With a hand touching him, she lay staring up at a sky growing less dark. She fell asleep that way.
*
Mignureal awoke before he did. For a few moments she lay appreciating the way the sun pierced the foliage in ways that formed interesting patterns, while the latticework of branches created more nice shapes against the sky. She sat up with care for quiet, thinking that the heroic Shadowspawn needed his sleep after last night’s accomplishments. She was in time to see Notable come pacing out of the forest. He stopped to stare at the small calico cat. She was nosing about, exploring only the immediate area, while Notable must have been roaming the woods. Stalking birds, most likely, and likely without success.
Abruptly she went motionless, one paw still upraised, and turned her head to return the bigger cat’s stare.
Fearing trouble and noise to disturb Hanse, Mignureal rose as silently as she could and went to them. She noted that the horses had been breakfasting for quite a while; the grass around them was well cropped and a number of branches were missing a number of leaves. Inja whickered. Mignureal petted a soft equine nose in passing, and picked up the colourful cat. Stroking the little animal, she entered the woods until she had a large tree between her and the makeshift camp. There she transacted the important business of nature. She left the calico cat still scratching industriously at the soft mossy earth it was delighted to find.
Mignureal returned to find Hanse yawning and just starting to sit up. She hurried to kneel beside him for a hug.
“One of us is famished,” he said, yawning again.
“Two of us are,” she chuckled, and added, “likely more than that, too. We have a whole herd of animals, remember.”
“A zoo,” he groaned. He looked around. “Where’s the S’danzo kitty?”
That brought another chuckle from her. “In the woods scratching, after a certain morning business.”
“Good idea,” Hanse said, and rose, stretching lithely as he entered the forest on the same errand.
He returned to no feast; more bread and dates and cold dried fish, too salty from its curing. Well, it was food. Quality and quantity of food had never been a great need or interest of his, so long as he ate. Merely that had been a problem for too many years — and several times since. Nevertheless he was looking forward to juicy greasy meat and some warm bread, some onions and garlic and something sweet, once they reached…somewhere.
He was studying the new cat. What a tiny, delicate head she had! He watched her gnaw and tear off another morsel of the saltwater-cured fish, shake her head at the saltiness, but go right ahead and eat anyhow. Hanse understood. Real hunger was not a partner of fastidiousness; an empty belly was not choosy.
Hearing the clink of coins, he turned to see what Mignue was doing. He met the gaze of a Mignureal whose eyes were very large. She held the saddlebag.
“I don’t believe it! How did you do this, Hanse? I thought you were so tired — and despite all the tales I heard I really never knew Shadowspawn was this good.”
He cocked his head. “What? Do what?”
“Oh stop.” She shook the bag. It jingle-clinked. “Are these eleven other coins or did you really get the ones I put in my — ” She broke off to dip a hand into her bosom. “You did! They’re gone!”
Hanse stared at her. “Now you stop. I have done nothing but sleep and when I woke you were already up. When I put my hands there you’ll know it, believe me!” It was his turn to check. “Damn! You took the four I had hidden in here — Mignue! You may be a thief yet!”
His smile faded into smoke when he saw how she was staring. Call it glaring.
Both of them insisted, and their denials and insistences progressed or regressed to border on argumentation. Each remained adamant; neither Hanse nor Mignureal had jokingly “robbed” the other, and neither had put the eleven coins into the leathern bag. Bordering on outright accusation and anger, they stopped abruptly.
Hanse sullenly changed out of what he called his working clothes, still feeling that she had somehow tricked him. The blacks he neatly folded and stored away in a pack. She watched him transfer sheaths, and realized that he had lost a knife last night. Back in russet tunic and leathers, he dragged a red sash out of the clothing pack. She watched him spread it on the ground and line up five coins in the exact centre of the long strip of scarlet. He held up four, extending them to her on an open palm.
“No. I’m carrying enough silver, Hanse. You wear those. Put them all in the sash.”
She saw him consider thrusting the coins into the warm nook between her breasts, saw him decide against it. Without a word, still feeling tricked and put upon, he added those four pieces of silver to the other five. They were flashy-bright against the red of the sash. Producing some twenty more from here and there, he added them to the others. Each silver Imperial was about the size of a thumbprint. Each bore the head of the Rankan ruler on the obverse, with a stylized lightning bolt and some letters abbreviating something or other that was doubtless important in Ranke. The reverse was a small figure of that nation’s chief god and his consort, sun-crowned and looking austerely majestic.
Carefully Hanse folded and rolled the sash, and as carefully tied it around his waist. He knotted. Just as carefully, he was not looking at her.
She watched that, feeling tricked and put upon and thinking that he was carrying this joke too far, that it was no longer a joke, this pretending that she had somehow taken the quartet of coins he had slipped into his clothing last night. Almost in silence, they packed up and rode along the narrow road through the forest. Once again the fun had gone out of life.
Despite their mutual sullenness and envelopment in thought, they rode warily. More Tejana might well be about, their reputation as desert-roamers notwithstanding. The woods might be tenanted with menace, whether on two feet or four. They might meet someone coming from the other direction, and that someone or someones might or might not be friendly. Thieves might lurk, waiting to strip travellers of everything including life. When they remembered, Hanse and Mignureal scanned the tall trees and broader branches that extended over the road.
They saw and heard nothing but birds. No one complained.
The calico cat was not at all comfortable riding the onager’s pack as Notable had done, even after Mignureal planted her there and made a sort of nest for her. With some mews and even a seemingly healthy meow and a lot of large-eyed looking around combined with much hesitation about jumping down, the cat did. She alit with the usual human-shaming feline grace and ease. After that she was happy to walk along, near Mignureal’s mount. Today it pleased Notable, too, to walk.
The cool and shade of the forest made a great difference for them all, and spirits should have been much higher. Unfortunately the two humans were busy being sulky and deep in dark brown thoughts.
After about two hours Hanse finally got it out in a blurt: “You really didn’t put those coins back in the bag, did you.”
She was soft-voiced but firm: “I already told you I didn’t.”
“I know you told me you didn’t, but I told you I didn’t too, remember? It just wasn’t possible to believe each other.” He sighed, thinning his lips. “Who wants even to think about any other possibility? You know I hate sorcery, but…”
“Hanse: are you really telling me that you really didn’t, that you weren’t joking and then got embarrassed and, uh, tried to…” She trailed off.
“Oh, shit,” Hanse said, showing his hurt, and faced front again.
Another hour or so of silence followed that doomed attempt. At least the birds sounded happy.
After a time they heard water, over on the left somewhere, and before long they came to the skimpy and yet definite path leading off the road on the left, into the trees. The horses acted very interested. Naturally so were Mignureal and Hanse. Neither said anything. He merely turned his Tejana horse that way, and let the grey do the rest. Mignureal and the “herd” followed. Notable decided to creep/hurry on ahead. After a short
hesitation, the calico followed him.
“Drop back a little,” Hanse said, “in case I duck one of these branches and it gets you.” At the same time he was guiding one aside and easing it back in passing, so that it wouldn’t spring back at Mignureal.
Mignureal didn’t say anything. The sound of water grew louder. Now they could hear it tumbling and gurgling over stones, and knew they were going to find a nice stream. The path wound. Trees and branches were close. First they seemed to thicken, so that it grew both dimmer and cooler. Soon they could see brighter sunlight ahead, and then they emerged onto a short grassy stretch that led to the stream.
The clear water was not deep here, running over stones it had been smoothing for many years. The opposite bank was only a dozen or so feet away and steeper than on this side. With the trees thus held back from the banks, a great deal of sun came through to dapple the grass and gleam like silver on the water. Near the water’s edge a number of roots were naked and interestingly gnarly-looking.
The standard cliché phrases of storytellers had come true for the two city-dwellers: they were in an idyllic glade on the banks of a genuine gurgling brook running right through the forest. It cooled the air, even in the sunlight.
Just as he swung down, Hanse saw the hand-sized fish move past, wriggling along in the water above its own flowing shadow. A lovely thought jumped into his mind. Immediately he tightened his grip on the rein, fighting to hold old Iron-mouth from the water despite its bobbing head. He glanced upstream, where he saw a deeper pool. His lips moved in the hint of a smile, which was more than most had ever seen from him called Shadowspawn, before this setting out with Mignureal.
“How lovely!” her voice came, and he turned to look at her.
She was smiling brightly in an expression of girlish wonderment. Hanse thought she looked just beautiful. He released the grey’s rein and went to hold up his hands to her.
That gesture and the loveliness of their surroundings ended hostilities; Mignureal happily allowed herself to be helped down and, amid a swishing and rustling of skirts, pressed close.
“I saw a fish,” he said. “Some juicy crayfish are probably lurking around among all those rocks in the water, too. If we’re lucky maybe we can have a fresh meal for a change.”
“Oh!” She looked in delight on the water. Then, clouding a little: “Hanse? Do you know about catching fish and crawl-fish?”
Hanse shrugged. “I guess I’m quick enough to catch crayfish. As to the others — if I just squat and be real still, I should be able to stick one with a knife as he goes by.”
“Wait; I’ve heard more about using a spear. Maybe a sharpened stick?”
“Hmm. Maybe a stick with a knife tied to it. Ver-ry tight! Good idea.”
They let the horses and onager drink, watched the cats appear and nose around, and kept the horses from moving upstream, toward the pool. Hanse found the kind of long straight branch he wanted, about two fingers thick, and hacked it off. While he laboriously bound a flat throwing knife to one end, Mignureal was making delighted noises, wading barefoot with her skirts hiked up. The cats gave her looks from time to time, as if she were quite, quite loony.
Hanse didn’t. The looks he shot her were directed at her bare legs.
Then Mignureal caught the crayfish.
It was simple. It caught her. The diminutive version of a lobster saw her bare toe either as a menace or a snack, and clamped on with an outsized pincer. She squealed and whipped her foot splashily out of the water, and the crawlfish let go at the wrong time. It impacted Hanse’s leg and dropped wetly, pulpily to the ground. It was swiftly made prisoner.
“That’s wonderful, Mignue!” he called. “Catch some more!”
After an instant’s worth of dark look, she laughed. The trouble moved out from between them, and was behind them.
Two hours later Mignureal had gathered three tiny wild onions and a nice supply of firewood, which she arranged in the place where others had obviously made fires in past. She had also washed several articles of clothing and hung them here and there to dry. The horses meanwhile were standing about snoozing; Notable lay snoozing; and the calico cat lay regarding Notable. Hanse had collected a crayfish pinch on the side of his hand and another on one finger, bloodied a toe on a stone, and managed to scoop-toss another crawlfish up onto the grass. He had also stubbed his left big toe, been mildly finned on one hand, and had missed three fish with his spear.
Mignureal really didn’t mind: she loved watching him barelegged in the water, wearing only his breechclout. Wiry and lithe in his clothes, he was surprisingly muscled without them. His biceps and calves were nicely stuffed with those rock-looking bulges that all males wished they had.
Then he speared a fish. Having learned how difficult it was, he was inordinately proud. Unfortunately this white-bellied, orange-backed representative of fishdom was hand-size only to Mignureal.
Hanse’s expression of pride had turned to one of dolorousness when a whitish shape wriggled right over his foot. Hanse cried out excitedly. In a movement so rapid that Mignureal was hardly aware of seeing it, he bent, snatched the fish splashily out of the water, and hurled it ashore. All in one movement.
Mignureal was still blinking at the blinding speed of her man.
Since this fish was large enough to be the other’s sire, as she put it, her man was even more proud than before.
“Maybe I should just stand around here and wait for another one to brush past,” he said, trying not to grin. He liked her a lot better this way, looking almost lissome in fewer clothes.
Mignureal avoided making vocal the words that jumped into her mind: You might starve too, just standing there waiting. She said, “Shadowspawn! Faster than a speeding fish!”
“That’s me!”
They laughed aloud, truly happy here and with each other.
“Uh — you know how to clean fish, Mignue?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Get away from that, Calico!”
“Aye,” the triumphant Hanse said, wading to the bank. “Catch your own dinner, cat!”
Notable blearily opened one eye to regard Hanse as if he understood the meaning of the word “dinner.”
“I do not, though,” Mignureal said, “know what to do with live ones!”
“Oh. Simple. Off with their heads. Come here, fish — Ow!”
“Oh,” Mignureal said, wrinkling her nose and twisting her mouth. “Ewww! Ugh!”
Moments later the fish were headless. The cats had dinner, or a nice snack, anyhow. Mighty fisherman presented the beheaded corpses to his woman with a newly fin-bloodied hand. He also stepped on one of the crayfish, which grabbed. Mignureal couldn’t help laughing when Hanse lurched into an unseemly dance. The crawlfish refused to let go. Hanse sat down abruptly and tried to tug the thing off.
“Owwwww!” He took pause to give the matter a moment of thought then, and pricked the little crustacean with his knife. It let go his toe. Curbing the impulse to stomp it, Hanse hurried to thrust his foot in the water, where he wriggled it with enthusiasm. He also gave Mignureal a dark look. She managed to curb her laughter and look properly concerned.
“I’m sorry, darling. Just the sight of you dancing that way — is it bleeding?”
Hanse looked. No it wasn’t, and that was embarrassing, so he kicked water on Mignureal. She squealed and picked up one of the stones they’d placed in the sun to dry. She threw it into the water a foot from Hanse, splashing him nicely. He yelled, tried to kick water at her in retaliation, and slipped. The splash was mighty.
*
Mignureal cleaned the fish. Hanse steadfastly sought others while he kept the cats away. He was successful only in the latter, and in convincing Mignureal that a little beer in the pan would improve aroma, flavour, and texture. Neither he nor she was quite sure what to do with the crayfish, except that Hanse was certain that one cooked them alive. That elicited another “Ewwww” from Mignureal, so he waited until the fish were frying over the fire amid a mar
vellous aroma.
“Look!” he called, while pointing across the stream.
Mignureal looked — at nothing — and Hanse popped both crawlfish into the fry-pan. Both scuttled, then stopped crawling. Mignureal looked back from nothing and into the pan. First she made a face, then she gave Hanse a look that mingled disgust and accusation. He put his head on one side and spread his hands.
“I will say this: I’ll have a lot more respect for fishermen hereafter,” he said a few moments later, examining the bruise on the back of one thigh; he had sustained it when he fell in the water. Meanwhile, the places where he had been finned itched, and his rock-stubbed big toe was purplish. “What labour! What dangerous work! Look at me — covered with bruises, cuts, and pinch-marks!”
“We can always stay here a few days while I nurse you back to health,” she said without looking up, and Hanse reached over to pinch her calf. That very nearly succeeded in dumping dinner into the fire. First making sure it was stable, she stood and came at him as if to strangle.
“Oh, oh, Helllp!” Hanse squealed in a ridiculously high voice, falling back on the grass.
Mignureal came to an abrupt and jerky stop, staring down at the large red cat that had seemingly materialized between her and the sprawled Hanse. Notable’s loud yowl still rode the air and every hair on the animal seemed to be standing straight out. All three horses were staring. So was Hanse.
“Well I’ll be — Notable! Easy, Notable. Friend, Notable. Joke, damn it! It’s a game, Notable; joke! No no Mignue, don’t try to pet him just yet!”
Then he was staring anew, this time at the tiny multi-coloured cat that stood beside Mignureal’s foot, back up, ears back and teeth bared as she stared at Notable. The calico hissed.
“I do not believe this!” Hanse wailed. He fell back again and pounded the ground.
“I — I don’t either,” she said. “It’s the first time I’ve seen him — this way. Frightening! I’m sure that if I’d come another step he’d have … attacked. Me!”
Shadowspawn (Thieves' World Book 4) Page 9