by Laura Lam
"I shouldn't let it get to me anymore," Aenea said, staring at the light of the gas flame on the trunk.
I paused, waiting for her to elaborate. "Shouldn't let what get to you?" I asked, when she remained silent.
"Almost falling," she whispered.
I tried to block out the image of the parasol trailing to the ground, of the sight of her tumbling from the tightrope and her hand clasping it at the last minute. I could not.
"I was so frightened for you," I said.
She leaned against me, slightly. "I know. And the past few days, I felt all right. I thought it was nothing – just another almost-accident. Moving distracted me, and I was so tired at the end of the day that I fell into bed. But tonight, when I tried to sleep – I couldn't. I kept remembering it." She shuddered.
I put my arm around her, worried that she would pull away. But she leaned into me, resting her cheek on my collarbone. I could feel the ridges of her strong shoulder muscles through the thin fabric of her dressing gown. I felt her breathing and heard her heartbeat, just as quick and nervous as my own. She tilted her head up toward mine–
Her lips were warm and wet and soft. I sat there stiffly, my heart hammering in my ears. My own lips pursed hesitantly. Kissing a girl was very different from my awkward kiss with Damien. Aenea's arm wrapped around my neck and pulled me closer and her other hand rested on my ribcage, right below the bandages around my chest. I felt a stirring between my legs, and a hardening of my nipples. I tensed. She broke the kiss.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "Should I not have…?" She chewed on the corner of her lip in a most distracting way.
I shook my head. "I've… I've not done this much. I'm doing it wrong, aren't I?"
She laughed softly, still close to me. "Not bad. Care to try again?"
As she pulled me toward her again I briefly wondered who else she had kissed, and decided I did not care. Her lips were on mine again. I rested a hand on her cheek, silken and downy. Her hair cascaded forward and covered our faces. Dizzy with the scent of her skin, I moved forward and bumped teeth with her. She giggled, the sound echoing in my mouth. I cradled her face with my hands. Aenea twined a hand in my hair, the other resting on the back of my neck. I was surrounded by her smell – sea salt and sweet almond soap.
The kiss lasted a moment, an age. We broke apart, and I smiled at her, dazed. Aenea laughed again at my expression. I blushed. I took her strong, calloused hand in my own, which was now nearly as rough as hers. I no longer had a lady's hands.
"I'm rather new at all of this."
The corners of her lips curled and she pulled away to look at me, sensing how overwhelmed I felt.
"You've never had a female… companion?"
"No." Nor a male.
"I find that surprising."
I laughed softly, remembering how Mother dismayed at ever finding a match for me. "Why would you say so?"
She leaned back on the pallet, drawing me down with her. She leaned her head on my shoulder and twined her fingers with mine.
My face warmed. "Never thought I was much to look at." As a woman, I finished. It was not lying if I finished in my head.
"You caught my eye when I first saw you."
A warm glow kindled in my stomach. "When I was a bedraggled urchin spying on the circus and jumped into the air sixty feet above ground like an idiot?"
"Yes. Especially when you were an idiot. You were very brave, to do such a foolhardy feat. I knew it meant you truly wanted to be here."
"I do. I feel as if I belong here far more than I did in my old life. I can be more like myself, rather than the person my parents wanted me to be."
She leaned on an elbow and looked down at me, her damp hair curling about her face.
"May I ask you something?" I asked.
"You already have." I made a face. She smiled. "But yes, you may ask me something else."
"Have you had many male suitors?" I said, trying to be delicate.
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me if I'm some sort of trollop?"
I sputtered. "N… no! You seem much more comfortable with all of this, so I thought maybe–"
She held up a hand. "That's enough, that's enough! I take pity on you. I've had two other suitors in the past."
Her mirth fled her face, and I realized I had brought up a very stupid topic of conversation. Moments after our first kiss and I was already quizzing her about past lovers. So stupid.
"Only two, and neither of them were in the circus. The first was a boy from Niral named Petyr. I was only thirteen. We held hands and we snuck a kiss or two underneath the docks. He was sweet."
"I never had that sort of childhood romance," I said. "I was far too shy to approach the girls, and they were likewise too shy to approach me."
"That's a shame. The other one… well. I'll tell you of him another time." Her face closed but for the secrets swimming in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling even more like a goof. Here I was, hoping to comfort and help her forget about nearly falling, and I only reminded her of more pain. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
"It's nothing," she said, though she was feigning nonchalance. "Come here."
My stomach roiled uncomfortably. I shifted closer. She pressed her lips to mine again and I responded. Our bodies did not touch, but I sensed the warmth of her skin, just an inch or two away. We remained like that for some time, trailing fingertips across faces and along necks, shivering. And then we curled together on the pallet and talked, the conversation meandering across many topics, learning more about each other, with me spinning still more lies but trying to weave in the truth as much as I could. Before our conversation trailed away and we fell asleep, I let hope flare within me that one day, there might not be a need for lies.
21
SPRING: THE SPICE MERCHANT'S TALE
"They say the spices of each island of the Archipelago echo their country of origin. The cassia and clove of Kymri mirror its rich, hot sands. The chillies of Southern Temne showcase its citizens' quickness to temper, while the mace and nutmeg illustrate the complexity of Northern Temnian culture. Linde is known for its five-spice, for it was long the hub of the spice trade. And Ellada grows few spices and borrows from all the others."
SPICES OF THE ARCHIPELAGO, Chef Siam Oakley
I thought I would faint at any moment.
I staggered through the crowded main square of Sicion. It was market day. The merchants had set up their wares early and the first customers started to trickle through. It was so busy that I thought I'd be able to steal some food without being noticed. Nothing had passed my lips but rainwater from the gutter for well over a day.
Even though it was not the largest city in Ellada, like Imachara, Sicion was still crowded. There was no room for a large market square. Instead, the market was vertical. Ten stalls could fit on each level, and a wide but rickety wooden staircase zigzagged up its side.
Each level had a theme. The bottom layer had stalls of fruits and vegetables, mainly from nearby Girit, a oncelovely island whose emerald forests had been cleared for crops and orchards. The only way to emigrate to Girit was to promise its governor that your future was in farming. I had never been to Girit and, seeing how I killed every plant I came across, doubted I ever would.
The second level was filled with meats from animals shipped from various colonies, like Byssia and Linde, and some of the smaller isles of the Archipelago. Fresh meat was expensive, as a lot of animals did not survive the journey across the sea; many of the animals therefore arrived pre-slaughtered and salted. The third level was full of spices, and smelled of tarragon, cinnamon, clove, thyme, and countless others. I sneezed.
On the fourth level were the bakers. I could not resist the sweet, yeasty smells and stole a warm meat-filled pasty. I was more successful this time, pretending to peruse another stall's wares and reaching behind me when the baker was distracted with an order. I sauntered off and ate my prize as I explored. I could have eaten ten more just l
ike it.
The next level held clothes and jewelry from various countries, gorgeous things wrought from precious gems and metals mined in the far corners of the world. I fingered a long, airy green dress made of a fabric that was soft and cool to the touch. Why had my mother never bought me a dress like this? I would have actually liked to have worn it.
It was all so overwhelming. My eyes feasted on fruits and vegetables of all colors, lingered on unfamiliar dead animals lying prostrate on wooden tables, and yearned for the brightly dyed clothing and intricate jewelry. My nose imbibed the odors of alluring and pungent spices, fresh meat and the acrid tang of blood, the yeast of fresh bread, and cloth dye. My ears rang at the cries of merchants, customers, and livestock.
I found an unoccupied corner of the market and tucked myself into it, wedging my pack behind me, wondering what I should do next. I knew no one. No one knew me. It was a feeling both freeing and terrifying.
Since I had nothing else to do, I spent the rest of that morning in the corner. It was a perfect vantage point to study people. I would watch them shop, haggle, argue, and exclaim over a bauble that caught their gaze. People of all ages, shapes and sizes passed by, barely sparing me a glance. If I turned around, then I could watch the shoppers on the bottom level scurrying to stalls or leaving. They looked so small and inconsequential.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I started. Hovering above me was a tall thin Policier with a bushy black moustache that constantly twitched. His eyes were small and beady, but not unkind.
"Are you finished with your purchases?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. I had the feeling he had been watching me for some time and found me amusing.
"Aye, sir, I'm finished," I said, trying to pitch my voice deeper and rougher, well aware that I had no bags of shopping.
"Folk are going to start dismantling their stalls soon, and you'll be underfoot. Although," he said while looking at me up and down, "are you looking for work?"
Hope must have been stark on my face. "Yes, please, sir," I said, trying not to look too eager.
The Policier pointed to a stall on the opposite side of the level. "Mister Illari, the spice merchant, would probably give you a coin or two if you help him. Tell him Policier Mattos sent you. He's getting up there in years and I don't see his boy around today. You strike me as a good sort and haven't nicked anything in the past hour, but I'll not have you stealing from him."
"I would do no such thing!" I said, though guilt gnawed at my stomach, keeping company with my stolen bun.
The man's moustache twitched again. "You're still speaking too posh to pass as a street rat, young 'un. You should work on that while you're out slumming the streets. Just make sure you don't speak rough to your parents at teatime."
I must have looked comically dismayed as I watched him go. Was I that obvious, even saying so few words? But I thought of Policier Mattos' voice. I could tell that he was from a working-class background; he could have worn all the silks and gems in the world and it would not have been enough to disguise that.
Mister Illari was shuffling slowly across his stall, gathering a few remaining bottles and putting them in chests that looked far too heavy for him to lift. I rubbed at my grubby face self-consciously, mindful of my fading black eye.
"Scuse me… Mister Illari?" I asked, timidly.
He turned a face so wrinkled that it looked like it had cracked and was about to shatter. "Eh?" he asked.
"Policier Mattos sent me. Said you need help packin' up." I was sure I still didn't sound like a street rat, but hopefully Mister Illari was too old to notice or care.
Mister Illari nodded. "He's a good man," he said in a surprisingly strong voice. "Usually finds some undernourished thing like you to help an old codger like me." He gave a phlegmy laugh. "The tent's rented, so we can just leave it and they'll take it down and store them until next week. Thank the Couple, because they're bloody heavy. Start with those chests there." He pointed at a cart on the other side of the square. "Put them there and then come up for the rest of it. I'll relax up here with the money box. Mattos is usually good at spotting the honest ones, but I'm old, not stupid."
I smiled. I liked him already.
Mister Illari laughed again. He only had a handful of teeth left. "Though you're such a scrawny thing, you don't look like you could lift a feather duster."
I frowned at him. "I'm stronger than I look!"
"Prove it and grab them, then, off you get." He sighed and linked his arms behind his head.
I hoisted both of the spice chests with a little difficulty and weaved my way to the staircase. I glanced over my shoulder at Mister Illari. One watery eye was open. "You are stronger than you look."
Shrugging as best as I could, I hurried down the stairs. The chests were awkward to carry, and I was panting when I finally reached ground level and my arms burned.
I made my way to the sturdy pony and wooden cart tied up in front of a pub called the Bronze Cockerel. A barmaid stuck her head out of the front of the pub while I was rummaging to put the chests in.
"Oi! Whatcha doing, lad?"
"I'm 'elpin' Mister Illari put 'is spices back." I might have been trying too hard with the accent.
She looked me up and down, judging my worth. Whatever she saw, it made her nod. "Alright, then." She returned to her clientele.
I ran up and down the stairs, carrying chests and bags and twists of spices. Their dust found a way into my lungs and I wheezed. When I finished, Master Illari tottered down the stairs with his money box, ambled up to the window of the pub and gave the barmaid a coin.
"Thanks again, love," he said.
"See you next week, Mister Illari," the girl said flatly, pocketing the coin and turning away.
Mister Illari clambered ungracefully into the cart and picked up the reins. I wondered whether it would be rude to hold out my hands for the promised coin.
"Well, don't just stand there, boy, hop on," he said.
"Pardon?"
"I'll need help unloading as well. I've got a boy back at my place, but he's not as strong as you on the best of days and he's been hurling up his guts for the last three. And just because that's not enough, it looks like rain."
I hesitated. "Come on, come on," he said, gesturing to the cart. "I don't have all day, look at the sky!"
The sky was full of bruised clouds. I clambered into the rear of the cart, hunched under the canvas covering, and sat on a sack of what smelled like ground thyme.
"All right back there?" he called.
"Yes, thank you," I responded. I sneezed.
"Pungent, I know," he said. "By now I can't smell them at all. Too old! I've been doing this so long I can still tell when the herbs are good by their color, and my boy Calum's got a good nose on him."
"How long have you been in the spice trade?"
"Nearly thirty-five years now."
More than twice as long as I had been alive. I could not wrap my head around such a concept.
"I travelled a lot in my youth. Joined the Royal Navy and saw the entire Archipelago. The travel bug bit me after that, and so I went into spices. Good money in spices. I may only sell at the town market square in Sicion, but I've had a comfortable life, and that's all anyone really needs, don't let them tell you no different."
Through a gap in the canvas, I watched him settle himself deeper into the driver's seat, wince, and sigh.
"If it was so comfortable," I asked, "why are you still working at your age?" I only realized how rude it sounded once the words were out of my mouth. "Sorry," I said belatedly.
"It's fine, my boy," Mister Illari said, laughing. "It's my own damn fault. See, I didn't realize I only wanted a comfortable life until I was in my forties. Before then, I was determined to be the richest man in Ellada. I invested in businesses that crumbled, I gambled, I hired men that swindled me. I'd be wrapped up in some big set of apartments right now if I wouldn't already be dead from boredom."
We stopped in front of a tenement of
apartments that looked like all the others in Sicion – a tall building made of limestone and streaked liberally with soot. This one had a bit more filigree stonework about the edges than most, and thick double doors inset with stained glass.
Mister Illari clambered down from the cart and gave two short, loud whistle bursts. A window three floors up opened and a boy a few years younger than me popped his head out. His brown hair was unkempt.
"Back already?" he called.
"Yes, you lazy good for nothing!" Mister Illari called up at him. "Feel any better today?"
"A little," the boy returned. "I haven't been sick yet this morning!"