Cattra's Legacy

by Anna Mackenzie

  Barc led her to the town’s marketplace, where tented stalls were arranged in two straggling rows, the crowd milling between. Most of the vendors were selling vegetables and fruits, one offered crated chickens and eggs, while a few carried a small range of fabrics and fripperies. Teman had set up a trestle with an array of Torfell stone.

  ‘Finest stoneware from across the Pass,’ he called. ‘Quality beakers and bowls, in demand the breadth of the kingdom.’

  Risha glanced at his selection. It was surely the poorest stoneware he could have found in the whole of Torfell.

  ‘And bargains, too! Madam, that beaker you hold, now that would cost you twice as much in Caledon. But for you …’ He named a price twice what he had paid a week ago in Torfell.

  Risha glared.

  ‘There are expenses on the road,’ Barc said quietly. ‘And it’s no easy life.’

  ‘Nor is life easy in Torfell, though a little more coin could improve it.’

  ‘Do we traders look rich to you, Risha?’ His eyes assessed the crowded square. ‘Do any here look rich?’

  Risha couldn’t find an answer. The town didn’t look rich. The houses were sturdy but old, the townspeople’s clothes faded and patched. Even the chickens that pecked and scuttled around the marketplace wore a slightly bedraggled air. Polton had the look of a town that might once have been prosperous but had not been so for a long while.

  ‘The lord grows rich from taxes and each year finds excuses to add more.’ Barc’s words were quiet, but Risha noticed a man nearby glance at them sharply before striding rapidly away. ‘Come,’ Barc said, breaking from his sombre mood. ‘There’s a local delicacy you should try, my treat.’

  After sampling the sweet syrupy cake, they returned to the inn. Geet was sitting on a bench in the inn yard, eyes closed as she soaked up the sun. Risha hesitated then sat beside her. She felt hot and uncomfortable in her heavy mountain clothes.

  ‘So what do you make of Polton?’ Geet asked, without opening her eyes.

  Risha felt as though she had been bombarded in all her senses by a hundred different impressions. ‘It’s noisy,’ she said.

  Geet made a snorting sound.

  It didn’t seem unfriendly and Risha decided to broach another subject. ‘Geet, do you prefer skirts or trousers?’

  The woman gave Risha a sidelong look through half-opened eyes.

  She expanded hastily. ‘It’s just that I’ve never worn trousers before, but now that I have, it seems as though my skirt is always tangling round my legs.’

  ‘Trousers are easy, better for walking and riding, but skirts are cooler in hot weather.’

  ‘Not mine.’

  Geet tilted her head to observe Risha’s heavy woollen dress. ‘No,’ she agreed, and smiled slightly, an event in itself. ‘I once kept on my disguise through a whole week of trading. Most people didn’t notice — they see what they expect to see. But you have to be wary: each place is different. You’re best to remain unnoticed till you know how things stand.’

  This was a long speech from Geet, and Risha considered it before answering. ‘Why did you join the traders?’ she asked at last.

  ‘Why did you?’ Geet countered.

  They sat in silence till Marit called them together to outline the next stage of their journey. ‘We leave at sun-up,’ he finished, then turned, almost as an afterthought. ‘Risha, Barc tells me that your cousin who lived in Polton has moved on to Caledon.’

  Risha gulped back her surprise.

  ‘If you wish to travel further with us you’ll have to earn your keep or pay passage.’

  ‘I’ll pay,’ Geet offered. ‘She can work for me until my arm’s healed.’

  Risha blinked. Marit nodded briskly. ‘Geet pays an extra share of food and lodgings, and Risha stays with us to Caledon or for as long as Geet wishes — whichever comes first.’ He made it sound as if he doubted the arrangement would last as far as the city and Risha was suddenly aware of how little she knew of the woman. Marit stood to show the discussion was at an end. ‘First light then.’

  Risha found Amos at her elbow as she followed the others outside. ‘Did you know she was going to offer for you?’

  On the doorstep she paused, sunlight dazzling her. She raised a hand to fend off the noise of the inn yard which seemed suddenly to press against her, jostling her thoughts from their orderly path. Mounted riders, dozens of them, filled the space before her. She flinched and stumbled back against the step.

  Amos caught her arm. ‘Are you all right?’

  Risha twitched her arm free and stared around. The yard was empty after all. There were no banners or soldiers. The sound and smell of milling horses had retreated. She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. She was tired, that was all, and overwhelmed by the changes of the past week. Geet’s offer had surprised her. She muttered as much to Amos, but he seemed not entirely convinced.

  Risha felt a sudden, sharp yearning for the solitude of the mountains and, for the first time, began to wonder whether she’d been right to leave Torfell.

  5

  Caledon

  The city sprawled broad and ugly before them. Risha stared. She had never imagined that so many people could live in one place, or that they would want to.

  Originally a market town like the others they’d passed through, Caledon had grown fat with the rise of wheat. Nestled on the shores of CaledonWater at the mouth of the incoming River Dee, the city was the centre for most of the trade of the northern reach and a good half of the southern plains.

  Though they were still half a day’s walk from the outskirts, the traders could smell the city’s stench on the southerly wind. Risha disliked the reek of towns even more than their noise and the endless press of people. Two weeks of setting up Geet’s stall in a succession of market squares had not proven sufficient to make her immune.

  When they had set out from Polton, Geet had allocated Risha, foremost among her tasks, the care of her mule. ‘You look after your mule first, your feet second, and everything else third,’ Geet had told her. ‘Everything else’, it transpired, included collecting firewood, taking on a share of the cooking, and setting up and dismantling the stall. Risha was happy to work, even though the mule proved an ill-tempered animal and Geet not much better. The traders were appreciative of her cooking at least.

  The countryside had changed as they worked their way south, the hills softening into great rolling plains broken by rivers that meandered back and forth in a way that seemed wasteful to Risha’s mountain-raised eye. Marit had chosen a route than ran east as well as south, taking them through towns the band had not visited on their route into the mountains. In each, the traders were welcomed, but warily, and the townsfolk generally seemed pleased when they moved on.

  ‘They don’t trust us,’ Barc had told her, ‘and in times like these, it’s no wonder. They don’t trust anyone not to swindle them.’

  The traders did well enough despite their customers’ reservations. They sold more than they bought, with Torfell stoneware proving particularly popular.

  ‘Time to move on,’ Marit called, jolting her from her reverie. ‘It’ll be mid-afternoon when we arrive in the city. We’ll not set up to trade till morning, but we’ll use the time to our advantage. Teman, you can take the river wharves. Find out how busy they’ve been and whether much trade is coming down from Fratton. Sulba, check with your cousin who works the lake boats for news from the south. Barc, talk to stallholders in the markets; find how the mood stands for trade, and whether Quilec is in residence.’

  He paused, considering Risha. She straightened her shoulders. ‘Geet and Risha stay with me. While we’re in the city you’re my wife and daughter.’

  Geet made a noise in her throat but didn’t argue.

  ‘The rest of you: this afternoon, you stay with the packs. Be subtle about it. Pretend you need to take stock before morning — we wouldn’t want our innkeeper to think we don’t trust his services. Once we know the mood of the city we’ll cons
ider again. And remember,’ he paused, eyeing each of them in turn, ‘Caledon is full of thieves. Be careful what you carry and how you carry it.’

  After Marit dismissed them, Geet handed Risha a bundle of cloth. ‘This is for you.’

  It was a dress sewn in a plain, light fabric, the simple style alleviated by the addition of bright ribbons around the cuffs and neckline. ‘Geet, it’s lovely!’

  The woman shrugged. ‘It’ll be cooler than your northern garb and you’ll stand out less. Being able to go unnoticed is a useful skill.’

  ‘And not just for traders.’ Barc had the ability to move very quietly when he chose. ‘Risha, I’ll seek out your relatives as soon as I can, but it may be tomorrow before I find them.’

  Risha had half forgotten the fictitious cousin.

  ‘Aye, well, the city’s a harsh place, cousins or no,’ Geet muttered. ‘You can always stay with us.’

  Barc raised his brows. ‘That’s not an invitation often given.’

  The city closed around them like a forest, thin at the edges but growing denser and darker the deeper they went. They skirted a market where sellers were vying with each other to announce their wares, the aroma of freshly baked bread almost masking the city’s more offensive odours.

  ‘There are markets all over the city, each with a different specialty,’ Amos told her.

  She was too busy trying to take it all in, and to keep clear of the muck of the street, to reply. A small girl came running from an alleyway, dodged around them and was gone. The clothes she wore were little more than tatters, her skin and hair filthy, and Risha felt suddenly grateful that Pelon had chosen the mountains as his refuge.

  The inn where they lodged was shabby but the landlord welcomed them effusively, his eyes flicking over Risha in a way she didn’t care for. The room she and Geet were shown to was dingy and cramped, and when Risha asked where she might bathe the maid rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll send Nance with a jug.’

  The water, when it came, was lukewarm. Risha sponged the dirt of the road from her skin as best she could then, while Geet did the same, she stood at the room’s narrow window, staring out at the bustling yard. Remembering the game of her childhood, she formed a thought image, concentrating on holding still in her mind the details of the scene. No acknowledging image came, and she turned from the window feeling foolish.

  Geet led her to the inn’s public room where Marit had sequestered a table. The tavern became increasingly crowded as night fell, the noise and jostling camaraderie battering against her, so that their meal of thick stew sat uneasily in her belly.

  ‘Come on,’ Geet said, ‘we’ll go up. We’ve an early start tomorrow.’

  As Risha pushed back her chair it nudged into a stranger who stumbled and cursed. Geet’s hand closed on her shoulder and steered a path across the room.

  ‘I’ll be up soon,’ Marit called loudly. ‘Be sure you warm the bed.’

  Geet didn’t deign to reply.

  On the threshold of their room Risha stopped. ‘My pack’s been moved.’

  ‘One of the maids might have—’

  Risha was already on her knees, scattering her belongings across the floor. A whimper rose from her throat: Pelon’s manuscript was gone.

  ‘What is it?’

  She dashed a hand across her eyes. ‘Something of my father’s.’

  ‘Nothing’s safe in this cesspit.’ Geet rummaged through her own pack but found nothing amiss. ‘You’re sure it happened today?’

  Risha felt hollow. She had so little of Pelon left.

  ‘Risha?’

  She shook her head. She couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t looked at the manuscript since leaving Torfell. The memory of a figure crouched over the packs floated up in her mind.

  Geet sighed. ‘Well, we can’t accuse a maid of pilfering if we’re not certain it happened here. I’ll talk to Marit in the morning.’

  ‘What’s the point? It’s gone.’ Risha shrugged out of her clothes and crawled between the cold sheets. Tears leaked from her eyes. Her father was gone, and nothing could change that.

  Geet woke her before dawn.

  The marketplace was already astir with stallholders setting up trestles and calling easy greetings as Marit’s band claimed a space and set about unpacking their wares. By the time the crowd began to thicken, the market had taken on a settled and permanent air. Marit’s group were gathered at one end of the three main aisles of stalls — a good spot to catch the passing trade, he assured them.

  His predictions proved accurate. Being new, their stalls drew more than their share of attention. The city crowds were more cynical than their rural counterparts, expecting prices to be high and goods to be less than they seemed. For all that, they were ready to buy and had coin to match their mood.

  The only dark spot in the day came when a troop of soldiers strong-armed their way through the crowd, avoiding the thick of the market but passing close by Geet’s stall.

  Glancing up, Risha’s eyes met those of a prisoner. She felt his shock of surprise as if it were her own, but the name he called was strange to her and … and his lips hadn’t moved. It was over in a moment. Even as he stared, one of the soldiers struck him in the face, another shoving him roughly from behind. The sense of recognition was gone. The soldiers hustled him on, giving no care to the blood that trickled from his lip. Risha was shocked by their casual brutality.

  Geet nudged her shoulder. ‘Staring at soldiers can attract the wrong kind of attention,’ she muttered.

  Risha blinked and looked away. The man had been young and well dressed, if dishevelled. She was certain she’d never seen him before, yet his eyes, the blue of a summer sky above the mountains, had seemed oddly familiar, and he’d looked at her as if he knew her — and as if seeing her troubled him. But how could that be?

  Hoping for another glimpse, Risha searched the crowd, but both soldiers and prisoner had disappeared.

  Geet cast her a sideways glance and launched into her sales patter. ‘Finest quality, sirs,’ she called to the crowd. ‘A trinket that would win the heart of the loveliest lady! You, sir! You look like a man who would know a woman deserving of such ornament — maybe more than one!’

  The reply from the crowd made Risha blush. As the press of customers grew, drawn by the increasingly ribald banter, she pushed the prisoner from her mind.

  By the time the fading day sapped the crowds, Risha’s feet were aching and her throat felt raw, even though it was Geet who had kept them entertained.

  All the traders had fared well. ‘Another day like this,’ Marit said, as they made their way back to the inn, ‘and we’ll need to restock before we move on.’

  Once they’d eaten he set out his plans. ‘Two more days, then we’ll head east up the river. Fratton has seen few traders in recent years — for good reason, perhaps, but the season has been fair and the people will have coin to spend, and little enough to spend it on. I judge it a risk worth taking.’ His eyes circled the group, last coming to Risha.

  The thought of leaving the traders suddenly gripped her like a pain.

  Barc spoke up. ‘I’ll see Risha settled with her cousin before we leave. I’d not have done right by her father if I didn’t.’

  Marit nodded gravely. ‘You’ll be happy here in Caledon.’

  It was kindly meant, though Risha doubted he believed it. At the first opportunity she slipped out to the stables. She ran her hand down the nose of Geet’s obstreperous mule, dodging its customary attempt to nip.

  ‘As soon as I’ve finished my business in Fratton I’ll be back for you.’

  Startled by Barc’s quiet voice, Risha swung to face him. ‘Geet said I might travel with her as long as I wished.’

  ‘The situation in Fratton is uncertain. Believe me, Risha, it’s no place for you.’ He shook his head. ‘If I’d known you’d be with me I’d have arranged things differently, but I can’t abandon my responsibilities. Trust me when I say I’ll not let you come to harm.’ His lips twisted in a self-mo
cking smile. ‘Your father would never forgive me if I did.’

  Was it ghosts that Barc feared? She scowled, weighing in her mind how little she really knew him. ‘So, this cousin I’m to go to—’

  ‘Later.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Pack up your things while I make the arrangements. I’ll be back for you in an hour.’

  As he disappeared through the half-open door, Risha buried her face against the mule’s well-muscled neck, her thoughts a jumble.

  ‘You might die of breathing that animal’s stink.’

  She spun about as Amos swung down from the loft, landing beside her with a thud. ‘I’m sorry you’re not coming with us. Your company has been a welcome change.’

  Risha felt a rush of gratitude.

  ‘Caledon’s not such a bad place,’ he added, hitching an arm across the side of the stall. ‘Have you met your cousins before?’

  It seemed an innocuous question. Risha shook her head.

  ‘Then I hope— Well, no matter. It’s no business of mine after all.’

  Risha stared miserably at the floor.

  Amos sprang suddenly upright. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You’ve hardly seen anything of the city. I’ll show you the wharves, if you like, and the lord’s lodgings.’

  ‘Barc said I should be ready in an hour.’

  Amos took her arm and towed her towards the stable door. ‘And you will be — but where’s the harm in having a little fun first?’ His smile was engaging.

  Risha felt suddenly eager to avoid the other traders, and it was not as if packing would take more than a few moments.

  As he hurried her out of the yard and away down the road, neither Amos nor Risha saw the figure who slipped from the shadows of the inn wall and began to trail at a distance behind them.

  6

  Sacrifice