Aeromancer

by Don Callander

  “I offer you for sale of term contract... Talabar the Tailor, a superior craftsman in the designing and fabrication of sturdy yet fashionable wool, silk, and cotton clothing! Talabar was one of the Sultan’s court’s most eagerly sought after artisans of the needle, scissors, and cloths, but he unfortunately—for himself—fell afoul of unpaid debts which required him to offer his services as an indentured servant by order of His Calm Supremacy, our beloved Sultan Trobuk.”

  Talabar the Tailor walked to the center of the circle beside Elder Burnt, where he bowed deeply to all sides, smiled confidently, and nodded to several people he recognized in the gathering.

  There was a smattering of applause

  “Indenture is for three full years or until outstanding debt is paid in full,” droned the Elder. “Materials not included. Tools furnished by the craftsman. Here’s a bargain, my dear sirs! I will begin the bidding at five hundred silver dinari....”

  Hearing the tailor’s high asking price, some in the gathering moved away from the ring, shaking their heads. A surprisingly large number, however, pressed closer, listening closely, asking questions, and fingering their purses thoughtfully.

  “A good tailor is worth his price in prestige alone,” Burnt was chanting loudly. “He can clothe you and your whole family fit for the Sultan’s court when you go to pay your respects or bring important petitions. Master Talabar knows the time-honored secrets of sewing hidden seams and cutting perfect, comfortable pantaloons, dear sirs! Not just a bargain but a true indication of his owner’s taste, elegance, and wealth. The Opening bid is ... five hundred dinari!”

  The crowd murmured for a moment and then an elegantly dressed young man raised his hand and bid five hundred dinari.

  “Ah, a worthy bidder, who values quality of cloth, style, and cut, offers five hundred. Will someone offer five hundred and ten dinari?” the Slave Dealer asked gravely, bowing respectfully to the bidder.

  “Five hundred!” repeated the auction bookkeeper, quickly jotting the bid in a ledger.

  An older man raised both hands, fingers spread.

  “The good Emir Sheoom bids five hundred and ten!’’ cried the Elder at once. “Anyone? Who will bid five-and-twenty?”

  The bidding was lively for several minutes, but the elegant young courtier—certainly from one of the noble coastal families, not a rugged desert tribesman, Myrn decided—closed the deal with a final bid of six hundred and twenty dinari.

  “Going to the young gentleman from ... Port of Samarca, isn’t it? Yes! Going once ... and twice ... and a final time ... Sold!” intoned Burnt shrilly, clapping his hands to close the bidding.

  The buyer nodded and moved to the cashier’s table to lay down his money. The tailor, grinning both with pleasure and some relief, stepped forward and bowed to his new master.

  “Tailor Talabar ran up a gambling debt of close to four hundred dinari, I overheard,” said a voice close beside Myrn. “The Slave-sellers made a nice profit on him, I see.”

  “Cribblon? What in World are you supposed to be?” Myrn giggling.

  “Douglas thought I’d be more helpful, should something go wrong, if I disguised myself as a caterpillar. Actually, he wanted me to be a butterfly, but I prefer to keep my feet on the ground,” the Aeromancer-caterpillar explained. “There are too many hungry birds in the desert.”

  He was perched on her shoulder, bright green and yellow and black, not far from her left ear.

  “This tailor—he will not be a lifelong slave, then?” Myrn asked him.

  “No ... he’ll serve some months or years to repay his gambling debts. Seems only fair, when he’s overstepped the bounds of sensible play,” replied the caterpillar. “Interesting, nevertheless, isn’t it? I wonder who’ll go on the block next!”

  “What has Douglas done with his Familiar?” the Journeyman Aquamancer asked quietly.

  “Oh, he’s turned Marbleheart into a small, black monkey.” The caterpillar chuckled. “Marbleheart wanted to be a horse, but Douglas advised against it. If you look closely, you’ll see our good Sea Otter perched on that pile of cloth boltings near his Master.”

  Myrn picked out the monkey-who-was-an-Otter among gaily colored bolts of cotton and linen cloth piled near the entrance.

  “He makes a better monkey than a horse, anyway,” she thought aloud, then fell silent as the dour Elder began to announce the next sale—a company of bankrupt tentmakers to serve a long sentence for their accumulated indebtedness.

  Three hours later Elder Burnt called a recess for lunch.

  The crowd moved off to sample the food and drink provided by the Slavers in a shaded clearing by the pool.

  “Hungry?” Myrn asked the many-legged Cribblon.

  “Famished!” admitted the enchanted Journeyman. “We caterpillars dote on tender leaves, of course, and petrified trees only put out stony leaves. What’s for lunch, fair Myrn?”

  “Anything you desire! I don’t suppose we should ask my handsome husband and Marbleheart the Monkey to join us.”

  “Better not! Might make the Slavers unhappy... and Douglas wishes to remain anonymous as long as possible,” advised the caterpillar.

  Myrn moved away to her tent, which was shaded by several of the Stone Tree trunks and was, therefore, relatively cool despite the noontime heat.

  As they were finishing a light meal of mixed green salad and fresh-baked white bread, Marbleheart the Monkey appeared from above, where he’d been swinging from stony tree to tree.

  “I could use a slice of your bread, Mistress,” he said. “And a glass of cold milk would be nice. Should I pretend to beg, do you think?”

  “No, just sit beside me, here,” laughed his Master’s good-wife.

  She spread Blue Teakettle’s crusty white bread with orange marmalade and poured the monkey a cup of milk fresh from the cows at Wizards’ High.

  “What does my husband eat this noontide?” she asked the disguised Otter.

  “Oh, things like spiced goat’s brain and fried bits of something I don’t care to discuss or even think about. These desert nomads prefer heavy foods! Too much spicing for my tummy in this heat! This marmalade’s wonderful—Blue Teakettle’s?”

  “Of course!” replied the Lady Aquamancer. “And some coconut ice cream to come, when you finish the marmalade sandwiches.”

  “Coconuts? From Waterand Island, I’d guess,” crowed Marbleheart happily. “Yummm!”

  A smiling group of lightly clad girls were set to dancing once the noon break was over. Four young men provided flute and drum music with a distinctively suggestive beat.

  Burnt was replaced now as auctioneer by his young assistant, Brint, who had a more lively style of patter as he pointed out the charms and talents of the dancers.

  “Musicians included!” he sang out. “Guar-an-teed! Sold as a set. Fresh from the far Southeast, Sirs! Beginning bid . .. fifteen hundred dinari! A bargain, my dear sirs!”

  “These are not the same as the indentured workers,” observed the caterpillar dryly. “They’re to be sold outright, I understand.”

  “Not my favorite thing, slavery,” Myrn commented sourly. “I can perhaps understand indenturing for foolishly piled-up debts. But these poor little girls deserve better than a lifetime of slavery, don’t you think?”

  “You’ll have to ask the girls, I guess,” sighed the Journeyman Aeromancer, shrugging his three front-most pairs of shoulders. “They don’t seem to be too distraught.”

  “When are you to go into the circle... do you know?” Marbleheart asked.

  “Nobody’s told me a thing.”

  “They’re probably saving you for the climax of the show,” the Otter-Monkey decided. “I’ll go and see if Douglas has any news on it. He’ll want to know if you still intend to follow your plan, Myrn.”

  Myrn confirmed her plan, slightly modified by what she had seen that morning.

  Marbleheart shook his head.

  “It might work. We’ll stand by in case it doesn’t, of course. You reali
ze that one pass, one gesture, one helpful spell from Douglas might keep you from achieving Mastery... or is it Mistress-y?”

  “I’m aware of it.” Myrn sighed. “Tell my loving husband that he’s not to interfere with magic, unless it’s a matter of death or dire injury. He’ll understand.”

  “Understand, maybe,” sniffed the Monkey, “but he’ll not like it, I assure you.”

  “If things fall apart,” put in the Air Adept-caterpillar, “Marbleheart and I are prepared to step in to help you, Myrn. That’s allowed under Flarman’s rules.”

  “Thank you, sweethearts! I hope and believe I can take care of myself. Don’t either of you do anything unless I ask, please.”

  Marbleheart patted her gently on the cheek with a soft paw and leaped to catch the edge of the tent roof, swinging his lithe monkey body up onto the canvas.

  He disappeared in the direction of his Master.

  In the ring in the center of the tent the dancing troupe bowed, the crowd applauded enthusiastically, and the auctioneer called for opening bids. Action was lively for a while. Nobody noticed a black-furred monkey settling on the red-and-white-clad young man’s shoulder and chattering excitedly in his ear.

  Two experienced midwives, several expert cooks, a physician condemned for malpractice, four experienced well-diggers, an old man who made scented soaps, and a number of young serving girls and boys followed the dancers ... the latter group too young to have any real talents other than strong backs to offer a new master.

  They all were quickly sold and went off with their purchasers, looking quite pleased with the results, and grateful to the Slavers as well. Not a few wept to say good-bye to their sellers.

  Myrn, meanwhile, studied the buyers and consulted with several of the Traders’ wives and daughters as they attended the female slaves, applying cosmetics and serving cool drinks to them or combing their hair and arranging their clothing, which was a nice mixture of modesty and enticement.

  “That one ... Harroun? You say he’s from the foothills of the Darkest Mountains?” she asked a young Trader lass who was helping her arrange her hair.

  “A bit old for you, if I may say so, dearie. He seeks such as you for his son, who’s nearing marriage age, I hear.”

  “He’s been looking at me all afternoon,” Myrn said thoughtfully. “I think he’s planning to bid once I go into the circle.”

  “You could do worse,” offered the girl with a shrug. “Much worse! Although mind you, I wouldn’t want to live that near to the dangerous mountains. I prefer our nice, clean, level desert myself... if I can’t have a rich coastal town.”

  “You fear the uplands, then?” Myrn asked.

  “Not the mountains so much, but what lies beyond. Ebony Sea! There are terrifying and wicked... things along that shore, I’ve been told. By those who should know!”

  She actually knew little more than that, Myrn found.

  During a coffee break in mid-afternoon, Trader Brint came looking for Myrn.

  “You’ll go into the circle next... after coffee and cakes,” he told her. “Step up when I call you, walk straight, and stand modestly in the center of yon circle with your eyes downcast. Unless I—or a customer—should speak to you, say nothing. Understand me, my girl? I’ll attempt to get the very best place for you. We’ll start you quite high. Any questions?”

  “I want that older man—Harroun, I believe his name to be—so see if you can arrange that, please,” Myrn told him.

  Brint stroked his bearded chin, scratched at his rather hawklike nose, and shook his head.

  “Can’t promise, mistress! Harroun Sheik is a good old sort, but not all that wealthy. He may bid—I’ve seen his eyes on you, too—but some of the coastal lordlings could overbid him without really trying.”

  “Start me in his direction if you can manage it,” Myrn insisted. “Leave the outcome to me!”

  “I don’t agree with old Brother Burnt,” Brint added as he turned away. “He pooh-poohed your powers and value from the first. He doesn’t want me to mention your claim to being a witch.”

  “Wizard,” Myrn corrected him sharply. “Look you, Trader! I need two things out of all this: to have a chance to talk to this Harroun at some length, and to travel to and over the Darkest Mountains, if he can be persuaded to take me home with him.”

  “I don’t pretend to understand any of this.” Brint sighed, then shook his head. “But if I can help you, Mistress, you may count on me.”

  “I ask no more,” said Myrn, giving him a smile and a quick wave as he left.

  “Time to resume,” young Brint grunted, coloring brightly. “Be ready!”

  “She’s up next,” Marbleheart-monkey chattered in Douglas’s left ear. “See that old countryman dressed in dusty dark green and dirty yellow? The one with the three-foot ostrich feather in his turban? He’s the one, Myrn says. He lives nearest where we think Serenit’s held. If she goes east as part of this Sheik’s entourage, she thinks, she’ll travel well hidden from the kidnappers’ eyes and spies.”

  “Not bad thinking,” Douglas agreed, nodding. “Well, she’s nearly a full Wizard and has always been quick to catch on to such matters. Try as I might, I can’t detect a trace of our poor First Citizen closer than just somewhere to the east. And there’s the problem of this King Priad and his people to which I’m supposed to address myself.”

  “Myrn says not to worry,” continued Marbleheart. “Do you want me here, Douglas, or should I go to Myrn? With Myrn, I should say.”

  “Just so,” said Douglas, shaking his head uneasily. “Stick to my dear Aquamantic wife, Familiar! And let me know exactly what I can do for her as quickly as Otter legs can carry news. Or monkey legs, for that matter.”

  “Have no doubts about that!” cried the Monkey-Otter, and he was off once more over the hot tent tops.

  “A most beautiful, talented, healthy, black-haired, green eyed wench, good sirs! A true bargain, for she is a trained Magicker... actually a practicing Aquamancer from the mysterious, far-off isles of Warm Seas! This one would be highly valuable on the desert, finding water in hidden wells deep under the sand,” bawled Brint, enthusiastically waving both hands and gesturing at Myrn as she stepped into the circle.

  She stood, smiling slightly, eyes looking boldly forward, despite the Slave Trader’s instructions, and at once caught the elderly sheik’s gaze. He blinked in surprise. Myrn smiled warmly and nodded to him.

  “A true bargain!” continued Brint, missing the byplay completely. “Beauty and skill in one very neat package, sirs! I invite your closest examination before you hear my starting price. Come forward and satisfy yourselves she is a bargain without equal at any price. I present to you ... Myrn of Flowring Island, Water Adept!”

  The crowd, most of them simply out of curiosity, edged forward to look more closely at the item for sale. They walked all about her, carefully noting her size and shape. A few asked Myrn questions, politely and quietly.

  Douglas came close and smiled at her, but said nothing.

  “Where is this Flowring Isle, sweetness?” asked one of the Seacoast dandies. “Don’t believe I’ve ever heard of it.”

  “Three days’ sail north and west of Waterand Island, my Master’s home,” replied Myrn. “Fourteen days’ sail, I’m told, due west of Samarca. Some of you may have heard of our large and perfect pearls and our blue corals, sir. We’re famous for supplying them to both East and West.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Harroun, speaking for the first time, although he had been examining her as closely as any. “You young bucks won’t remember, but there was a time in my great-great-grandfather’s youth when rare Flowring pearls were much in demand. Most beautiful, too!”

  “Are you thinking of bidding on this beauty?” asked the young Port dandy who had earlier purchased the tailor’s indenture. “A bit of comfort for your old age, eh?”

  “I seek a suitable first-wife for my only son, rather,” said the desert chieftain gravely. “He’s of marriageable age, you see.�
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  “You should let the boy pick his own first-bride,” snorted the other. “He may not favor a foreign lass like this one. She appeals to me more directly! Name your asking price, Slave Trader! I’m eager to hear how you value this dark-haired enchantress.”

  “All in good time, worthy master,” cried Brint. “Give those in the back a chance to view our offering more closely. Plenty of time for all, sirs!”

  He deftly fended other price inquiries until all the buyers had looked to their heart’s content. Surprisingly, none of the customers asked Myrn to demonstrate any magic spells.

  Myrn stood, meeting their eyes, but smiling mostly at the elderly desert man from the dry foothills of the Darkest Mountains.

  “My lands are broad, but mostly rocky,” Harroun said to Myrn. “We aren’t the richest sheikdom of fair Samarca, by any means. But my only son is quite handsome. I think you’ll like him. He’s kind and well educated, too.”

  “If it were up to me,” Myrn whispered in reply, “I’d go with you immediately, good Harroun. You seem the decent sort to me.”

  “Let us bid!” called the elegant young fop from the coast. “The sun drops toward Sea, as ‘tis. Many of us must return to Balistan tonight, and it’s a longish night ride.”

  “Not for us of the desert,” one of the desert chiefs laughed. “Night is a better time to cross hot sands, young sir.”

  “I prefer daylight for my traveling,” insisted the man from Port of Samarca. “Let the sale begin!”

  Myrn caught her husband’s eye and nodded slightly. Douglas frowned just a bit but said nothing.

  “Well, then ... let us begin at a reasonable figure for this fair jewel of Sea named Myrn. A Water Wizard, remember! Highly trained,” shouted Brint. “For this maid of the Warm Seas I ask ... fifteen hundred dinari!’’