by Lara Morgan
Shaan stared at her confused. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I am Meelin and this is my shop. I’m a friend of Tuon’s. She went to an oil lamp and struck some flint, lighting the wick. All of her gestures were quick and graceful, the plump woman moving from window to shelf like a sleek round seal. A warm glow filled the small room and Shaan saw she was in a perfumery.
Two walls were lined with shelves filled with small phials of oil, jars of various dried plants and scented candles. At the back was a small counter in front of which large sacks cluttered the floor. A set of small scales and various implements were set neatly out on the stone top and a stool sat nearby, presumably for customers. Behind the counter was a closed door and the pleasant scent of spices and flowers filled the air. It was surprisingly cool inside compared to the sticky warmth outside.
Shaan stood uneasily in the middle of the room. ‘Why did Tuon send you?’
Meelin flicked a glance to the street. ‘The Faithful are after you,’ she said quietly.
‘What?’ Shaan went cold. Had they found out about Petar?
‘She sent me a message early this morning,’ Meelin continued. ‘It was very short. She said if I were to see you on the street I should get you inside immediately.’
‘Did she say why?’
‘No,’ Meelin shook her head. ‘But you can ask her when she gets here. Now,’ she went to the door behind the counter, ‘Come, wait in here.’
She retrieved a set of keys from under a shelf, unlocking the door, and Shaan followed her into a narrow room that ran along the back of the shop. A long table littered with the tools of Meelin’s trade took up half the space, and a perfume still sat in one corner, bubbling quietly filled with vapour.
‘Sit.’ Meelin pulled a stool up to the table. ‘I’ll send a messenger to her.’
With no other choice, Shaan sat. Meelin opened the back door and whistled once in a low tone. A small girl dressed in shabby clothes appeared out of the shadows of the back alley, listened intently to Meelin’s whispers, then ran off, her bare feet silent on the hard earth.
‘She won’t be long.’ Meelin came back and sat beside her. Opening a sack full of white flowers she began pulling off the petals and placing them carefully in a bowl. ‘Here, you can help me while we wait.’ She pushed the sack toward her.
Shaan hesitated, then, with cold fingers copied the perfumer’s movements, stripping the petals away one by one, the sweet herbaceous scent filling her nostrils. She could hardly think. Had the Faithful discovered she’d been with the dream seer when he died? Would they not want Tuon as well then? Or was Commander Rorc tired of waiting for her to come to him, and was instead coming for her? Dismay filled her. How could she hide from them? Afraid, she sat pulling petals from the flowers and waited for Tuon.
They’d almost finished when she entered quietly through the back door, her face shadowed by a dull green swathe of silk.
‘Tuon!’ Shaan dropped the flower to the table and hurried over to her. ‘What’s happening? What . . .’
‘Sssh, keep your voice down!’ Tuon hissed, pulling the fabric off. ‘I saw no Hunters follow me, but that does not mean they are not there.’
‘Why are they looking for me?’ Shaan dropped her voice. ‘Is it because . . .’ she left her words unfinished as Tuon gave her a warning look.
‘I don’t know,’ Tuon said. ‘All I know is I met with Rorc this morning and he asked about you, about where you were. I don’t know why, but he wants you for something. He says you are important.’
‘For what?’ Shaan stared at her, but Tuon shook her head, her expression bleak.
‘I don’t know. But he told me also that the Guardian has been poisoned and that she lies now between life and death.’
‘The Guardian?’ Shaan stared at her.
‘That is a bad omen,’ Meelin said, her eyes dark.
‘Yes,’ Tuon said. ‘The Guardian is poisoned and the serpents fly about screeching at the sky. It doesn’t feel safe here anymore for anyone, much less someone wanted by the Faithful.’ She took a long breath. ‘We have to get you out of the city.’
Shaan’s insides clenched. ‘But where would I go, and how?’
‘I have some friends I can call on.’ Tuon glanced at Meelin.
‘My brother is taking a trade caravan back to his home in the Free Lands,’ the perfumer said. ‘He leaves tonight.’
The Free Lands? Shaan looked at Tuon. ‘But I know no one there.’
‘And no one knows you, it is the safest place for you.’ She took her hands. ‘I have some coin saved, not a lot, but it will be enough for a little while.’
Shaan stepped back, shaking her head. There had to be an alternative. ‘Can’t I just hide? There are places I used to know, when I ran with the packs, places I could go.’
‘They would find you,’ Tuon said. ‘Do you really think there is somewhere in the city you could hide from them?’
A sick sense of desolation came over her. Tuon was right; there was nowhere else to go but out of the city, and even then . . . but what of her plans to see Morfessa? She would not be able to seek help for her dreams from him now. And what if it happened again? What if someone else touched her in her sleep? What if someone else died? The thought made her feel as though she were standing alone on a precipice with the wind at her back pushing her toward the edge.
It was impossible! But then she looked at Tuon and thought of Tallis, the man who called her sister. She had to separate herself from everyone. What if she hurt one of them?
‘All right,’ she said quietly. ‘But what about you? Commander Rorc will know you helped me once I am gone.’
Tuon gave a sigh of relief. ‘Don’t worry about me, I can handle him. Now if there was anyone following me, and I’d say knowing Rorc there was, he’ll be getting suspicious if I don’t leave soon so we have to think fast.’
‘I say the best way to hide something from a man is to put it in plain sight,’ Meelin said. ‘They’ll expect her to be keeping low, sticking to the shadows, but if we’re careful and dress her right,’ her eyes roamed over Shaan’s rough work trousers and shirt, ‘they may walk right past her.’
‘What are you saying?’ Tuon looked at her.
‘I’m saying we dress her up better than she’s ever looked. Perfume her hair, colour her eyes and lips with stains, and instead of hiding her in my brother’s caravan among the barrels, she can sit up next to him. She will be a trader’s daughter returning home.’
Tuon looked over Shaan with a critical eye. ‘It might work.’
‘It will,’ Meelin said. ‘But it will take time, and meanwhile what if someone saw her come into my shop?’ She pursed her lips. ‘We need a girl her size and colouring.’
‘A simple swap trick,’ Shaan said. ‘We used to do it when I was thieving; but would it work on the Faithful?’
‘Not for long,’ Tuon said. ‘But maybe long enough.’
‘I think I know someone who could do it,’ Meelin said. ‘I will send for her.’ And she went to the back door and whistled for the girl again.
‘Now,’ Tuon looked at her, ‘you will need to wash and then we shall find you a dress. Meelin,’ she turned to the other woman, ‘you will have to open your shop soon and I cannot stay long, it will seem suspicious. We will need more help.’
‘Yes, I have sent for some.’ Meelin beckoned to Shaan. ‘Come, I have hot water upstairs.’ She drew back a length of fabric hanging from the wall and revealed a narrow set of stone stairs.
‘Shaan.’ Tuon took her hand before she could move. ‘I will have to go.’ Her eyes glittered with sudden tears. ‘Be careful, I would like to come with you, but . . .’ she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Here.’ She pressed a small cloth bag full of coin into her hand and pushed a wayward curl of hair behind her ear. ‘Take this so you don’t need to turn to thieving to survive.’
‘Tuon, wait.’ Shaan suddenly felt as though things were moving too fast, but Tuon only smiled fleetingly. ‘I have
to go. Look after yourself Shaan, don’t let them find you.’
‘I won’t.’ Shaan felt a strange sense of unreality as she hugged Tuon tight.
‘Here.’ Meelin gave Tuon a small phial of perfume. ‘Take this, you will need to look as though you came here for something. I will come see you when it is done.’
‘All right, be safe.’ Tuon squeezed her hand one last time and then was gone, the back door closing quietly behind her. Shaan stood uncertainly, staring at the door.
‘Come,’ Meelin took her arm. ‘There is not much time.’ And she took her away upstairs.
The day passed in a blur. She was washed, her hair perfumed and nails painted with a dark red stain. Her yard worker clothes were put on a young girl of her build, who had her beautiful long dark hair chopped short, and her paler skin dusted with a powder that made her seem darker. Then she was sent out in the street carrying a phial of oil and wearing a bandage on her hand.
Meelin covered Shaan’s burn with a tinted salve that almost camouflaged it, and applied silvery blue paint to her eyelids, outlining them with a black stick. Then she painted her lips with a dark red powder mixed with oil. When they were finished Shaan barely recognised herself. They had dressed her in a sleeveless, long, sea-green dress that plunged low between her breasts, almost to her navel, and was held in at the waist by a criss-cross of silk ties. Her hair was clean and soft and perfumed and held back from her face with a beaten copper band. A sheer wrap of pale turquoise silk was draped over her hair and down over her shoulders. Tiny beads of coloured glass were sewn along the edges so it glittered in the light when she moved and it could be drawn across her face and fastened so only her eyes showed, in the manner of a woman of the Free Lands.
‘There.’ Meelin stepped back to survey their work. ‘You are now the daughter of a Free Lander merchant. And remember, the women of that land do not talk to strange men. Say nothing unless my brother, Menon, speaks to you. If other men look at you, only stare at them as though they are nothing, as though they are dust under your feet. Women of wealth in the Free Lands are ruled by stricter practices than here. Be guided by my brother. He will be meeting you at an inn, the Sea Falcon, on his way back from some business in the common quarter.’
‘What shall I do when we arrive if I cannot speak to people?’ Shaan felt anxiety stir as she realised just how little she knew of the Free Lands.
‘Menon will help you. With the coin Tuon gave you he can help you set up a little shop of some kind, perhaps trading in perfume.’
‘But I know nothing of trading,’ Shaan said.
‘Then you will learn,’ Meelin answered shortly.
A few hours later, as the sun began to set, Shaan was bundled out the back door of Meelin’s shop and into a covered cart drawn by a surly muthu. After a few short instructions, and a description of her brother, Meelin dropped the cover down and Shaan was alone as the cart pushed through the evening crowds toward its destination.
The air was close and hot under the thick canvas and Shaan began to sweat. Wishing they’d been able to secure an open cart, she unhooked the veil and fanned herself with the fabric. She could hear the noise of the streets outside and smell the familiar scents of roasting meats, salt air and rotting fish. It seemed impossible that she could be leaving it all. She didn’t want to. What would she do in a land where she knew no one and had no idea how to survive? For a brief, mad moment she thought about flinging the canvas back from the cart and running away through the streets back to the Red Pepino. She wanted to be back in her room, in the familiar dusty space, not here crouched in the semi-darkness with the scent of flowers in her hair.
She pushed the canvas back a fraction and peered through the gap at the street outside. They were on the edge of the merchants’ quarter and the light was rosy, sunset painting the white washed walls a softer shade. The street was scattered with traders, sailors and women pulling children along behind them. The scene was so familiar that it sent a sharp ache through her and she almost, almost, stepped from the cart, but then a shadow moved in the corner of her vision. Her breath caught and she pulled back sharply as a man dressed all in black melted out from an alley and disappeared into the crowd. A Hunter, or maybe even a Seducer. Her heart beat hard and her hands shook as she fastened the veil once more across her face. She sat back against the hard cushions. They will find you, Tuon’s words came back to her. She fingered the bag of coins attached by a ribbon to the ties of her dress and waited with silent breaths for the cart to reach the inn.
27
The Sea Falcon Inn was large and prosperous. The walls were decorated with mosaic murals and in one corner a jade statue of a great sea bird hovered over a shallow bowl filled with orange blossoms.
Two men were leaning against the bar, and three of the tables against the wall held couples eating. Other than those few, it was quiet. Shaan approached the surly man behind the bar and asked for a tumbler of wine. He gave her a guarded look, but said nothing as he took a glass to the nearest barrel. The dress was cut lower than she was used to and she felt exposed and vulnerable, but she did her best to keep a haughty expression in her eyes, glad the veil disguised most of her face. The man came back with her wine and she found herself a table at the far end of the room where she could watch the door.
It wasn’t long before more patrons began to arrive. A group of Serpent Isles ship women entered; surveying the room with proud faces they glided across the floor and claimed a place at the bar. They saw her and the tallest, and most heavily tattooed, nodded at her. Assuming it was right to do so, Shaan gave them a brief dip of her head. The ship women were followed soon after by groups of traders, merchants and a few riders. Shaan’s stomach did a nervous jump as she saw the riders, but they did no more than glance at her. Annoyed at herself, she tried to sip the wine, but it proved almost impossible with the veil attached so she settled for toying with the glass and wondered where Menon was.
Maybe he wasn’t coming. Perhaps something had happened and he’d been waylaid. Or the Faithful had found out about Meelin and were now on their way to her. Cold fear squatted like a lump of congealed fat in her gut. Tuon had risked much to do this for her – all of them had.
She stared at the door, but there was no one coming in. Irritated and thirsty, she unhooked the veil and sipped her wine. It was rich and dry and warmed her gullet. She took another sip, then another. Time passed, she drained her glass, but still there was no Menon.
Her nerves were stretched taught and she began to wonder if he really was coming. He was too late: this couldn’t be good. It had been nearly an hour. She couldn’t stay here. Fastening the veil again, she rose from the table and took the glass back to the bar, thinking she would ask the barman to call a muthu cart for her.
A man stepped up beside her and she moved over a little to make room. A faint scent of spice and green wood reached her nostrils. She glanced up and almost dropped her glass as her eyes met Balkis’s cool blue gaze. A slight frown furrowed his handsome face as their eyes met, but he quickly looked away again.
‘My pardon mistress,’ he said, and lifted a hand to beckon the barman over.
Shaan was frozen to the spot. Her heart thudding, she placed the glass carefully on the bar. He hadn’t recognised her, but if he looked again . . . Slowly, so as not to appear hurried, she turned away and began to walk to the door. It seemed to take an age to cross that small space and the back of her neck and her spine prickled, but finally she reached it and with an unsteady hand pulled it open. But as she did she couldn’t help glancing quickly back. The door creaked and he looked her way. Their eyes met, his widened and he straightened up, staring at her.
Now she’d done it. She turned and bolted out into the street. Night had fallen and street lamps glowed dimly in the damp air, a haze of insects clouding around them. The only people about were a couple of sailors stumbling down the street. Casting desperately about, Shaan ran up toward the next corner, hoping to find somewhere to hide. She doubted she co
uld outrun him, but at least he appeared to be alone.
That hope was quickly dashed. Before she reached the corner she heard the door of the inn slam open behind her.
‘Tanen, Rees!’ Balkis shouted and two men came out of the doorway of a building on her right. ‘She’s there!’ he yelled and the men turned and began to sprint toward her.
With a sense of desperation she knew she wouldn’t be able to make the corner, wheeling about she saw the only option was to go up. Cursing, she drew her skirts up and ran toward the corner of the shop across the road. A stack of old crates was piled at the edge of the awning, and with a leap she jumped up on them and stretching up reached desperately for the canvas, intending to swing herself up, but she wasn’t quick enough.
‘Shaan, stop!’ Balkis arms went around her waist, pulling her down.
‘No!’ She struggled madly, but the veil tangled about her, hindering her movements, and she couldn’t touch the ground. She kicked out at him, but the shoes were soft-soled slippers and did no good.
‘Shaan!’ he grunted. ‘Will you stop!’
‘Let me go!’ She tried to punch him, but he dropped her suddenly to the ground and changed his grip, trapping her arms in against her sides, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe.
‘Stop!’ he shouted.
She wheezed, and he reduced his pressure a little, but not enough for her to escape. It was no use. She stopped struggling and slumped against him, the veil slipping down over her eyes. ‘All right, all right! Pull this off me will you.’ She shook her head, banging it back against his chest as she tried to dislodge the veil.
‘Why are you dressed like this?’ He kept a tight hold on one of her arms as he yanked the veil sharply off.
‘Ow!’ she yelped as the glass beads scraped her skin.
‘The Commander is looking for you. Why did you run when I called?’
‘Why do you think?’ she retorted, then noticed his men had reached them and were staring openly at her breasts, half exposed by the low cut dress. ‘Keep looking and I’ll cut you a new breathing hole,’ she snapped.