After putting their gear under her bed, she left the little room, carefully locking the door behind her.
The common room simmered with strange smells. Sorta like food, mostly not. Peppery, fishy, and farty like her brothers after bean and broccoli casserole. And she couldn’t say the name of any of it. Didn’t matter. Food was food.
She waved at Fatty and rubbed her belly.
He grinned and pointed at an empty table near what smelled like the kitchen door. A plump serving girl wrapped in a few yards of pink-and-white flowery fabric and an orange Nashidran apron looked Lorel over, giggled, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Lorel sighed and folded herself into the squatty little chair.
The giggly girl staggered out of the kitchen, carrying a tray so big it covered the whole table, and heaped with food: a huge bowl of fishy stew, another of white rice, plus a bunch of bowls of what looked like chopped mushrooms, little green peppers, and squishy yellow squash. Giggles yanked a dented, overgrown spoon out of her apron pocket and set it on the tray.
The stew smelled like the cesspit in old Chorette’s backyard.
Rice seemed safe enough. Boring, but safe. Mushrooms tasted like dirt, and squash like melted mush.
At least the peppers looked good. She popped one into her mouth and bit down.
The top of her head exploded and flew all the way back to Zedista. Her eyes bulged. Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave. That wasn’t a pepper, it was pure energy wrapped in a green pod.
It was wonderful. Except she couldn’t breathe.
Giggles dashed back to the table, grabbed the spoon out of her hand, and scooped up a bunch of soup. She grabbed Lorel’s nose, tilted her head back, and ladled stew into her mouth.
Some of the fire went out. Lorel rescued her spoon and slurped up more stew. The crap tasted as bad as it smelled, but with pepper burning her tongue, it wasn’t awful.
Giggles watched her with big, worried eyes. She reached for the pepper bowl.
Lorel smacked her hand away. “Ain’t nobody touching my peppers.” She dug into her pocket, handled Giggles all the kid’s coins, grinned, and selected the littlest pepper.
Green fire crunched between her teeth. Flames spurted out the top of her head. Heat blistered her tongue.
When she could see again, Giggles was holding out a ceramic mug. What now? Spiced cider?
She accepted the mug and took a cautious sip. Mellow malt soothed her throat. She was pretty sure it was beer, but Zedisti beer never tasted like this.
She sighed. She might get to liking swamp food yet.
She ate some stinky stew, shoveled down some musty rice, and selected another pepper. She bit into this one more cautiously.
Saliva drooled down her chin. Rivers ran out of her eyes. Her whole face was burning from the inside out. She wiped her streaming nose on her sleeve and reached for another pepper.
Every man in the room applauded.
Lorel jerked upright. What happened?
Everybody started talking at once. A skinny guy shorter than the kid dropped a coin into his empty mug and handed it around. In minutes Giggles set the mug, now overflowing with tiny coins, on her table.
Weaver bless their threads. Such friendly folk. All that over a few little peppers?
A bowl of stinky stew, eleven peppers, and three mugs of beer later, she wasn’t so sure. About anything. Except that her gut hurt and the bed was two feet too short.
But the kid slept on, and she had a pouch (thanks to Giggles) of little coins. Life couldn’t get much better.
The next morning, the kid’s noisy stomach woke her. Woke him, too. He sat up and looked around blearily. “What smells so funny?”
Her farts. But she couldn’t tell him that. She stretched out her cramped legs. “Wait ’til you see what they cook around here. Kitchen smells awful.”
He sighed, but his belly growled again. “I wish I hadn’t slept in my clothes.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna notice.” As stinky as the place was, no way anybody could smell either of them. As long as she didn’t fart too loud, anyway.
“Give me the rock pouch, would you?” The kid pulled out a few shiny stones and hid them in his pockets. “Do you think our gear is safe here?”
“Not really.” Not at all. She still felt guilty for leaving him alone so long last night. “That lock ain’t none too sturdy.” She stowed the rocks back inside her pack.
He nodded and gathered his crutches into his arms. “Lead me to breakfast.”
In the common room, the kid mumbled something to the serving girl, who giggled even worse than Giggles had last night. She brought them glop-green tea and fried rice pancakes mixed with mushrooms and eggs. She looked at Lorel and twittered.
The kid blinked. “She wants to know if you want peppers.”
“Maybe for lunch.” Her head pounded like a herd of horses was galloping inside. If she farted any worse she’d blow a hole through the chair. A bland breakfast sounded like a good idea just now.
After a few bites, the kid pushed his plate away. “Let’s go shopping.” He swallowed down the rest of the spine-tingly green tea.
“Not until you eat more.” No wonder he wasn’t healing up right. The frayed thread didn’t eat enough to keep a cockroach alive.
He pushed his plate toward her.
She pushed it back. “Eat, Loom lint.”
He sighed, but ate a few more bites.
Giggle’s sister scooped up Lorel’s empty plate and whisked it away. Seconds later she brought out another pot of tea and filled up the kid’s mug.
Lorel held her hand over the top of her mug. Boiled slime didn’t count as a bland breakfast, even if it did kick like a seawall ox.
The kid pushed his half-full plate at her. She sighed and polished it off. No point in wasting good food. Well, decent food. Her mom would’ve tossed it into the compost pile.
Fatty stopped next to their table and asked a question while the kid was getting his crutches under him.
The kid nodded at her and said “Lorel,” and pointed at himself and said something that sounded like, “ma mushy.”
Fatty turned pale and backed away.
Giggle’s little sister scolded him, snagged the kid’s empty plate and both mugs, and strutted into the kitchen.
Fatty grinned weakly, looked the kid over hard, and broke into a real smile. He bowed to them both and scuttled into the back room.
“That’s odd.” The kid shrugged and thumped toward the front door.
“Whatcha say to him?” Lorel scooped their gear out from under her chair and followed him.
“Just our names.”
“I heard my name, but not yours.” She steadied him as he wobbled out the door.
“I translated my name. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
“What? You think people like talking to a poisonous snake?” She never had understood why he’d picked a name like that, though he’d tried to tell her more than once. Who in their right mind used a wizard’s name?
“I hadn’t dreamed they’d be so timid.” The kid looked around before hobbling off toward the market’s center.
“Maybe you should pick a normal name, kid.”
“My name is Viper.”
Kid must still be tired. He sounded downright pissy. “Whatever you say, kid. Where’re we going?”
He huffed. Or sighed. Hard to tell while he was hopping along full speed on them crutches. “To find a jeweler’s shop, bahtdor bait. We need real money before we can do anything else. I spent all our coin on the inn. More than I thought I had.”
Oops. Maybe she shouldn’t’ve raided his pocket. She’d slip some of her new stash back in next time he fell asleep.
They strolled past shops and stalls that almost looked familiar, but that seemed just a little wrong. The colors were too bright, the smells were musty and moldy. Fluffy green moss covered almost everything.
Golden dolls at the back of one stall caught her attention. They looked just l
ike the kid, all their skinny ribs showing, the pretty faces with huge black eyes shaped like almonds staring dreamily into the distance. Maybe that was why them silver-robed guys kept watching him.
She touched her long sword’s hilt. The slavers turned and scuttled into an alley. Sing to the Weaver. She’d have an awful time fighting with two packs, two instrument cases, and a bag of rocks hanging from her neck.
The kid hobbled past all the interesting shops, only to pause at one with a few baubles hanging on the wall. “Wait here. Don’t come near me unless I yell for help.”
What was the little speck of Loom lint up to?
The old guy minding the shop looked at the kid and grinned. He was gonna tease about them golden dolls, she could see it in the smirk on his face.
But the kid beat him to it, yakking away in that mushy language, leaning on one crutch while waving the other hand.
The old guy frowned. Warts on the side of his mouth slid down to his pointy chin.
The kid pulled a few shiny rocks out his pocket and slapped them on the counter.
Old warty face’s eye’s got big. He grumbled something.
The kid mumbled back.
A younger guy heaved himself out of the corner and ambled toward her. He was shaped like a tree stump, but moved like a dancer. And he had a skinny little sword at his side. She’d never seen one quite like it, but it might be what Ahm-Layel called a rapier.
For all his warrior posturing, the tree stump had soft, round, brown eyes, and soft-looking, full lips. She’d’ve said he was kinda cute, if he’d been taller. Like, two feet taller. She smiled at him anyway.
He stared up at her like he wanted her to go away.
Lorel shook her head. “You’re outta luck, bud. I’m sticking with the kid.”
Tree Stump put one hand on his rapier and glared at her.
She put her hands on her hips, not on her sword hilts, but really close. If he wanted a fight, she’d be happy to oblige. The street was too crowded for a sword fight, though.
Who was she kidding? She didn’t control her swords well enough to be sure she wouldn’t cut off her own leg. If he drew on her, she’d have to move in fast and knock him out with her fist.
Kraken’s dead eyes glowered in her memory, and she fought down a shiver. All she needed was to kill somebody else.
Tree Stump bared his teeth at her.
Did the frayed thread think she’d be scared of somebody with green goo stuck in his teeth?
She rolled her eyes.
He blinked. His eyebrows folded down. He stomped his feet.
Old Warty Face yelled something.
Tree Stump pouted and backed into the stall.
Poor little guy. His boss soured all the fun in his life. Lorel blew a kiss at him.
His face turned red, but he didn’t look back at her.
After about a hundred years of babbling back and forth, Warty Face reached under the counter and pulled out a leather bag. He counted twenty seven silver coins into the kid’s hand.
All that silver for a few silly rocks? Had the silly kid gone and magicked the poor guy?
Warty Face scooped the rocks off the counter and bowed.
The kid bowed back, turned on one crutch, and thumped out of the shop. “Here, take these.” He handed over all the coins but one. “They’re safer with you than me.”
With her back still to the street, she slipped the coins into the pouch hidden inside her shirt. She’d have no trouble telling the kid’s money from hers. None of her little coins were silver. Sooner or later she’d fess up and ask him what they were worth.
She turned and eyed the street. The pickpockets glared back, but she doubted they’d bother her. Pickpockets at home never got that brave, not even when she wasn’t wearing two swords and a knife. A miswoven suicide knife.
The kid was already halfway down the street. She caught up with him just as he turned into another shop.
A fraying bookshop. “You already got too many books, Loom lint.”
He picked up a book, ruffled the pages, and shoved it back onto the overflowing shelf. “We need to know more about this region if we plan to travel through it.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
“I need to know what sells well. Emil’s stones won’t last forever. We need to start a business.” He scooped up two books, glanced at the fronts, and stuffed them both under his arm, between his crutch and his ribs.
“I’ll hire out as a guard. You don’t gotta worry about it.”
“And what will I do all day?” He picked up another book. “Besides, you’re already spoken for. You’re my bodyguard.”
And his fraying babysitter. “That’s enough books, kid. Don’t spend all the money you just earned.”
The kid snorted. He held out all three books in one hand while he fought with his crutches in the other.
A pretty, curvy girl with long straight hair scuttled around the counter and took them books like he’d offered her the reins to the most gorgeous horse in the world. They was just books, and her shop’s own books at that. What was up with the frayed thread?
The girl bowed, the kid bowed, and they chattered at each other for a thousand years.
And there was nothing for her to do. Or even to look at, except thousands and thousands of books with marks on them she couldn’t read. She was gonna die from boredom, or from book cooties. Or from holding in her farts. She felt like she was about to explode.
Finally the kid handed the girl his silver coin, and she counted a bunch of copper coins back into his hand. He slid the coins into his trouser pocket.
All that was just the change from one silver coin? How much had he made with them shiny rocks, anyway?
The fraying kid handed her all three books. “Put these in my pack, will you?” He hopped around on one crutch and headed back toward the inn.
She crammed the books into his bag, on top of the eight already in there, and not counting the hundreds of scrap-paper notebooks he’d made. Well, not hundreds, but there must be close to twenty. His pack weighed almost as much as hers, and his didn’t have no rocks in it. That she knew about. Knowing him, he’d be hauling around all sorts of weird crap.
By the time she got his pack closed, he was almost out of sight.
Maybe she should give him a little space. He was a skinny little thing, but so was everyone else in this crowd. She wasn’t worried about losing him. Maybe letting him do stuff on his own would make him less cranky.
Street vendors yelled and waved their wares. Brightly-dyed silks and stinky silver fish shimmered in the booths. Crinkled old men waved cloth maps at foreigners. Steam rose from rice balls that smelled like jasmine and cinnamon. Her stomach growled.
The kid clumped along like he never noticed none of it. He skirted around the mud puddles, his bad foot out in front of him like it still hurt.
Maybe she should talk him into seeing a healer. Just because the last one wanted to cut his foot off didn’t mean they all would. Maybe they’d be lucky and find a healer who knew real magic, instead of a surgeon like the one in Kresh.
Two creepy guys in silver robes moved in on him.
Lorel walked faster. They wouldn’t try nothing in public, would they?
The creep on the left bumped into the kid, knocking him into the other one’s arms.
She dashed forward, yanked on the bumper’s robe, swung him around, and dumped him right into a puddle.
Bumper splashed and cussed. Slimy green mud coated his silver robe.
The kid hopped around on his crutches like he was trying to catch his balance.
The clean creep wrapped an arm around the kid’s chest and tried to guide him through a doorway. He muttered something in the kid’s ear.
“No, thanks.” The kid planted one crutch on Clean Creep’s foot and launched himself forward.
Clean Creep howled, staggered on one foot for a few steps, and hurried after the kid.
Lorel snatched his arm, spun him around, and gra
bbed the front of his robe. “No way, Loom lint.” She tossed him into the puddle on top of his partner.
They both cussed at her, kinda quiet like.
The locals glanced at her, smiled, and walked around the creepy guys.
The kid never even looked back. Didn’t he even notice he’d almost been kidnapped? Maybe not. He was as innocent as a new-hatched butterfly, and as scatterbrained as old Trevor had ever been.
She’d just have to watch out for him better.
He was out of breath by the time he reached the inn, but he looked pretty pleased with himself. “May I have my new books back? I’d like to read until supper.”
Her belly insisted it was suppertime. The inn smelled like it was suppertime. Or at least lunchtime.
The kid didn’t look the least bit hungry.
She lifted his pack from around her neck and weighed it in one hand. “You eat first. You can read later.”
He blinked up at her. “We just ate.”
“Ages ago. No food, no books.”
He sighed, but shrugged. “Nothing smells good.”
That startled a laugh out of her. “It smells like crap, but it tastes better.” She led him to a table and waved at the serving girl.
Giggles dashed over and bowed to them. She tittered something.
The kid blinked. “She asked if you want peppers.”
˜™
The kid read half the night, or until she took the lantern away from him, but the next morning he did look better. And he ate a good breakfast, for him. A cockroach would’ve gone away hungry.
Lorel didn’t complain when he said he wanted to go shopping. She didn’t complain when he loaded her down with two pots, a bag of rice, a bottle of oil, and a small lantern.
She like to come unglued when he tried to sneak into another bookshop. “Weaver’s chamberpot, kid! You got more books in that pack than I ever seen in my parents’ whole house. I ain’t carrying no library, Loom lint.”
“We need more information, bahtdor bait.” The kid waved one crutch at her. “We barely know where we are, much less how to get where we’re going.”
Sorcery's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 2) Page 21