He loved seeing the quarries, but after getting away from the ones that hosted the sightseers, he found the way the donkeys were loaded very disturbing. They were hardy and tough but they were also very small. Often they were loaded until they struggled along. Seeing unskilled, heavy riders bouncing on their backs was even worse. Once or twice Borsen tried to protest the treatment of the animals, but his inability to speak Baramban gave the listeners the opportunity to act as if they didn’t comprehend his gestures, shrugging dramatically and turning away.
Borsen knew from the family’s experience in Fambré that too much protest would not help matters for the donkeys and could bring danger his way. He tried to content himself by showing Boss a wonderful time. His success was underscored by the animal’s unswerving devotion.
“I think we’ll go to the quarry where they cut the yellow marble with gold veining,” he told Boss as the animal inspected his pockets, knowing one of them would hold sugar. “Then that will be the end of quarries. There aren’t any others close enough to visit from here. I do want to go to some of the workshops. The priest of Grahl arranged for me to visit one when they’re matching slabs of marble. I want to see how that’s done.”
Boss had found the sugar and was pawing the ground, bobbing his head up and down.
“You’re a clever fellow. Here you are.” Borsen held out the sugar cubes. Rather than licking them right up, Boss always nibbled delicately away, taking one at a time.
Soon they were jogging away down the road toward yet another quarry.
A young man emerged from some scrub brush nearby and, as he had done every day for two weeks, immediately rented a donkey and followed at a distance.
The owner of the stable watched and shook his head. People from outside of Barambos were very strange.
***
Dearest Sister Varnia,
My weekly note to you and I hope it finds you happy and well. I am finished my tour of the quarries and am going now to workshops to learn how marble is matched. This is for when my establishment is built. I want to have marble lining the walls in the lobby, maybe bathrooms and other places too. I need to know how it is hung and how they match it, so it looks like one continuos piece.
I am worried about my little donkey friend, Boss. He is so sweet and I hate to think of him being used to haul huge loads of marble or huge people after I’m gone. He’s been a good friend.
I hope you are finding much to see and do in Samorsa. I am expecting to be done here soon and will let you know when I will be there.
Love,
B
***
Willem Robbins shifted his weight in exasperation, then used a focusing technique to calm his temper and went back to watching over Borsen Menders.
The young man had been described to him accurately – small, attractive, prone to fixate on activities for long periods of time. However, no-one had mentioned that he would go into a business and end up taking an apprentice’s tasks on for an afternoon. At the moment, Borsen was in a marble workshop, helping a crowd of swarthy Baramban men match sheets of marble. He didn’t speak a word of Baramban, they didn’t speak a word of Mordanian, but they managed to talk a great deal, with gestures and dumbshow making up for their lack of linguistic expertise.
It was Borsen’s third day of matching marble and Willem was weary of the assignment. Worse, the donkey was wise to him and made attempts to come over and get better acquainted. Willem had taken to carrying a pocketful of Barambos taffy. Tossed to the donkey, it kept him from braying by keeping him busy chewing. All Willem needed was to have to report to Kaymar Shvalz that his cover had been blown by a donkey.
Borsen finally stopped crawling around on the floor of the workshop, peering intently at the slabs of marble as the men shoved and budged them this way and that, then made a great flurry of marking them and storing them away. He left the workshop so quickly that Willem barely managed to take cover. Borsen swung up onto the donkey’s back and they jogged merrily away while Willem scurried to his own hidden rented mount.
***
Borsen slid off Boss’ back and led him toward the rental stable. He hated to say goodbye, but he’d done all he wanted in Barambos and he really needed to move along to Samorsa to join the rest of the family.
Boss had sensed Borsen’s mood and was particularly sweet, leaning his head on Borsen’s shoulder or nuzzling his hair.
“I know, funny fellow,” Borsen murmured to him. “I hate it to end, but I can’t just stay here forever looking at marble.” He rubbed the little animal’s muzzle and then handed the reins to the stable owner, exchanging a few words of thanks.
Willem Robbins watched from behind the stable as Borsen turned and began to walk toward his hotel. He moved to the edge of the road as a carriage rumbled up in a cloud of dust and a group of burly Artreyans, men and women climbed out.
Their idea of speaking to someone who didn’t speak Artreyan was to raise their voices and within seconds, the stable yard was ringing with clamoring voices.
“We want some of the donkeys, the famous ones! Going down to the white cliffs to see the sunset! Got some that don’t trip and fall?”
The stable owner was trying to sort out the four different conversations that were being shouted at once and handed Boss’s reins to a very rotund woman.
“Nice fellow, all ready to go,” he said distractedly before hurrying to the barn to get more donkeys for the sunset party.
“Oooh, how do I get on this animal?” the woman shrieked. Willem realized the entire group was the worse for drink. The woman hauled on the reins. Boss began to bare his teeth and back away.
Willem flinched at the idea of that woman or any of the party getting on the back of the little donkey. She must outweigh Borsen by a hundred pounds and she obviously had no idea how to handle a saddle mount. One of the Artreyan men took the reins and smacked Boss on the neck.
“Come along, you,” he said, hauling the animal toward the mounting block.
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. This is my donkey,” Borsen said, having walked up quietly. He reached around the man and took the reins.
“Here, who are you?” the man said aggressively.
“Prince Fasal of Hetzophia,” Borsen said pleasantly, walking away to the stable door with the donkey trotting anxiously beside him.
Willem shifted his position in time to see Borsen handing over a sum of money to the stable owner, who was staring at him as if he was insane. Then he shrugged and tugged on the reins of three donkeys, leading them over to the sunset party.
Borsen stroked Boss’ nose and then walked away with him toward the hotel.
***
Borsen negotiated a stall for Boss at the hotel livery and then paid a visit to the train station. After considerable argument, during which he said that he’d be more than glad to take the donkey in the private car with him, he acquired a stall in the equine car for saddle mounts. He was leaving Barambos the next day and Boss was going with him.
After removing his marble dust covered clothing and taking a quick bath, Borsen felt no urge to eat dinner. The scene with the drunken Artreyans had upset him terribly. Though he had rescued Boss, he thought sadly of the other donkeys. The idea of that heavy woman heaving herself onto Boss’ back from a mounting block was the stuff of nightmares to a horseman.
He sauntered out of the hotel in the twilight, looking over to where Boss was grazing in the hotel pasture. The donkey sensed his presence and raised his head. Borsen walked over before Boss could begin to bray and disturb the entire hotel.
“Cook always says that pulling one out of the fire is better than letting everything burn,” he said softly to the donkey, who laid his head along Borsen’s arm and closed his eyes. “But I always think of the others. There are so many, all over the world. I can only help a few.”
Boss sighed mightily, making Borsen laugh out loud.
“You’re right, brooding over it isn’t going to help a thing,”
he said. “Let’s go down to the cliffs and have a look at the moonlight on the marble, shall we? Just don’t tell Uncle I rode you bareback with only your halter.”
Willem Robbins swore inwardly as Boss jogged away down the road toward the scenic cliffs and began to cut across country on foot, keeping donkey and rider in sight.
The sun was down completely when Borsen reached the cliffs made up of pure white marble. Both Eirdon’s moons were rising and near full. The cliffs reflected the light exquisitely, giving the surrounding landscape a bluish glow.
“It’s all around us,” Borsen said to Boss as he slid off the donkey’s back and let him graze freely, knowing he would stay nearby. “I don’t know if you can feel it, but marble makes me feel very safe, very protected. It vibrates through my bones.”
Willem watched, sheltered behind a tree, as Borsen looked at the glowing cliffs for several minutes – and then began to sing.
He had a fine, high tenor voice and had obviously been trained well. The language was not familiar to Willem, but he knew Borsen was Thrun.
“Thrunar a’a’ Thrun
Parantela a’ Thrun,
Thanzant camo Tharala,
Tharala a’a’ Thrun.”
As he sang, he began to dance, a slow and steady measure with intricate footwork. Boss looked over at him and then came close, staring at Borsen’s moving feet.
The song began to speed up, as did Borsen’s dancing. Boss, intrigued by this new game, began to circle Borsen, who laughed aloud and encouraged him.
“You can dance,” he told the donkey. “Everything can dance!”
He jumped slightly and the donkey pranced away, then came back curiously. Borsen jumped again, but followed the donkey as he skipped away again. Within moments, the donkey was prancing around, capering with Borsen as he sang.
“Tharala a’a’ Thrun
Thanzant camo Tharala
Parantela a’ Thrun
Thrunar a’a’ Thrun!”
He finished song and dance with arms outstretched, looking at the glowing white cliffs and taking a deep breath. Then he turned to his donkey dancing partner and bowed low.
“I think you were in a circus before you ended up at that rental stable,” he told the animal. “You’re a fine dancer. No, I don’t have any sugar, but we need to go back now to be in time for the second dinner sitting. We’ll walk back, you’ve been ridden enough today.”
What a strange little man, Willem thought, though he was immensely amused. He’s all they briefed me on and more – generous, somewhat impulsive, kind to a fault.
Borsen took hold of Boss’s halter rope and then turned and looked directly at Willem.
“Are you coming with us? The second dinner sitting will be starting in about the time it takes to walk back to my hotel.”
Willem was so stunned that he simply stepped out of the shelter of the tree trunk.
“How long have you known I was there?” he asked abruptly.
“I’ve known you were following me ever since the rest of the family left for Samorsa!” Borsen answered with a laugh.
Willem was speechless.
“Don’t feel bad – I’ve lived with the family for years now and Kaymar taught me everything you know,” Borsen continued. “I’m something of a Menders Man myself, though Katrin doesn’t know and shouldn’t be told. I knew that my uncle and Kaymar would assign someone to watch over me. I’m glad you were there this afternoon when I took this fellow away from those Artreyans. They were just drunk enough to be belligerent but I got away fast enough.”
“Damn!” Willem shook his head. They hadn’t told him that!
“I’m starving. Let’s go, unless you want to go without dinner. And you don’t have to go back to that fleapit you’ve been staying in – there’s an extra room in my suite and then you can travel on to Samorsa with me tomorrow. I’m taking a private carriage. Uncle insisted. You can keep me company.”
Willem found himself hugely enjoying Borsen’s company at dinner and through the next day, when they boarded a private train carriage after settling Boss in his stall.
“I’ll be with the family in Samorsa for three months, but then I’m being sent to The Shadows,” he replied to Borsen’s query as they had an enormous lunch in the carriage.
“Then I think I’ll send Boss back to The Shadows with you,” Borsen explained. “If you agree.”
“Of course. He’s a mild little fellow. I’m sure by the time I’m done in Samorsa we’ll be good friends.”
Borsen nodded, having silenced himself by biting into his fifth drumstick. Willem couldn’t imagine how such a small person could eat so much.
“I don’t want to try to take him into Artreya,” Borsen finally said, picking up his wineglass. “With the situation between Artreya and Mordania unpredictable, I would hate to leave him behind if we left quickly.”
“Understood.”
“You don’t mind nancyboys, do you?” Borsen asked next.
Willem laughed.
“No – if I did I wouldn’t be sitting here. I’m not nancy, but being in Special Services, I know many. The military deliberately recruits them for spy and assassin training, you know.”
Borsen nodded, helping himself to another ladleful of soup.
“Yes, the perception that nancies aren’t family men, all that,” he replied. “So we’ll be friends with no problem. That will be fun in Samorsa, since you’re so close to the ages of the younger set. You won’t have to hide in the weeds.”
“Good,” Willem said with conviction.
***
Menders and Kaymar were standing on the balcony of the family suite at the Casone Brandoza in Saronilla, Samorsa. Borsen was expected and the train had come in a short while ago.
“I’ll be interested in seeing how Willem managed,” Kaymar said, lighting a cigar and exchanging winks with a man passing in the street below. Menders gave him a nudge, disguising laughter.
“Now, now,” Kaymar chortled. “He winked first.”
“Ifor will pound you,” Menders teased.
“He’d have winked too. Wait a minute…”
Kaymar squinted as he looked down the busy street. Menders, knowing his eyes weren’t equal to the task, picked up the binoculars he had ready and began to scan in the direction Kaymar was looking.
“Where?” he asked.
“I’ll be damned.” Kaymar reached for the binoculars, then snorted.
“They’re together!” he snorted. “Borsen caught him. We taught him too well.” He peered again.
“Menders – look, I can’t tell you.” Kaymar burst out laughing and handed the binoculars back to his cousin.
Menders looked.
“Well, it seems we’ve acquired a donkey,” he said dryly.
Saronilla, Samorsa
20
Seven Spices
“T
he Knot of Youthfulness” or “The Knot” for short, as Kaymar had started calling the young people, now a group of five, were making their way through an open air Samorsan market. With Hemmett, Borsen and Willem in attendance they were incredibly free to go about. Katrin went into places she’d never dreamed of – little theatres to see risqué musical shows, tiny restaurants and taverns, strange shops full of spices and exotic dried fruits. They went to the many popular sporting events and yelled themselves hoarse for their chosen competitors.
Now the colors and scents of the market were dazzling them. Somewhere ahead food was cooking, the tantalizing scents making their mouths water.
“Look!” Varnia exclaimed, indicating an enormous tower of dried Samorsan peppers strung on skewers. “Those are the ones Kaymar loves, aren’t they?”
Hemmett blinked as the odor of the peppers reached his nose and eyes.
“I should say. They’re deadly hot just smelling them. Let’s get him some. You mark the spot, Willem, so we can send him back for more.”
The peppers secured, they went on to a spice stall. Katrin was delighted – she lov
ed to learn about spices that could be used in her soaps and perfumes. There were many here she knew nothing about. The woman behind the counter enjoyed telling her the names and letting her sniff each different powder.
Samorsa was very cosmopolitan and most people spoke a smattering of several languages. The Knot was never at a loss to communicate with the widely varied Samorsan people, between Willem’s carefully tutored Military Academy Samorsan, Katrin’s quick ear and Hemmett’s universal language of smiles, winks and bonhomie.
The woman behind the counter was very dark skinned, darker than anyone Katrin had ever seen. She had luxuriant, curly black hair that cascaded exuberantly from its scarf binding. Her lovely black eyes snapped and sparkled as she spoke. She wrapped Katrin’s purchases deftly, using brilliant orange paper that matched her stall’s draperies and roof.
“Where is that cooking smell coming from?” Katrin asked, her stomach growling as she was continually bombarded with savory fragrances.
“That is from the restaurant of my mother,” the woman replied, gesturing. “Chetigré’s it is called. Go there and she will make food for you that uses all these spices. Ask for her Seven Spice Soup!”
“I’m ready to eat my shoes,” Willem said suggestively.
“You would find my mother’s soup much nicer,” the woman replied, her eyes meeting his sassily. She flirted as naturally as she breathed. Willem pretended to fan his face and she laughed heartily before handing him a free sweetbark stick.
“Now I’ve been left out!” Hemmett protested, leaning on the counter, his flirtation mode in full force.
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 20