Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar v(-103

by Mercedes Lackey

  It wasn’t just being treated as an inferior. It was that it didn’t matter what her status was, didn’t matter her skills. She could run the business herself if need be. She lacked Father’s decades, but she had a grounding in all the basics and plenty of her own travels and deals and war. But here, just being born female meant that she was beneath a horse, even beneath a dog, and wouldn’t even be treated with contempt. She just wouldn’t be treated at all. The offered hospitality was for Father and Erki, not her. Her room was a mere courtesy to Father, otherwise they’d stick her in a hole with the servants, she was sure.

  After that, she withdrew completely from the conversation and just steamed silently, until Jesrin led her up the marble stairs, long after the men had retreated, to a frilly, dainty, girly room. It was very lavish, of course. See how well the Amar treats even a daughter of a trader?

  “If you need,” Jesrin said, “That cord will ring a bell below. I’ll hurry right up.”

  “You won’t sleep yourself?” Riga asked.

  Jesrin seemed confused by Riga’s accent, or perhaps the question itself.

  “Of course, I’ll wake up. It’s my duty to serve. If I’m not available, then Aysa will come.”

  “Thank you, though I’ll be fine. You’ve been so gracious.”

  Jesrin replied with a demure bow. “Thank you, all I do is on behalf of my lord.”

  Riga couldn’t wait, so asked, “Jesrin, would you like me to look at your shoulder? I may have a salve that will help.”

  “Oh, Miss Riga, you are gracious, no. The house-mistress is taking care of it. I will be fine.” The poor girl seemed embarrassed and ashamed just to discuss it.

  Girl. Jesrin was easily a year older than Riga’s seventeen. Yet Riga was a woman among her people, able to run her household, sign contracts, travel freely or as mistress of a mission. Jesrin seemed younger, frailer, helpless. She could manage any number of chores, but she had no voice, was illiterate, a glorified pet. Riga could give orders to laborers and warriors. Jesrin wouldn’t know how even if she could.

  With nothing else to offer, Riga said, “Then I shall retire. I hope to see you in the morning, and please rest. You’ve made me most comfortable, thank you.”

  “A blessing on you.” Jesrin bowed and withdrew with what looked like a happy smile. It made Riga shudder.

  The next morning, Riga awoke to sun peeking through chiseled piercework in the shutters. The weather was wonderfully mild. The bed was silken over feathers, with a very fine cotton sheet.

  Riga would gladly give it all up to keep her status.

  A breakfast of fruit and pastry sat on a tray near the door. She snagged a couple of fat strawberries and a roll, partly to quiet her stomach and partly to be polite to Jesrin and the other servants. She didn’t care what the Amar thought and was pretty sure he wouldn’t even ask how she’d fared. She rebraided her hair, threw a scarf over it to appease local customs, and opened the door.

  No one was around, so she crept across and tapped on what she hoped was Father’s door. She could hear his voice, and Erki’s, and that brightened her mood a lot.

  He swung the door open and said, “Welcome, Daughter! I’m sure you’re dreading returning to the Sea Fox.”

  “Oh, yes, very much, Father.” Please get me out of here now, her mind and face said.

  Once downstairs, she stood back while Father, Erki, and the Amar exchanged bows. She wasn’t expected to participate, for which she was glad.

  A few minutes later they were striding down the broad, dusty street toward the port.

  Erki said, “I’ll be glad to eat normal food. I got sick of the rich, fancy stuff very quickly.”

  “I enjoyed the food. Not the company. I wish I could have. Jesrin seems like a nice girl,” she said.

  “She does. He sent her to my room an hour after bed last night,” Father admitted.

  “Oh, Father, you didn’t!” she exclaimed.

  “Of course I didn’t,” he replied with a grimace and shiver. “Gods, she’s barely older than you, girl. Ugh.” He cringed again. “I bade her sit and talk for a while, gave her some medicine for the pain and some herbs to help heal. They don’t do that here, either. Herbs are the work of the devils. She wasn’t easy to convince, but I promised her I’d never mention it. Then I made her sleep on the divan. She seemed both grateful and put upon.”

  Riga wasn’t sure she parsed that, but no matter. “Thank you,” she replied.

  “For what? Not bedding a child? I need no thanks for that.” He sounded annoyed.

  “I wish we could help her. Buy her, perhaps?”

  Father leaned up and back and met her eyes.

  “I know you mean well, but no. Her looks make her highly prized.”

  “You could ask,” she said. “I have my share to pledge against the cost.”

  He sighed and looked uncomfortable.

  “Riga, His Beneficent Excellency was struck by your stature and eyes. He offered me a sack of saffron and your weight in gold for your hand for his son.”

  Riga choked and stared wide-eyed. Great gods. That was more than both their ships were worth. They might do that gross business in five years.

  Feeling nervous ripples, she asked, “And you told him . . . ?”

  “I said you were to be betrothed to a wealthy merchant in our lands, but his offer was most generous and thoughtful. I thanked him for the compliment he paid me as a father and merchant.”

  Seeing her sunken expression, he added, “Riga, she’s got good food, a warm bed and shelter. Her lot as a free peasant would be no better in this desert. It would be worse. You can’t save everyone. Remember the birds? And the rabbit?”

  Yes, she’d tried to save injured animals when younger.

  “You stewed them,” she said accusingly.

  “I only stewed them after you tried to save them and they died. They were meant for the pot anyway.”

  “I didn’t appreciate it at the time,” she said.

  Erki said, “If a Kossaki treated a woman like that, he’d be driven from town in disgrace. It’s a strange place. You should have been treated better, Riga. I’m sorry.”

  “It keeps me humble,” she said, trying for self-deprecating humor. Few places gave women the status the Kossaki had. This place, though . . .

  “Well, tonight we sleep in linen and wool and fur,” Father said. “We have dried goat and fish, berries and nuts. I’ll see about a stew.”

  Erki said, “Let me, Father? I’ll be glad to make us some real food.” He leaned over and added, “And I promise not to cook any stray pets you find, Riga.”

  She stuck her tongue out. “You cook. I have to help tally the goods, the tariffs and the port fees. Then Father can sign it and pretend I’m just a dumb girl.”

  “I’ll pretend nothing,” he said. “They can assume whatever they wish.”

  Under the sail tent, Riga couldn’t sleep. The contrast between the beauty and the evil just seemed to make the evil that much more horrifying.

  The girl had been beaten for the slightest of errors, because it “embarrassed” her owner. Then she’d been sent to whore for a guest, while still full of welts and crippling bruises. That was considered redemption here . . . for the Amar.

  That thought decided it for her. Riga rolled her quilt off carefully, slipped to the deck, and felt for her boots.

  In minutes, she was dressed for her mission, and in a way no woman should dare dress in this city. That made it both joyous and sobering. She could wind up dead for what she planned, even if she didn’t succeed.

  Erki was still and undisturbed, and she figured to leave him there. He was handsome even asleep, and she smiled. Then she realized there was one thing she needed him for, if nothing else.

  She touched him on the shoulder, and his eyes snapped open.

  She held a finger to her lips in a shhh! and beckoned him to join her.

  He slipped his feet out and fumbled for clothes and gear. He was always twitchy and energetic, but a
t least he was silent about it.

  He seemed excited, probably because he knew she was up to something. Would he be agreeable when he found out what, though? He matched her choice of dull fighting clothes. When she pointed, he grabbed his sword without hesitation.

  A few minutes later, they shimmied over the gunwale and onto the beach. None of the crew were awake or had noticed. Some of them were still in rooms in town, in fact, and would only return in time to push off, she hoped. If they were late . . .

  Erki whispered, “What are we doing?”

  “We’re going to rescue that servant girl, Jesrin.”

  “You haven’t discussed this with Father, have you?” he asked at once.

  Damn the boy.

  “No,” she admitted. “This is my plan.”

  “He’ll thrash us both,” Erki said. “How will that help her?”

  “He’ll thrash us because we deserve it,” she said. “That girl got far more than that.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,” he said. “But how do we keep her from being found?”

  With that first part agreed, she started creeping across the beach. “She only has to keep out of sight in our ship. The fleet leaves in the morning. With luck, they won’t even start looking this way by then.”

  “If they do, Father might just give us to them. We’ll be endangering everyone.”

  “Really. I thought we were warriors and nations quivered at our mention,” she said with contemptuous sarcasm.

  “Not as much as they did long past,” Erki said. “Look, I’m still with you.”

  “Good, then stop trying to argue me out of it,” she said, because he was right. What she proposed was dangerous, foolish, and could start a war.

  She also knew it was the right thing to do.

  “I swore my Warrior’s Oath to protect the weak,” she said. “And I didn’t swear that it stopped at the edge of our lands.”

  The beach was convenient. The docks proper had activity at all hours, but just a few dozen yards away, few people were about. Only small fishing vessels and the shallow-draft Kossaki trade and warships used the beach. Even when trading, the Kossaki ported like raiders, ready to dart away in moments.

  The two youths flitted through from shadow to shadow. Their boots were soft-soled leather. Their dull clothes disappeared into the night. Riga had no sword, but she did have her seachs knife.

  She planned to not need it. That would mean their mission had failed. It was the principle, though. Besides, if she did get caught, she wanted them to know she was a warrior.

  It also helped her cope with the knowledge that if discovered, she would at the least be publicly beaten with canes and heavily fined. Or rather, Father would be fined. At worst . . .

  In far less time than she remembered, they were at the outer wall of the Amar’s residence. The building ran around three sides of a courtyard.

  “I know her room is on the left . . .” Riga said.

  “Second window from the far end, down that alley.”

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  “How do you know?”

  Erki blushed even in the dark, stuttered, and then said, “She’s very pretty. I watched her go there.”

  She had to smile.

  “That’s fine. Good lad.” She left it at that. “Lead the way.”

  “Right there,” he pointed.

  She really hoped he was right. She also hoped that Jesrin was there. If the Amar had her in his bed . . . or even if she was just doing scullery work . . . of course, either would let them return, knowing they’d tried.

  Or, more likely, cause me to escalate until we do have a war, Riga thought. She had no illusions about her diplomacy or temper.

  The shutter opened to the fourth pea-sized pebble.

  Once Jesrin understood their gestures, her eyes grew a foot wide, and she shook her head in horror. They gestured again, come down, come with us. Riga even held up the spare cloak for emphasis.

  It took long minutes, while occasional flickers of lamplight in other windows indicated early risers, up to bake breakfast or reach the tide, before the girl nodded assent.

  Erki tossed up a coil of thin, strong silk rope, and it took more minutes to explain she should loop it around the center post of the window and run it back down.

  Riga was worried if Jesrin was strong enough to slide down a rope rather than fall, but she managed well enough, though clearly stiff from some beating or other. She bumped the wall and scuffed loose some plaster, which made Riga cringe. Perhaps she was being too cautious. There was no indication anyone else had noticed. She was thankful they didn’t like dogs here. Dogs would have heard and smelled them long before.

  The seconds were hours long as Jesrin slipped down the slender rope. Her layered dress was not practical and would be abraded to shreds before she reached the ground.

  Then she slipped and fell. Erki and Riga both rushed forward and caught her, and she convulsed in agony at their hands on her beaten back. The fall had scraped her knuckles and forehead, and she leaned over in the dust and vomited, twitched, lay still for a moment, then twitched again as she woke up. Through it all, she barely uttered a sound.

  Erki snatched the rope down as Riga gingerly helped her to her feet. With the shutters ajar and the rope recovered, there was no obvious sign of departure. But it was early, and Father would awaken soon himself. They had to move.

  The girl meekly donned the offered hood and tied the cloak around her neck, wincing as even that weight touched her abused flesh. She’d pass as Kossaki from a distance, but her underdress was clearly servant class, and her poise was as submissive as Riga’s was challenging. Still, that shouldn’t matter.

  “This way,” Riga said, and led the way. A moment later, Erki grabbed her shoulder and stepped in front.

  Oh. Right. Male must lead. She flushed in anger, embarrassment, and frustration. Still, that’s why she’d asked him along, and he was doing his part well, the stout boy.

  They were five streets away when a watchman came around the corner, right into their faces.

  “Who are you?” he asked. Riga could puzzle out the words, but she couldn’t speak. Had Erki paid attention to their lessons?

  And then she knew why she loved her brother, annoying as he could be. He stepped forward, as he did for any problem, and showed no reluctance.

  “Harad of the Kossaki,” he lied, “and my sisters. I return to my uncle’s ship.”

  “It is very late.” The man spoke simply for them, but his tone made it clear he wanted an explanation.

  “My sister took sick and had to stay with friends. We are lucky your gods saw fit to make her healthy in time.”

  It was very rude to look at a woman’s face here, but this man was an official. He looked as if he was considering doing so, and he stared at their feet.

  She’s wearing sandals, not boots, Riga realized. Explain them as locally supplied? But she couldn’t talk, and would Erki grasp it?

  Under her cloak, she gripped the hilt of her seachs. In about five heartbeats, he was going to find out why she was called “Sworddancer,” even if all she had was a knife.

  He looked at Erki again, said, “A blessing on you,” and turned away.

  Riga exhaled. Jesrin whimpered. Erki didn’t twitch at all, and he led the way forward.

  It was definitely near dawn, and gray, as they reached the beach.

  Jesrin spoke at last. “We go on your ship?”

  “Yes, quickly,” Riga said, gripped her elbow carefully—it might be bruised—and hurried her along.

  Some crew were about, securing the ships for sea. The tents would be down soon, then hoisted back up as sails. Luckily, no one paid much attention to three youths.

  Erki bounded catlike over the gunwale and pulled at Jesrin’s hands as Riga shoved at her hips. The girl winced. Beaten there, too. But it took practice or help to board the outward curve of a kanr.

  In the dim twilight, Father was visible at the stern, checking the
steering oar and ballast. Before he turned, Riga shoved Jesrin down behind a pair of barrels.

  “Erki,” she said, and stood as he threw a heavy, smelly tarp atop the girl.

  He stood and whispered, “Don’t move at all until I say so.”

  Father came back, moving easily around netted crates and barrels. He didn’t look or act his age, and the ship was his domain.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded crossly.

  “I took a last look at the tiled market to the south,” she said. “It’s so pretty.” She tried hard to make that sound honest. It was something she might have done . . . four years before. Would Father catch that?

  “You’ll have cleaning duty until I say otherwise. Both of you,” he replied. He looked relieved and annoyed but not angry.

  “Sorry, Father,” she said.

  “Yes, Father,” Erki agreed.

  “Stow the ropes, help with the sail bindings, and get ready to depart. We have a good wind to speed us north by west.”

  “At once,” she agreed. Good. Shortly they’d be away from this beautiful hell.

  The incoming tide made the ship sway and bob, and the wind and the poles inched them down the sand. All at once they shifted, dragged, shifted again, and Sea Fox was back in her realm. The crew jumped to the oars and sculled for deeper water. They were free peasants, hired and paid, and Riga would bet them against any slave rowers. As free men they’d also fight for their master and their pay. Yet another reason the Kossaki traded unmolested.

  The ships were just forming up in line to head out to sea, when a bright yellow harbor boat headed for them, with a toot of a brass horn. They all stopped their departure, keeping station in the lapping waves to avoid beaching again.

  The boat drew alongside, and some official or other in gleaming white silk accepted a hand aboard. Behind him was the watchman from the night before, and Riga’s nerves rippled cold.

  “May I help you?” Father asked. “I believe our tariffs are in order.” He held out a leather book with a stamped sheet from the revenue agent. He’d paid the tariff Riga had calculated and tossed in ten percent as “a gift for the temple,” which meant for the agent’s pocket. All should be in order. Though Riga knew that was not the issue in question.