I’m in port? Is that a fair offer, I ask you? Oh, Vardrai, Vardrai”
Wariness congealed her. “What sum do you speak of?” she asked.
“I’ve the coin right here, and a paper from banker Pandric to give the worth,” he blurted, while he fumbled in his pouch. “Four hundred aureates, ‘tis.”
FAIRY GOLD
49
Her world swooped around her. She stumbled against him. He upheld her. “Four hundred aureates!” she whispered.
The moon sank west. Streets were deserted, save for the Lord Mayor’s patrols, or peasants carting their produce to market, or less identifiable persons. The sounds of their passage rang hollow beneath the stars. Hither and yon, though, windows were coming to life with lamplight.
One belonged to the kitchen of Jans Orliand. Having slept poorly ever since he lost his wife, the chronicler was often up this early. He sat with a dish of porridge he had cooked for himself and read a book as he ate.
A knock on the door lifted his attention. Surprised, slightly apprehensive, he went to unlatch it. If that was a robber, he could shout and rouse his son Dennbut it was a woman who slipped through, and when she removed her hooded cloak, she was seen to be glorious.
“Vardrai of Syr!” Jans exclaimed. They had never met, but she was too famous for him not to recognize when they chanced to pass each other in the open. “Why, why, what brings you? Sit down, do, let me brew some herbal tea”
“I have heard it cried that you’ve a house for sale, a large one with many rooms,” she said.
He looked closer at her. Cosmetics did not altogether hide the darknesses below her eyes, or the pallor of cheeks and lips. She must have lain sleepless hour after hour, thinking about this, until she could wait no longer.
50
The Unicorn Trade
“Well, well, yes, I do,” he replied. “Not that I expected”
The wish exploded from her: “Could you show it to me? Immediately? If it suits, I can buy it on the instant.”
Lona Grancy had also slept ill. The moon had not yet gone behind western roofs, and the east showed just the faintest silver, when she trudged from cottage to shed, lighted its lamps, and commenced work. “May as well,” she said. “Not that customers will crowd our place, eh?”this to her cat, which returned a wise green gaze before addressing itself to the saucer of milk she set forth.
The maiden pummeled clay, threw it upon the turntable, sat down, and spun the wheel with more ferocity than needful. It shrilled and groaned. She shivered in the cold which crept out from between her arrayed wares. The hour before dawn is the loneliest of all.
A man came in off the street. “Master Orliand!” she hailed him. “What on earth?” The spinning died away.