The Glass Swallow

by Julia Golding

  ‘Thought not,’ he muttered. He slumped down on the bench next to his sister, Bel. ‘I suppose it’ll have to be me.’

  Bel grimaced. ‘The ritual bath shouldn’t be too bad, Peri.’

  ‘It is at that time of day—water isn’t heated and the bath-house attendants scrub you raw. Still, someone has to do it.’

  ‘Which bird will you take?’ Bel twirled the end of her black plait, dusting it over her knuckles absentmindedly.

  ‘He wants the job done by mid morning: it’ll have to be Fletch.’

  ‘Poor old Peri,’ commiserated Bel. ‘But you’re the best of us—you’ll manage where others wouldn’t.’

  ‘I’d just prefer it if it wasn’t a jettan asking.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we all.’ Bel rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m ready to turn in. Have you forgotten to say goodnight to Rosie?’

  ‘You’re right. I expect she’ll have fallen asleep by now.’

  ‘No, she won’t. You’re her hero. She’ll be propping up her eyelids, desperate for you to come and give her a kiss.’

  Peri scooped up his sister under his arm, heading towards the family’s lodgings. ‘Let’s go then. Can’t keep her waiting any longer.’

  The ritual bath was as unpleasant as he anticipated. Forced to strip off everything that he was wearing, he stood in the bath-house by the city gates shivering as a sleepy attendant attacked him with a scrubbing brush. The water was freezing, the bristles unforgiving. Sensing his master’s discomfort, the goshawk, Fletch, shrieked from his basket, making the attendant jump with consternation.

  ‘It can’t get out?’ he asked fearfully.

  ‘No,’ replied Peri, ‘he can’t.’

  Next the attendant handed him a black robe, simple sandals, and a rope belt. His own clothes were to be kept for his return.

  ‘You are purified, falcon man,’ the attendant announced.

  I felt pretty pure before I set foot in here, thought Peri.

  Ushered past a suspicious gate warden, Peri began the long walk to the palace district. Rolvint had been founded on a bend in the River Rol; the richest houses were built on the steep bank, enjoying the protection of the cliffs. The new summer palace was some distance from the gates in a corner of the extensive parklands belonging to the Master. It would take Peri at least half an hour to reach the building site. He carried Fletch on his arm, having left the travelling basket back at the bath-house. The hawk was content to ride, head hidden in a hood, claws firmly planted on Peri’s leather gauntlet. Man and bird walked at peace with each other, having the streets almost to themselves. The few people up this early stepped out of their path, not wanting to risk the bother of a ritual bath should they inadvertently brush against one of the scavenger class.

  A toddler stumbled out of a purveyor’s shop doorway—a bakery judging by the delicious smells coming from inside. The child’s ball rolled across the street and stopped against Peri’s feet.

  ‘Mine!’ she squeaked, before noticing Fletch. ‘Big bird.’ She chuckled with delight and stretched up to pat the strange creature.

  Peri smiled and nudged the ball towards her with his toe. ‘Yes, he is, isn’t he? Best not touch him though: he can get a bit cranky.’

  The child’s mother ran from the house and snatched her daughter from the ground before she could retrieve the ball. The child shrieked and beat her legs angrily.

  ‘No touch! Dirty man; dirty ball!’ the mother scolded. She banged the door of the house, leaving the ball unclaimed on the road. No one would want it now he had made it unclean.

  With a resigned sigh, Peri bent down and picked it up. ‘Think Rosie would like this?’ he asked Fletch. ‘I thought so.’ He pocketed the ball and carried on down the street.

  He reached the building site a little after dawn.

  ‘You’re late,’ grumbled the bondsman left on watch to let him enter the enclosure.

  Peri decided not to reply. The fact that he’d had to wait for the baths to open had not been considered when this job was handed out last night.

  ‘Crows are making a real mess,’ the bondsman continued. ‘The master-masons won’t touch anything they’ve crapped on, so Muggins has to clean up the whole time. Waste of my blinking time.’

  Peri began to relax: it was clear that the grouchy bondsman moaned about everything, not just his time keeping, so it no longer seemed personal.

  ‘Filthy critters nest up in the elm trees. Can’t cut them down because the jettan says they’re special. Look like any other blinking tree to me, not that anyone asks me nothing. Your bird get rid of them?’ The old bondsman’s rheumy eyes flickered nervously to the goshawk.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘About blinking time.’ The bondsman conducted him into the forecourt of the palace. The white stone walls were already up, pierced by scores of empty arched windows, insubstantial like a dandelion seed head—one puff and parts of the building would float away, thought Peri.

  ‘Don’t talk much, do you?’ grunted the bondsman.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Suit yourself. The crows hang around here too, sitting on those ledges. Got to get rid of them because the jettan is expecting some foreign muckety-muck to come and do the glass for them and we can’t expect a foreigner to touch our crow-crap, can we?’ The bondsman chuckled. ‘Ruddy madness: kitting out an expedition to some heathen land. Cost a fortune, they say. Bringing back glassmakers and fancy woodworkers to do the finishing work when there’re queues at the soup kitchens and people going hungry. Jettan Kirn thinks to impress the Master with his original design, bull’s blood!’

  ‘What’s your name, sir?’ Peri asked, intrigued by this outspoken man.

  ‘Muggins.’

  ‘No, really.’

  The old man gave a lopsided grin, a couple of teeth missing. ‘Mikel. And you?’

  ‘They call me Peri.’

  ‘Daft name.’

  ‘It’s short for peregrine. Somehow, my birth name didn’t stick. No one uses it now.’

  ‘So you moulted it and got yourself a nickname?’

  Peri nodded, surveying the crows’ nests high in the leafy elm. ‘You could put it like that.’

  Mikel hooked his thumbs in his leather belt. ‘You’re all right for one of them scavengers.’

  ‘You’re all right for one of them bondsmen,’ replied Peri, tugging the falconer’s knot on the jesses to release Fletch for the hunt.

  Shard 3

  Blood Red

  The Magharnan ambassador came to see Torrent’s workshop the day after the discussion with Rain’s cousins. His arrival was heralded by no less a person than the Prime Minister Melletin.

  ‘Master Glassmaker, you do not mind this intrusion?’ asked Melletin jovially, striding into the forge. In his mid forties, the Prime Minister still carried himself like a fighter, his arms brawny and hands calloused in contrast to his fine clothing of belted silken tunic and loose trousers of forest green. His wiry red hair was constrained by a smart velvet cap and feather; his beard close-clipped to his chin. He never stood on ceremony and was frequently to be glimpsed around the capital, keeping in touch with the traders, farmers, and craftsmen.

  From her sunny corner by the window which she shared with the family cat, Rain snapped the thread on the shirt she was mending, tidying her work away. It wasn’t every day that one of the most notable people in the land came calling. As a close friend of the King, Melletin had shared Ramil’s struggle out of the slave pits to seize control of Holt from its ruthless emperor, Fergox Spearthrower, and served him in government ever since.

  ‘Of course not, my lord. You do me a great honour.’ Torrent bowed, followed by all his apprentices. Rain stood and dipped a curtsey though she doubted anyone could see her.

  Three people followed the prime minister into the workshop: a stately looking man with a cobweb scarlet cloak, a woman dressed in a feminine version of the same attire, and lastly, an energetic lady with long dark hair and mischievous eyes in a tunic and loose trousers like Melle
tin’s only in sizzling orange. She wasted no second taking in everyone and everything, including Rain, with her shrewd gaze.

  ‘May I introduce our guests, Ambassador Lintir and his wife, Jettana Mina, and of course my own wife, Yelena,’ said Melletin.

  Rain studied the latter with particular interest: Yelena was as famous as her husband, having served for many years as foreign minister, and another ally of the King and Queen. She had been an impressive fighter during the rebellion, but after bearing four children, her activities had toned down slightly. She now only bested her husband in every other sword match.

  ‘Please,’ Torrent ushered his guests in. ‘Nettle, Unis, bring our guests some chairs.’

  Melletin waved the offer away. ‘We won’t be staying long. Ambassador, as you’ve seen up at the temple, Master Torrent is without doubt the most gifted glass-maker in our land.’

  The ambassador looked down his long beaklike nose at the craftsman. ‘He designed the windows?’ he asked, using the Common tongue but with an unfamiliar accent that broadened and flattened the vowels.

  ‘Well, yes, I—’ began Torrent.

  Melletin held up a hand. ‘I’m very sorry, Master Torrent, but the ambassador is prevented by the customs of his country from talking directly to someone of a different class. To him it is as if you speak in a tongue he cannot understand.’

  Even if he can speak the language? How silly, thought Rain. She then noticed with amusement that Foreign Minister Yelena had raised a disgusted eyebrow, but fortunately for diplomatic relations she refrained from passing comment on the traditions of other nations.

  Torrent flushed. ‘Well, in that case, perhaps you could tell the visitor that my workshop is indeed responsible for the windows he saw.’

  Melletin began the laborious process of acting as translator between the two, repeating everything Torrent said about the process of making the stained glass. The ambassador’s wife stood back, her attention wandering as she eyed the stunning collection of blown glass on display.

  ‘How perfect,’ she exclaimed, running her finger over a vase. ‘Such a shame it would not survive the journey home.’

  As Yelena joined her to admire the pieces on the shelf, Rain’s cat got up from his spot on the windowsill and stretched luxuriously. Jumping down and rubbing on Rain’s ankles, he went off in search of new people to pet. Scraping himself against Yelena’s legs earned him a rub of his head, venturing to touch the ambassadress produced a shriek.

  ‘Get it away from me!’ the woman shouted, leaping back against the shelf. The vase she had admired wobbled and tumbled to the floor, smashing into hundreds of shards. The Magharnan paid no heed, flailing with her skirts to shoo the animal away. Yelena rushed to steady the rocking shelf; Rain darted into the fray and scooped up the startled cat, cradling him to her chest.

  The ambassador hurried to his wife’s side. ‘What happened, my dear?’

  She held out a hand. ‘Keep away—I’m unclean—that carrion-eater contaminated me!’

  The ambassador shuddered. ‘Water! Fetch water for my wife!’

  Bemused, Nettle ran to obey.

  ‘What’s wrong, your excellency?’ asked Melletin, glancing at Rain, thinking perhaps she had been the culprit.

  ‘The cat,’ spluttered the ambassador. ‘We cannot touch hunting beasts or those that eat that which is already dead.’

  Rain buried her face in the sweet smelling coat of the family tabby. It was remarkable that any culture could deprive itself of the pleasure of stroking such soft fur.

  ‘I’m sorry for the mistake. I will send my men ahead in future to make sure all such creatures are cleared from the houses you visit.’ Melletin gave Rain a commiserating smile. ‘Young lady, perhaps you could make the unfortunate offender disappear?’

  She bit her lip to hide a grin and whisked the cat away to the kitchen where she shut him in with a piece of dried fish. When she returned to the workshop, she found the ambassadress’s servants bathing her ankles and a new robe replacing the old, which had been flung into a corner for disposal.

  ‘We will pay for the breakage, Master Torrent,’ Yelena said sweetly, ‘as it was our lack of foresight that caused the accident.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’ Rain’s father looked quite harassed by all that had happened, his hair up on end where he had run his fingers through it.

  The ambassador had calmed now he understood that no insult had been meant to his wife. ‘Please tell Master Torrent that I wish him to send one of his best men from this workshop to survey the summer place in Rolvint and design windows suiting its exceptional location. Speed is essential as it must be completed by mid-year’s day. We are prepared to pay six thousand of your gold rams for his services.’

  Six thousand! Rain almost swooned at the sum stated: it was as much as the workshop earned in a year.

  Torrent pulled at the collar of his shirt. ‘That is very generous.’

  ‘Tell him that his man can travel with my delegation. We are returning next week, taking passage from a port in Kandar. The entire journey takes around a month and we can expect to arrive back in Rolvint before the beginning of winter. That will give him six months to complete the commission.’

  ‘Please ask the ambassador how many windows and of what size.’

  ‘Sixteen, and each of a size to match those in Queen Taoshira’s temple.’

  Torrent shook his head. ‘It can’t be done so quickly.’

  ‘It must be done,’ the ambassador addressed Melletin. ‘The Master demands it. All we require are the designs. I have hundreds of glassworkers to put on this task once the plans are agreed.’

  The prime minister turned to his craftsman. ‘Master Torrent, this would be a wonderful beginning for our trading relationship. All of us will be in your debt.’

  ‘Can you not just order him to do it?’ asked the ambassador disdainfully.

  ‘Things don’t work like that round here,’ replied Melletin, a glint of humour in his eye. ‘I don’t want to spark off a riot.’

  ‘At least, not again,’ added Yelena, taking her husband’s arm and patting it. ‘You gave that up eighteen years ago.’

  The pressure in the room for Torrent to agree was immense; Melletin had no need of orders when a dutiful citizen wanted to please him and his King.

  ‘I will send someone,’ Torrent agreed reluctantly. ‘I realize the journey is long, sir, but is it safe?’

  ‘Tell the craftsman that his man will be well protected, travelling with my guard at all times,’ the ambassador said stiffly. ‘I have many rich goods to bring back with me; I will take no risks.’

  ‘Is that acceptable, Master Torrent?’ asked Melletin.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

  A week after the Magharnans’ visit, the agreement had been sealed by contract and an instalment of a thousand gold rams paid. Torrent stacked the money on his desk, head in his hands.

  ‘What do I do, Rain?’ he asked his daughter. ‘Do you think any of our apprentices are up to the task?’

  They both knew the answer: no.

  He handed her the personal letter from King Ramil, congratulating Torrent for being the first craftsman to begin trading with the new ally.

  ‘Much rides on your endeavours,’ the King had written. ‘All of us rely on you to give our goods and services the highest reputation in Magharna.’

  Rain’s resolve had been building since the visit of the ambassador. The answer was obvious: the designs for the Queen’s temple were complete now; all that remained was for her father to make them.

  ‘I’ll go, Papa.’

  ‘That’s impossible, Rain. The guild would never allow it.’

  ‘The guild need not know. I can accompany someone we trust, let them take the credit for the work.’

  Torrent pushed over a pile of coins. ‘We don’t need this, you know.’

  ‘But our country does. You’ve read the King’s letter. And besides, I’d be travelling with the ambassador’s party;
he promised it would be safe. I’d like to do it.’

  She could see that he was still far from convinced. She had to come up with some more arguments, even if they weren’t strictly true.

  ‘I’m a little bored with Tigral, Papa, and I’m ready to see new countries. Didn’t you travel as a journeyman at my age?’

  ‘That’s different: it’s part of a glassmaker’s training.’

  ‘So this can be part of mine. Think of all the new ideas I’ll discover, new patterns: we can start a fashion for Magharnan ware when I come back.’

  He took her hand and pulled her closer. ‘So you’re fed up with your old father?’

  ‘No! But that doesn’t mean I don’t also want to take the chances I’m given.’ She had started the conversation arguing against her own inclination, but now, as she imagined the new places and people she would see, excitement unfurled inside her. ‘These Magharnans are so different from us: their capital city must be fascinating.’

  ‘I don’t know—’

  ‘Who can we trust to go with me?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Very. A little adventure before I settle down to the rest of my life in Tigral.’

  He stood up to pace his study. ‘It will have to be one of the cousins, I suppose. But how can you travel with him on your own?’

  ‘She’ll have to marry one of us,’ said Timber.

  Rain swivelled round quickly to see Timber and Shadow in the doorway. She had been so absorbed by her discussion with her father that she had not noticed their arrival, but, predictably, they’d rushed over as soon as they heard about the delivery of the Magharnan gold.

  ‘She’s too young,’ protested Torrent.

  ‘A formal betrothal then. That should quiet the malicious tongues. We can dissolve it on our return if our lovely cousin should still be averse to the match.’

  Timber was talking as if she was going to be tied to both of them.

  ‘Which one of you will it be?’ she asked, her spine creeping at the thought.

  The two cousins shared a look between them.

  ‘Fancy a jaunt to Magharna, brother?’ Timber enquired.