Smiler's Fair: Book I of The Hollow Gods

by Rebecca Levene

  ‘Smells good,’ his mother’s voice said behind his shoulder.

  He managed to squash his surprised start into a small twitch. ‘Not as good as yours, Ma.’

  She managed a tired smile. It sat badly on her bruised face. ‘What a flatterer you’re getting to be. You’ll have the girls eating out of your hand.’

  Silence descended as they waited for his father to return. The sun set outside in its slow winter way, the air chilled despite the fire and the stars were bright in the sky before he finally appeared.

  Krish’s heart lurched and he knew he’d paled, but his father wasn’t looking at him. The older man’s face was more grey than brown and the stubble on his cheeks looked like the symptom of a disease. When Krish’s mother rose to greet him, he grunted a reply but didn’t meet her eyes. She’d been right: he always felt ashamed the day after a beating. He often swore he’d never do it again – it was what Krish despised the most about him. But he’s not really my father, he thought, and for the first time it made him happy. There’s no part of him in me. He gave me no gift, weak or strong, that will burden me for the rest of my life.

  ‘Dinner’s ready, husband,’ his ma said.

  His da shook his head. ‘Not for me. My guts are twisted tonight.’

  Krish fought very hard not to react, mind racing as he wondered how he could get rid of the stew before his mother shared it out between them and killed them both. But then she laid her good hand on his father’s cheek and said, ‘Eat, please. There’s nothing better for a sick man than food in his belly.’

  ‘All right, then. If it’ll please you.’ His father’s thumb rubbed gently against her knuckles as he smiled into her eyes. Krish had to look away from the tender gesture. But he looked back as his father sat and his mother put one, two, three, three ladles and another half of the food into her husband’s bowl.

  Krish sat cross-legged beside the fire with his own bowl in his lap. His mother had given him most of the rest, leaving only the dregs for herself. He put his spoon in, but stopped with it halfway to his mouth. He’d always been sickly and he could feel the winter illness gathering in his chest, shortening his breath and bringing a tight ache that followed him even into sleep. His body was weak and the poison might be enough to finish it off. He hesitated only a moment longer, then took his first mouthful.

  The moss-flower had done its job and disguised the flavour of the berries. The stew tasted good and his father seemed to like it. After a tentative couple of bites he was wolfing it down. His mother saw and flashed a secret smile at Krish, a thanks for his help. He nodded back, his face too stiff to form into a smile.

  The berries started to work far more quickly than he’d expected. He’d thought they might spread their poison while he and his family slept, that he’d wake to find his father gone. But Krish had barely finished his meal before he felt the first stab of pain in his stomach.

  His father felt it too. He put a hand against his belly and frowned, looking up at Krish before doubling over in pain. A moment later Krish too was curled in a ball around the agony in his own gut. Sweet Lady! He hadn’t thought it would hurt so much. He felt as if a burning ember was lodged inside him. If he’d had the strength to reach for a knife he might have used it to try to cut the poison from his stomach.

  He was aware that his mother had crouched down between him and his father, but his eyes didn’t want to focus on her face. She was speaking. He thought she might be asking if he was all right. He shook his head and then groaned as that movement sharpened the pain in his guts. Her hand rested against his shoulder, then was suddenly snatched away, and he wondered if the poison had hit her too.

  He couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about anything. The agony consumed him. There was a blackness on the borders of it, fast approaching. He knew that if he let it, it would take the pain away. It would take him somewhere safe, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to return. Though he hadn’t thought he valued his life, he found himself desperately clinging to it. His feverish mind circled round and round, trying to figure out what it was he wanted to stay for, even as he fought with all his strength to stay.

  Time had no meaning. There was only the pain, the darkness and the thin grey light he clung to. It could have been an hour or a week later when his eyes blinked open to the light of the real world and he realised that the pain was gone. There was a terrible smell around him, a mixture of vomit and shit, and he guessed he’d lost control of himself. His clothes felt sticky and foul but his fingers only twitched feebly when he commanded them to move.

  ‘Krish! Krishanjit!’ his mother said, and then she was leaning over him, a shadow blotting out the light.

  ‘Ma,’ he croaked.

  ‘Oh, thank the gods.’ A droplet of water fell on his cheek.

  ‘Da?’ he asked.

  She didn’t reply and he could hear that she was sobbing. He forced his arm to push him from his back to his side. His head flopped so that his cheek pressed against the goatskin rug. The musky smell of it was in his nose as his eyes focused on his father’s body, lying on the opposite side of the rug. It was wrapped in a blanket. Maybe his mother had wanted to keep him warm, but why had she covered his eyes? Krish’s mind fuzzily mulled over the puzzle as he felt his mother pressing something wet against his face.

  Oh, he thought at last. My father isn’t breathing. She’s covered his face because he’s dead. It will stay covered until he’s lying under the rocks of his cairn, so that his spirit can’t escape to wander the world of the living. Krish found that he had just enough strength left to smile.

  8

  Eric whistled as he walked. He hadn’t realised how noisy Smiler’s Fair was, or how much he missed the constant, comforting racket, until he was away from it. Here in the white forest there was only a haunted silence. The trees had been stunted in life and in death they were diminished even further, their leaves centuries gone and their branches dripping with the persistent rain. In places they’d been chopped down to clear land for farming, but Lahiru’s lordship seemed sparsely populated. Here and there, the caravans of the landborn sat in their fields, and the few people stopped to stare as Eric passed. Travellers couldn’t be common in these parts, near the western edge of the Ashane lowlands. Or perhaps it was his fair skin and golden hair that drew their eyes. He was a stranger here and he felt it.

  He reckoned he was only an hour’s travel from Smallwood itself if he kept up his earlier pace, but he found he’d been dawdling more and more as he approached his actual meeting with Lahiru. It had seemed such a fine idea when he’d set out from Smiler’s Fair nearly two days ago. A night spent shivering under his coat as he tried to sleep through the long dark had lessened his enthusiasm somewhat. His home was travelling further and further away from him as he walked in the opposite direction. And what if Lahiru didn’t want him? The other man had said as much, hadn’t he? It won’t do, he’d said. I wish it could, but it won’t. Why hadn’t Eric remembered that before he’d set out?

  Well, he wasn’t getting anywhere just standing around. Better to get the unpleasantness done with and then move on. His legs were stiff from the walking and they ached as he strode off. He wasn’t made for heavy work and long trudging; it was why he’d run away from his own folk in the first place. He was more suited to bed-sports. A lovely memory of the last evening with Lahiru came to him, the other man’s back arched as his pleasure crested, and Eric felt a little cheered. They’d had fun, hadn’t they? Why wouldn’t Lahiru want some more of that?

  At first he took the bumps on the horizon for more caravans. But then he drew closer, they grew taller and he saw them for what they were: the towers of the shipfort. The lake on which it floated came into view soon after. Its waters looked murky and the shore was nothing but churned mud. He soon saw why when the ice mammoths came into view, straining in their traces as they pulled the shipfort on its circuit of the lake.

  It seemed a terrible waste, those poor creatures trudging endlessly
on a path that went nowhere. At least the mammoths and horses and whatnot that pulled Smiler’s Fair were heading somewhere new and got a break when they reached it. The fair travelled a circle as big as the world. The Ashane gentry named themselves shipborn, but their ships only sailed back to the beginning. No wonder the Fourteen Tribes called them the sit-still people.

  The lake was little more than a pond, only a couple of hundred paces across. It was amazing these particular mammoths didn’t get dizzy. When Eric had pictured Lahiru’s home, he’d imagined it bigger, more a palace than this little mansion huddled on its platform. Weren’t toffs supposed to be grander than ordinary folk?

  Eric was still gawping at the place like the worst sort of cully when the guard came up to him. He was a bald-headed man who seemed like he enjoyed frowning, and his leather armour didn’t look as if it fitted him all that well. ‘You have business here, boy?’ he asked.

  Eric sucked in his chest and raised his shoulders. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘I’m a mate of Lord Lahiru’s, ain’t I? His lordship invited me on a visit.’ Behind his back, Eric spread his fingers in the sign for luck.

  ‘A friend of Lord Lahiru’s? I suppose you studied under the same swordmaster.’

  Eric grinned. ‘You could say that.’ He saw the soldier’s hand easing towards his own sword and added, ‘Look at it this way: if I’m lying and you take me inside, you and your mates can rough me up proper. But if I’m telling the truth, it’s you what’s going to get a beating if you don’t let me in.’

  The soldier shook his head and Eric’s heart sank, but then he sighed. ‘All right, boy. But believe me, a beating will be the least of it if you’re lying.’

  ‘Fair play. Lead on then, mate.’

  The mammoths turned their great hairy heads to watch him as he passed. Eric tipped them a wink and one of them huffed out a cloud of steamy breath. The bridge itself was narrow and it creaked when he stepped on it. He looked uneasily at the water below. It was too murky to see the bottom but no doubt it was deep enough. He’d never learned to swim and he wouldn’t lay odds on the soldier diving in after him if he fell.

  Smallwood was even more disappointing close up. He’d pictured bright banners snapping in the wind, high battlements and walls thicker than a man was tall. In reality it looked like someone had taken a few houses from Smiler’s Fair and thrown them on a raft. The place was made from the dead white wood of the surrounding forest, and some of it looked in need of a good hammer and nailing. The rightmost tower listed perilously towards the water and he could see gaping holes where windows had been broken and never replaced. Lahiru had said he was poor but Eric had thought that noble modesty. Apparently not.

  As they drew nearer to the gate, his heart began to pound. Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t taken beatings before; some of his clients liked it rough. And at least he’d know. He looked at the bleached wood beneath him as the soldier pounded on the door.

  There was a short wait and then it was flung open. Lahiru stood on the other side. He was flushed and short of breath, as if he’d run. He and Eric stared at each other for a moment, until the other man’s face broke into a broad smile.

  Eric smiled tentatively back. The expression felt as fragile as his hope. ‘I told your bruiser here I was a mate of yours.’

  ‘And so he is, Janith. You did well to check, but you may go about your duties now.’ Lahiru clapped the guard on the shoulder. The man’s expression had changed from dubious to baffled, but he nodded at his lord and turned on his heel to march back across the bridge.

  There was another, longer silence as they looked at each other. Eric felt more eyes than Lahiru’s on him. He knew curious gazes were studying him from the broken windows above, and he kept his voice low as he finally said, ‘I know you told me not to come. I give it some thought, honest. But I reckoned I had to … I don’t know. I had to see if you really meant it.’

  ‘I did mean it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Eric started to turn away, until Lahiru’s palm cupped his face and turned it back towards him.

  ‘It won’t be easy. But when I heard Smiler’s Fair had moved on … With Nethmi gone I haven’t a friend in the world. I can’t lose you too, Eric. We’ll just have to break the rules and write them fresh.’

  Eric looked round his new room in wonder, then fell backwards on to the bed. It bounced him up and down twice before he came to rest in the centre of its softness. He spread his arms wide and looked at the ceiling, which was painted with a picture of the Ashane’s Lady sitting in the centre of one of her storms. Was this real? He supposed it must be. He could have dreamed this last part, but he’d never have put sleeping under a tree or that nasty guard into his fantasy.

  Before leaving him here to attend to some lordly business or other, Lahiru had said Eric was to prepare himself for supper, when he’d be introduced to the rest of the household. Reluctantly, he got back up from the mattress and did a circuit of the room. On the far wall, a window gave a view of the lake as the sun sank beyond it. Shadowed and tinted red by the dying light it looked a whole lot more romantic than it had earlier.

  To one side of the window there was a large wardrobe. Wooden snakes curled round its door handles, ivory tongues pointing out of their mouths. Eric touched them a little gingerly as he pulled open the door.

  Now that was more like it. The inside was stuffed with clothes: fine linens and silks from the Eternal Empire and wool as thin as the silk. He pulled out a delicate bone torc and snorted. It was all very fine and dandy, but he’d look as out of place wearing it as a goose in a cloak. He didn’t want people thinking he was putting on airs.

  He inspected himself in the mirror on the inside of the door. No, that wouldn’t do either, would it? Apart from the fact that he was spattered in mud and worse, his shirt was covered in frills and the buttons only went to his navel, leaving it to gape open over his smooth chest. His fair, curly hair was sadly in need of a comb and a wash and his trousers were tight over his crotch. Got to advertise the wares, haven’t you? He looked like a whore. ‘And you are one, Eric,’ he reminded his reflection. ‘You don’t get nowhere forgetting your place.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ a voice said behind him.

  Eric felt like his skin jumped a second behind the rest of him as he spun to face the intruder. He was a tiny man, with the usual brown skin and brown hair of Ashanesland, only the skin was somehow too tight over his bones and his hair was so thick it looked as if it was trying to swallow his head. He was holding a pile of cloth in his arms and bowed as Eric studied him.

  ‘Lord Lahiru sent me to bring you some clothes, as I gather you’ve been travelling light.’

  There was no hint of sarcasm in his tone and Eric could only nod dumbly as the clothes were laid out on the bed for him: a white, austere shirt, far less whorish, and nice embroidered blue and green trousers, colours he knew the Ashane favoured and which had always suited him. There was other stuff too that he’d need to figure out as he put it on.

  ‘My lord thought you might also appreciate a chance to wash,’ the little man said, then turned and snapped his fingers before Eric could reply. The door swung open and four young men entered, bearing a huge bowl between them. As they set it down, a trickle of water sloshed over the side and a waft of steam rose above it. Madam Aeronwen had a bath to herself, but she never let her boys and girls use it.

  ‘That’ll be a proper treat,’ Eric said. ‘Thanks.’

  The little man nodded and Eric expected him to withdraw but he and all four young men stayed.

  ‘Would sir like some help undressing?’ the servant asked after a moment.

  ‘No! No. That’ll be fine.’

  They still didn’t go, so he turned his back on them as he slipped out of his grubby clothes. It wasn’t as if he was modest, but a boy didn’t like to get naked with a whole bunch of strangers he wasn’t going to shag.

  It was worth it, though, for when he slipped into the wat
er. He was a little nervous at first. What if he drowned? But the water wasn’t that deep, and when the four young men moved to wash him with lavender-scented soap, even scrubbing the grubbiness out of his ears, he let them. So this was what it was to be pampered. He reckoned he could grow used to it.

  After that, he let himself be dressed in the fine linen shirt and a silk jacket above it. They even tied his shoes for him, kneeling at his feet. He thought about making a lewd remark, but didn’t. Lahiru would like him to act respectable, he was sure.

  The clothes felt itchier and more uncomfortable than those he was used to. When he turned to inspect himself in the mirror, a stranger faced him, a right little nob. He smiled and the stranger smiled back.

  ‘Are you ready, sir?’ the little man asked as, somewhere outside the room, a bell rang.

  ‘As I’ll ever be, mate. Lead on.’

  The little man bowed as he held the door open, then gestured to the left along the wooden corridor. A strong wind blew outside and Smallwood was bobbing violently on the water, making walking in a straight line a challenge. Eric wasn’t sure he liked the motion, but he supposed he’d get used to it. Shame it made him feel so sick, though. He expected the dinner to come would be a lot better than he was used to.

  He didn’t need to ask which was the dining hall. He could hear the sound of voices and the clatter of crockery inside, but he hesitated at the door, suddenly shy. There seemed to be an awful lot of people, thirty at least. They were all dressed even more smartly than Eric and the babble of their conversation sounded like the ducks on the lake outside. Servants weaved among them dressed in plain navy with flasks of wine in their hands. Eric couldn’t help feeling he should be joining them, not the diners.

  ‘You’re to sit beside Lord Lahiru,’ the little man said, nodding to the furthest table, raised a little above the others on a pedestal.

  Eric squared his shoulders and strode towards it, determined to act like he belonged. Still, the weight of all the glances that fell on him as he walked slumped his shoulders a little, until he caught Lahiru’s eye and the other man smiled at him. Then he lifted his chin and crossed the rest of the distance as if he was being carried on a cloud.