He took them into his mouth. From the motion of his cheeks, Tereka assumed he was rolling the berries on his tongue.
“Very nice. Sweet.” He pursed his lips. “I can give you half a sheave a picul.”
Tereka stifled a laugh. Alright, he was going to bargain hard. So could she. “Oh, no. Not in late spring. The season has just ended. You won’t get fresher than these until next year. Three.”
“I still have a good supply, not just of frostberries, but hopberries as well. Two and a half sheaves for three piculs.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll find someone else.”
She knew she’d won when his face reddened. He sucked in his cheeks, then huffed. “Two sheaves for every three piculs, and I’ll take your whole load.”
“You’ll thank me when people love these berries in their pasties and jam.” She climbed into her wagon and swung the first crate to him.
He carried the crate to the scale and set it down. He placed weights on the opposite side until the trays balanced. “That’s twenty-one piculs, right?”
She nodded her agreement. It was a little less than the syndic’s scale. But everyone knew the syndics’ scales all weighed heavy, to extract more tax from everyone. The vendor dumped the berries into a barrel and replaced the empty crate on the scale. “Two piculs.”
She narrowed her eyes. Subtracting for the crate, her berries weighed nineteen piculs. When she bought them in Shinroo, the total weight had been twenty piculs. Had the desert air dried them out so much she’d lost a full picul? But if this scale was weighing her berries lighter, then the crate shouldn’t be a full two piculs. She reached for the next crate.
Once they weighed all thirty crates, the vendor counted out her sheaves. “One thousand, one hundred forty.”
“Many thanks. Peace and safety.” Tereka stashed her money bag under her tunic. She leaned against her wagon and ran a hand through the hair on the back of her head and tugged. Da had told her to sell the berries for twelve hundred sheaves. She was sixty short. At least she still had half a wagon of grain. Maybe she could make up the difference with it.
The grain merchants were all engaged with other traders, so she bought a pastie stuffed with potatoes and onions from a passing vendor, then climbed into her wagon to wait for Kemet. She finished her pastie, wondering about the trade she’d just made. Juquila would be sure to count her profits to the last sheave. Her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t afford to make a bad deal on the grain. Shaking herself, she sat up straighter. No sense getting discouraged over one trade.
Kemet returned just as several traders concluded their business with the grain merchants. He approached one, and in a few minutes, concluded his trade. As the vendor’s apprentice unloaded Kemet’s wagon, he joined Tereka in hers. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t get what I wanted for the berries. They didn’t weigh as much as they did in Shinroo, or what the syndic here said they did.”
He pulled his eyebrows together. “How much less?”
“One picul. Per crate.”
“That’s what the grain merchant said.” He frowned. “One picul less than the syndic’s scale.”
“I thought my berries lost some weight, drying out in this desert air. But the grain wouldn’t dry so much. There’s something wrong here.”
“Let’s watch a few, shall we?” Kemet pointed to a trader bargaining with a grain vendor. “I’ll watch the vendor.”
“And I’ll watch the scales.” She slipped out of the wagon and eased her way to stand just behind the clerk. She studied the plates and the chains and didn’t see anything odd.
The vendor laid a sack of grain on the scale. The clerk placed five ten-picul weights on the other side. Then he removed one and replaced it with a five and four one picul weights. “Forty-nine piculs.”
The trader frowned. Tereka watched as five more sacks were weighed. The weight varied, sometimes fifty, sometimes forty-nine. When they were weighing the seventh sack, she noticed the clerk’s gambit. He had six ten-picul weights. Because he placed the weights on a shelf below the scale in between weighings, no one noticed that he sometimes substituted a heavier weight, making the grain appear to weigh less. That must be what the clerk and the berry vendor had done to her, or something like it.
Tereka slipped through the crowd to join Kemet. “I know what they’re up to. Here’s what we’ll do.” She whispered her plan.
When the grain merchant was free, she approached him. “Are you interested in rye from Attu?”
“Sure, always when pretty girls are selling.”
She smiled at him, pretending to be flattered. He thought she’d be easy to fool.
After she gave him a sample to taste, she pointed at the sacks in her wagon. “Would you be able to help me with them?”
The man simpered. “Of course. Wouldn’t want you to do anything unsafe like lifting sacks too heavy for you.”
If he only knew how many sacks she’d heaved in her life. Da made sure she could shift her own cargo. Tereka stood back, keeping up a steady stream of chatter, asking him how long he’d been a grain merchant, who his best customers were. She didn’t glean much about vendors, but did find out which inn had the best beer and the cleanest beds.
He carried the first sack to the scale and laid it in place. The clerk placed the weights. “Fifty piculs.”
That was the weight Tereka was expecting. As the clerk took the weights off, Kemet stepped up. “Let me help you. We’re in a bit of a hurry.” He took the weights off the scale and set them at his feet.
The clerk scowled at him but said nothing. He shifted the grain to a pile nearby and motioned for the next sack. When it was in place, Kemet placed the weights on the scale.
“Fifty piculs.” The clerk did not sound happy.
By the time they finished, all but one of Tereka’s sacks weighed fifty piculs. The last weighed in at fifty-one. She collected her money and strolled off with Kemet, ignoring the scowls of the grain vendor.
They ambled along the row of stalls. North Rivash’s market sold different fruit than the markets farther north—pale green berries and round green melons with pink flesh and black seeds. The pink melon was sweet and juicy, a refreshing treat on a hot day.
But much was the same. A mangy dog chased a rat with a scrap of bread in its mouth. A chandler offered a selection of tallow candles and pottery candlesticks to match. The clang of the blacksmith’s hammer, flies buzzing around the fresh meat in the butcher’s stall, the smell of the stables, the gray-clad villagers, all a dingy reflection of every other town where she’d traded.
When they were several rows away from the grain trader, Kemet turned to her. “What was that?” he asked.
“Can you believe it?” She snorted. “They all talk about fairness, but they all cheat.”
“Not all of them.”
“Enough of them.” Tereka wanted to fight with someone but didn’t want to take her anger out on affable Kemet. Her face grew hot. “How could they do that to us? Treat us unfairly?”
“My da told me to watch out. The closer to the capital, the more blatant the cheating. He was right.”
“Someone should do something.”
“Like what? File a complaint?”
“That’s right. We both could.”
Kemet rubbed his chin. “We could. But— ”
She cut him off. “I know what you’re going to say. It wouldn’t be wise.”
“You know Juquila’s looking for any reason to call you a troublemaker.”
“So I just let myself be cheated?”
“What would your da say?”
“The same as you. Wait for probation to be over. Then tread lightly.”
“He’s a wise man.”
“And annoying.” She stomped a few paces ahead of him. “I hate not being able to do anything about these cheaters. It’s like letting them walk on my back.”
“I know. Maybe one day… ”
One day couldn’t arrive soon enough
for Tereka. One day she wouldn’t give in. She’d speak up and bring down the cheaters, and everyone else who was unfair.
The scent of vinegar gave them a welcome opportunity to change the subject. Tereka followed the aroma to the pickling stall. Kemet came behind her. He picked up a jar. “See what they have? Pickled peppers, onions, and tomatoes. Looks tasty.”
“You want to take some back?”
“Only if we get a fair deal.”
Kemet replaced the jar and asked for a sample. While he chatted with the vendor, Tereka, stewing in her anger over the dishonest scales, scowled at the pickled offerings. Some day, she thought. Some day these cheaters would be sorry they ever thought about robbing her.
13
Sweat tickled the back of Tereka’s neck a few days later as they approached Trofmose. The afternoon sun felt stronger the lower it sank in the sky. Usually, Tereka enjoyed the heat. Today it felt oppressive, like she’d felt under Groa’s scorn. She shifted in her seat on her wagon, trying to ease the tension in her neck as she carefully guided her horses around a large hole in the road. Kemet drove behind her, as always. She wanted to impress him with her skill in handling her horses since she’d clearly not been that impressive as a trader.
A puff of breeze from behind cooled her back and brought the smell of smoked fish. Kemet had a wagon full of it. Hers was loaded with bolts of cloth and dried fruit. They’d both made good trades once they learned to watch for false weights on the scales. She and Kemet made an able team.
Kemet. Though she hadn’t talked with him about the night she’d been attacked, he seemed more protective of her, making sure none of the other traders bothered her or even got too close. Just like having Da around. Only her heart didn’t pound when Da held her hand.
Shouting near the front of the caravan made her pull back on the reins to slow her horses. She leaned forward to see what was happening. A guardsman on a trotting bay mare rode past. “Bandits ahead. Stay with your wagons, out of our way.”
Tereka nodded. She wasn’t about to argue with him. She pulled the brake to lock the wheels in place and climbed down, hoping to take cover behind the wagon. Kemet joined her, holding a bow in his hands, a full quiver at his hip.
She struggled to move her dry tongue so she could get the words out. “You’re going to fight?”
“Of course. I’m not letting any bandits get to my fish. Or your cloth.” She couldn’t be sure, but Tereka thought she heard him say under his breath, “Or you.”
“But fighting is against the rules.”
“Right, because they’ve decided we can’t handle weapons without hurting ourselves or someone else. But why should I wait for the bandits to kill us while all the guards are protecting themselves?”
“What do you mean?”
He pointed toward the front of the caravan. All twelve of the guardsmen had gathered together and were shooting arrows at a pack of what looked like twenty bandits riding toward them on the road.
“The guardsmen are up there because that’s where the bandits are coming from,” Tereka said.
“And what if more approach from the other direction?” Kemet pulled an arrow from his quiver.
“Not likely. You know they usually travel in packs of ten. Fifteen, at the most.”
As if defying Tereka’s words, the drum of pounding hoofs came from behind. Kemet spun to look, then nocked an arrow. “You’d best get your bow.”
Tereka chewed the inside of her cheek, then shook her head. “I can’t. Juquila would make me pay.”
Kemet made no answer but released his first arrow as the bandits grew closer. One of his arrows hit a horse, another a bandit’s arm.
The bandits overtook the last wagon and Tereka shuddered at the sight. A brigand with a scruffy dark beard slew the trader with a slice of a sword to the neck. The poor man slumped over and fell from his seat. Kemet shot two more arrows, downing one bandit. Tereka took deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart. Only six wagons separated them from the bandits. Now five.
Juquila had been clear. As had the guards. She glanced toward the front of the caravan. The guards were holding their own, it seemed. No, another guardsman went down. It didn’t look like she could rely on them. If she fought, would Juquila learn of it? Or would it be overlooked? She stood frozen in place, unable to decide what to do.
“Oh, look here. A girl.” A bandit stopped by the wagon two behind Kemet’s. The trader, a woman named Hina, cowered in her seat. The bandit licked his lips. “You come with me, and we’ll have some fun.” He reached for Hina’s arm.
Heat welled inside Tereka, and she didn’t pause. From her tunic pocket, she pulled the throwing knives that Tarkio insisted she carry. First one, then the other she flung at the bandit. One caught him in the throat, the other in the eye.
He slumped and fell from his horse. Tereka dove for her bow and grabbed four arrows from the quiver. She chose a target and shot. Her arrow pierced his knee. Kemet’s arrow drove into his chest. Another one down.
Blood pounded in Tereka’s ears. She took another shot. Then another. Two more bandits lying on the road. She eyed the last one. Rhythmic hoofbeats behind her told her someone was approaching, whether a guardsman coming to their aid or another bandit out for blood she didn’t know.
First deal with the one in front. Taking a deep breath, she took aim and released her arrow. The bandit jerked the reins and ducked. The horse shied and her arrow flew past its nose, skimming its jaw. It reared and threw its rider. The man rolled with the fall and staggered to his feet. He held up his ax and charged at Tereka. She shot the ruffian in the face when he was barely ten feet away. He gasped and hit the ground just as a guardsman charged him.
Heart pounding, she grabbed another handful of arrows.
“You won’t need those,” Kemet said.
She looked around. Most of the bandits were dead, the others fleeing into the wilds. The four bandits Tereka had killed lay in crumbled mounds on the dusty road. Her breath came in noisy gasps as if she’d been running. She sagged against her wagon.
“Steady, there.” Kemet put his arm around her shoulders. “You were great.”
“Was I?”
He smiled and took the bow and arrows from her hands. “Let’s just put these away, shall we?” He slid the arrows into her quiver and placed the quiver and her bow under the seat of her wagon. Then Tereka saw the line of red on his cheek and gasped.
“You’re hurt!”
“Glad you noticed.” He rubbed his face, smearing the trickle of blood. “It’s just a scratch. From one of my own arrows.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Master archer I am not. Now go get your knives before the guards get here. I’ll get the arrows.”
Tereka scurried to retrieve her throwing knives. Maybe later, when she stopped shaking and the world seemed more real, she’d be able to think about what she’d done. She’d killed four men. Wounded a fifth.
The knives in her hands dripped with the bandits’ blood. She’d killed four men. Had the guardsmen noticed? She shoved the knives under a bale of cloth.
A guardsman rode up. “What happened here? Who killed all those ruffians?”
His tone was harsh and set Tereka’s heart racing.
Kemet walked up, his hand full of arrows he’d pulled from dead brigands. “If you please, I did.”
The guardsman studied Kemet, then Tereka. “Fine. But we didn’t need your help.”
They were interrupted by Hina. She grabbed Tereka around the neck and slapped her face. “I thought I was dead, for sure. What took you so long?”
“I didn’t do anything.” Tereka’s face grew hot. She’d just saved the woman’s life. What was she complaining about?
“No, it was you. Your friend here was busy shooting the other way.” She looked at the guardsman. “One of those beasts was about to pull me off my wagon. She stood there, watching. Just when I thought I was lost, she threw two knives at him and he went down.”
The guardsman narrowed hi
s eyes.
“It was nothing, really.” Tereka hoped he believed her. “I couldn’t let him kill her.”
“But instead, you waited, until I was in real danger. Almost wet myself. And now— ” Hina gestured to her clothing. “I’m wearing that oaf’s blood.” Her brown dress was splattered with it.
The guard scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me about it in the first place?” He waved a finger in Tereka’s face. “I told you. No fighting. I’m going to have to report this. Now get to your wagons. We’re leaving.” He stalked away.
Hina spit at Tereka’s feet. “Next time, throw your knives sooner.” She spun on her heel and stalked to her wagon.
Tereka pulled her eyebrows together. “What was that about? I just saved her life.”
“I’m not sure,” Kemet said. “Maybe she’s just rattled. She’ll calm down.” He stroked Tereka’s cheek with the back of a finger. “Don’t worry about it.”
Her face warmed and her skin tingled where Kemet touched it. She wanted him to leave his hand there forever. A shout from a guardsman told her that wasn’t going to happen. Kemet touched her dark hair. “We’ll talk later.”
She climbed back to her seat and picked up the reins. Kemet had nothing to worry about. He didn’t have a spiteful aunt looking for reasons to come after him. And Tereka had just given her what she wanted.
14
Tereka peeked nervously at Kemet, who shrugged and gave her half a smile. Three days had passed since the fight with the bandits, and they’d been summoned to see Juquila. The wooden bench they sat on was filled by ten or twelve other traders. All of them had been on the caravan from North Rivash that had been attacked. Seated apart from them was Muzquiz, the head of the trade guild, who was scowling and muttering to himself.
To calm her nerves, she surveyed the samples stacked next to Juquila’s worktable. A harness, a few jars of what looked like hopberry jam, a sack of grain. Maybe on her next run to Attu she should get some leather goods. If she was ever allowed to make another run.
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