Unquiet Land

by Sharon Shinn

  That caused more of an uproar as the addicts wailed and the Karkans shouted in alarm. The crown prince uttered a panicked cry in words Leah didn’t understand, and suddenly the three foreigners were shoving each other to get out the door. Two of the young slum dwellers went after them, while the third one sank to his knees and began sobbing.

  Leah turned her attention to the figure in the filthy strips of clothing. Yes—as she’d thought—a girl, whose ruined face looked like it belonged to someone barely sixteen years old. “Let’s get you out of here,” Leah said, slipping a hand under her arm.

  The girl fended her off. “Go ’way—go ’way!” she shouted. Her eyes were wide with fear and maybe a narcotic.

  “I won’t hurt you—”

  “That’s what they said!” the girl snarled, snatching her arm free from Leah’s grip. As if that act of defiance had sapped her of all energy, the girl sank to the floor and pillowed her head on her stick-thin arms. “Just leave me alone,” she mumbled.

  Leah stared at her helplessly, then turned to look at the boy, who was still crying, silently now. He, too, had dropped to the floor, but he had curled himself into a tight ball as if to keep the misery from bursting out in one long, uncontrollable howl. The liquid that had flowed out of the smashed bottle had started to scent the stale air with a harsh, oily odor that made Leah want to gag. The single candle the Karkans had lit was still burning in a holder on the floor, undisturbed despite all the commotion.

  “I can’t stay here,” Leah said to the girl, who might be sleeping by now, might be dead. “I’m going to be sick. You need to leave.”

  But the girl didn’t answer. The addict didn’t answer. Leah put a hand to her mouth and hurried out the door, ducking around the corner of the building to try to get a read on the situation.

  The Karkans were long gone. She didn’t know if they’d run all the way back to the Cinque or if she had just thwarted them from preying on this particular prize and they were even now trolling the slums a few streets over, hunting new game. She doubted that the addicts had chased them very far; they hadn’t looked like they had the physical or mental stamina to engage in a real fight. She guessed they’d be back eventually—soon, if they had any kind of semipermanent base here, later if they’d gotten distracted by other possibilities in the night. They might not recognize her if they saw her again, but even so, she couldn’t linger.

  She cast one doubtful glance over her shoulder, as if she could see through the wall to the girl inside. Leah might have saved her from the crown prince’s depredations, whatever they might be, but she could hardly hope that the young woman would be safe even so. She might not even live through the night.

  Still. She’s no worse off than she was when the prince found her, Leah thought. Better—she has five quint-golds now. I have to think I did the right thing.

  But who else had she failed to save tonight? And what had she failed to save them from?

  NINE

  The day that followed the night could not have been more different.

  By the time Leah had gotten back to her lodgings, it was so late she was barely able to manage four hours of sleep before she had to get up again. She didn’t look quite as haggard as she would have expected, maybe because excitement flushed her face and she took extra care with her appearance. She braided her hair back with bits of gold thread, and she donned a dark green tunic heavily embroidered with the same thread in patterns of leaves and flowers. She added the emerald earrings Chandran had sent her, the emerald necklace she had bought at his shop, and a green Dhonshon shawl that she had also bought from Chandran.

  I wish you were here to see me through this occasion, she thought as she made final adjustments in front of the mirror. I wish you were here to help me figure out the world. I wish you were here.

  She was at the door of the boutique a little past dawn to find Annova there before her. “And yet they’ll tell you coru folk are completely unreliable,” Leah greeted her.

  Annova looked amused. “You can rely on coru folk to do whatever they’re interested in doing,” she said. “I’m interested in this.” She surveyed Leah a moment. “I like the jewels, but your face is tired.”

  “I had an interesting evening.”

  Annova waited for a beat, but when Leah didn’t add any more, she just said, “Let’s get started.”

  They set up a table in the back and laid out delicacies for the customers they hoped would drop by: keerza from Malinqua, fruited water from Welce, berries from Cozique, and pastries and candies from a half dozen other sources. Then they fed the reifarjin, filled the coin box with money, and flipped on the switch to illuminate the swirly sculpture that spelled out Leah’s name.

  At the propitious hour of eight in the morning, they formally opened the shop. By noon, they had had a hundred customers.

  It was all due to Darien’s connections, of course. Zoe came with a whole cadre of friends and relatives, who strolled around the shop and exclaimed over the merchandise and purchased an eclectic selection of treasures.

  “I think the reifarjin adds just the right touch,” Zoe said as she paid for a silver starfish charm that had been crafted in Berringey and displayed in the coru section. “Exotic and unexpected. Like everything else in this shop.”

  “Thank you,” Leah said, handing back a few quint-silvers in change. “I need to talk to Darien.”

  Zoe raised her eyebrows. She didn’t say, Tell me the news and I’ll pass it on. She merely asked, “How soon?”

  “As soon as he has time.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  About an hour after Zoe left, Princess Josetta arrived, accompanied by a middle-aged blond woman who was a bit overdressed for a shopping expedition but gratifyingly pleased with many of the wares on display.

  “Look at this feathered mask! I must have it—for the next opening, you know, everyone dresses in such an opulent style that it is impossible to appear too gaudy. Oh, and this! The butterfly hair clip! In my colors, too.”

  “Queen Seterre,” Annova murmured to Leah. “Josetta’s mother. She’s a patron of the theatrical arts.”

  That explained the overdramatic style. “She seems nice enough.”

  Annova shrugged. “These days. Not always in the past.”

  “Well, we all change,” Leah said.

  She went over to see if they were looking for anything they hadn’t been able to find, and Josetta offered more formal introductions. They were quite a contrast—quiet, earnest Josetta and her flamboyant mother—but Leah sensed a strong bond of affection between them.

  “I love your shop! You have such fresh merchandise!” the queen exclaimed. “I will be back, I promise you, and will bring many of my friends with me.”

  “Majesty, I will be delighted.”

  Seterre wandered off to examine items on the hunti tables; Josetta smiled at Leah. “I hope you like actors.”

  Leah laughed. “I spent half my life around them.”

  “Ah. Then you already know.”

  Leah smiled but immediately grew serious. “I was in your part of town last night and wishing I’d known exactly how to find your shelter.”

  Josetta looked intrigued. “I can draw you a map, if you like. There are scarcely any street signs so it’s hard to give directions. It’s best to visit in the daylight, at least the first time you’re trying to find it. Why were you there?”

  “It’s a long story. But I encountered a young woman who seemed on the verge of complete disintegration. If I’d had someplace to take her—”

  Josetta nodded soberly. “There are people like that throughout the southside. I’ll take in anyone who comes to my door but—some people don’t want to stay. Even if you brought her to me, you couldn’t be sure I’d do her any good.”

  “Maybe not. But at least I’d have tried.”

  “That’s all any of us
can do.”

  Josetta and her mother were still wandering through the store, along with five or six other customers, when Virrie arrived with Mally.

  “I gave her three silvers and told her she could spend them all in the shop,” Virrie confided to Leah as Mally gravely toured the tables.

  “She can simply have anything she wants,” Leah answered.

  Virrie shook her head. “Mally likes to have boundaries. She likes to know that making a choice means she has to give up something else. She likes to think that actions have consequences. It makes her feel like the world makes sense.”

  “The world doesn’t make sense,” Leah grumbled.

  Annova laughed at her silently. “Maybe it does,” she said. “It’s just that the pattern is too big for us to see.”

  “She’ll buy rocks,” Leah predicted.

  “Probably,” Virrie replied.

  New customers swept up to the front counter just then, and Leah spent the next twenty minutes explaining the provenance of some of her more unusual items, then finalizing sales, making change, and wrapping purchases. That group was barely out the door before Virrie was leading Mally up to the sales counter.

  Leah smiled down at the little girl, who was digging for money in the pockets of her tunic. “And what has caught your fancy today, young lady? Something from the torz section, I’m guessing?”

  “Well, that’s what I like,” Mally said, setting her selection on the counter. It was a small object carved from a smooth, glassy chunk of rock so red it appeared to be tinged with blood. The shape was a broad spreading flower—a lotus or an overblown rose—with a flat base so it sat easily on the counter. There was a slim hollow in the center of the bloom, about the size of a woman’s smallest finger.

  Leah picked it up and examined it as if she hadn’t seen it before, as if she hadn’t selected it herself from a shipment of goods that had come directly from Berringey. “It’s beautiful,” she said solemnly. “The shape and the material make it torz, but the color is pure sweela. And you see this hole here? In the middle? You can fit a small candle right there. Sweela again. I couldn’t decide where in the shop I should put it.”

  “I like sweela,” Mally said.

  “Wouldn’t know it from the things you’re interested in doing,” Virrie said dryly. “Or eating or wearing.”

  “Nelson’s sweela,” Leah said.

  Mally nodded. “And Rhan.”

  Leah’s heart skipped a beat. “And Rhan,” she agreed calmly.

  “Rhan dropped by to visit us yesterday,” Virrie said casually.

  “Did he?” Leah said, her voice neutral. She hoped. “How friendly of him.”

  “They played games. She enjoyed herself. I was glad he came.”

  “Then so am I.” Surely he won’t give her so much attention that he steals her from me. Surely I can’t be jealous of her own father’s affection. It’s just that I have so little of her already. I hate to give up any more. “I don’t think of Rhan as being particularly good with children.”

  “Well,” Virrie said, still dry, “he’s not very adult, now, is he?”

  “I suppose not,” Leah said, forcing herself to shake off her mood. She smiled down at her youngest customer. “That will be three silvers exactly! Let me wrap this up for you.”

  There wasn’t time to visit with Mally, or brood over Rhan, because a new cluster of customers clattered into the shop just then. And once again Leah and Annova were showing, explaining, and selling merchandise. They continued to be just as busy till nightfall signaled closing time, and they could turn off the LEAH’S sign and lock the door.

  “An exceptional opening day!” Leah exclaimed. “I would have been happy with half this many customers.”

  “Good thing you insisted on filling your storeroom upstairs with so much merchandise,” Annova said. “Should we restock now or wait until the morning?”

  Leah fought back a yawn. “We should do it now, but I’m too tired to think straight,” she said. “I’ll just make sure to get here early tomorrow.”

  “I’ll come as early as I can,” Annova said.

  Leah strangled another yawn. “Go on. I’ll lock up.”

  Leah found it rather pleasant to putter through the shop now that it was deserted, though it still seemed to hum with the remembrance of many voices, many bodies. She moved slowly through the aisles, straightening a pile here, folding a length of fabric there, moving a basket from one shelf to another. At the back wall, she flipped the switch that killed the interior lighting, so shadows leapt forward from all corners, though the gaslamps from the street outside threw faint illumination through the big display windows. She went through the door on the back wall to make sure the alley entrance was securely locked, pausing a moment to glance up the stairs. I really am too tired to make the effort, she thought, slipping back into the shop and locking the inner door as well.

  She turned around and almost screamed. There was a large figure standing just inside the front door. Motionless. Focused on her. The light was behind him so she couldn’t see his face or any details of his clothing. For a moment, she could neither move nor breathe.

  Then he extended his hand and turned his face just enough so she could make out his profile: a prominent forehead, generous nose, thickly bearded cheeks and chin. “Leah,” he said.

  “Chandran,” she whispered.

  Now she really couldn’t breathe.

  • • •

  “Chandran,” Leah repeated. Her voice lightened and her heart lightened and all of her weariness melted away. “Chandran! I can’t believe it! Why are you here?” She flew across the shop with her hands outstretched.

  She didn’t know if she would have hugged him—should have hugged him—but before she had to decide what, exactly, she would do with her arms, he stepped forward and took her hands in his. His grip was warm and powerful and exceedingly comforting, and he tucked her hands against his chest and smiled down at her.

  “You got my earrings, I see,” he said.

  She laughed. She felt giddy. Not enough sleep, not enough air, too much delight. It took her a moment to realize he had spoken in Coziquela, the language they had always used when talking together in Malinqua. She couldn’t even remember what language she had used to greet him. But, of course, happiness and excitement translated in any tongue. “I wrote and thanked you! Didn’t you get my letter?”

  “I have received many letters from you and cherished them all. I meant—you got my earrings and you chose to wear them. I am so pleased.”

  “But what are you doing here? I’ve missed you so much! But I never thought— Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

  He considered. She had forgotten that, how he could take his time formulating an answer to even the simplest question. “Many things have happened,” he said. “Nothing new is wrong. But old wrongs might have reappeared.”

  Her smile contracted into an expression of worry. “That sounds ominous. That sounds bad. Can you tell me about it?” Will you tell me? was what she really wanted to ask. During those ninedays when she had worked beside him in his booth in the Great Market, Chandran had learned a great deal about Leah, while she had learned very little about him. She knew he was an exile from his homeland. She knew he was convinced he could never return. He had never described the circumstances that led him to flee.

  “I can tell you some of it,” he replied.

  Slowly she pulled her hands free, and slowly she gestured at the front door. “Can you tell me the story while we’re somewhere that we can get food? I’ve just had scraps all day and I’m starving.”

  He thought about that, too. “I am not anxious for my tale to be overheard,” he answered at last.

  Ah. “Then . . . we can buy something and take it back to my apartment.”

  Chandran glanced around the storefront. “Or we could bring it b
ack here,” he countered.

  He didn’t want the suggestive intimacy of being in her private quarters, Leah realized. She couldn’t tell if she was relieved or offended. But she thought she knew Chandran well enough to guess at the meaning behind his reluctance. He did not want to put her at a disadvantage. He did not want to encroach or presume. He knew that his arrival was sudden and disruptive and that she had had no time to think about how she might fit him into her life—whereas he had obviously had a long ocean journey to mull over that very question. He did not want to take advantage of taking her by surprise.

  “We could bring it back here,” she agreed. “There’s a place up the street that offers a different menu every day. Let’s see what they’ve got.”

  • • •

  Ahalf hour later, they were back at the shop, setting up a small feast. Leah cleared off the hunti display to serve as their dining table, and Chandran moved storage units over to take the place of stools. Leah added both water and fruit to one of the glass pitchers from the back table and heated up a pot of keerza.

  They did all this by candlelight, sacrificing a few of the least expensive sweela items in the shop. “I’m afraid if I turn the gaslight back on, someone will think the place is still open,” Leah said with a laugh. “We were so busy today!”

  “I know. I walked by once or twice but I decided not to interrupt you.”

  “Interrupt?” she retorted. “I’d have hired you! Put you to work! We could have used the extra hands.”

  “Ah. Then I should have come right in.”

  Their banter was easy and light, the meal preparation companionable, but Leah was aware of a sharp current of tension. Clearly they had much to discuss; clearly he didn’t want to discuss it until they were settled and focused on each other, unlikely to be distracted. It was hard not to feel uneasy.

  Finally everything was ready and they took their unconventional seats. Chandran raised his glass of fruited water. “To Leah’s,” he said.