Dirt

by CC Hogan

  Chapter 10 – Sand in the wings

  Farthing sat on the soft sand and watched the sea wash in towards him, each wave making that little more progress towards his toes. The journey across from Taken had been uneventful, but hard, especially on the two dragons who were now lying in the dunes a few hundred paces inland, sleeping. They had decided to rest an extra day here, taking advantage of a small, temporary freshwater stream that flowed out from the desert. Another day of frustration, as far as Farthing was concerned. Another day when his sister could get even farther away.

  “Of course, Mr Farthing,” Weasel said, sitting down next to the young man. “Now they are on land, they will be moving at a normal pace, whereas we will still be flying.”

  Farthing looked sideways at the magician. Since they had left Taken, Weasel had often fallen into the formal patois of Taken Town, much to the annoyance of Fren-Eirol, who was not entirely convinced that being known as Mistress Eirol wasn’t, in reality, some kind of insult. It had become a little irritating, but Farthing had to admit that it had kept the mood optimistic when there were opportunities aplenty for it to fall into despair.

  “Are we certain they landed here?” Farthing asked.

  “They were on a relatively small craft, if that boat you saw back in Wead-Wodder was indeed the boat I have been tracking, so they could have landed anywhere along from here. I haven’t been able to find them yet, but then I am not sure what I am looking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, originally, I had your description of the small boat. I also knew that it had people on board and realised quickly it was moving very fast.” Weasel hesitated and then piled up a load of sand. “If I asked you to follow just one grain of sand in this pile with your eyes, would you be able to do it?”

  Farthing looked at the sand and screwed his eyes up. “They all look the same and are minuscule.”

  “Exactly,” said the magician. “Now, if I were to drop this stone on the top,” he dropped a tiny stone about the size of a pea on the top of the sand, “Would you be able to follow that?”

  Farthing nodded. “It stands out, so that would be easy.”

  “Now, let’s make it difficult again.” Weasel scattered another ten or twelve similar stones around the first.

  “That is getting harder,” Farthing commented. “But if I can make out enough differences between the first stone and the rest, I might be able to do it.”

  “Well, that is exactly what has happened,” the magician explained. “I have trouble finding anything at sea because unlike land, the sea is always moving, just like the thing I am trying to find. Most finders complain that it is like looking through a swirling fog and can’t find anything. I can actually see through that fog a little, possibly because I have just been doing it longer. I have been helped because I know what the boat looks like, or rather, I know what it doesn’t look like, and can find it by elimination, and it is travelling too fast and not always in the same direction as the stuff around it, the water. Despite that, I did still lose it on the first stretch. As we flew into Taken, I suddenly caught a glimpse of the boat’s trail, not its wake in the water, but differences it left behind because it had passed through.” Farthing looked completely blank. “It’s a bit like knowing someone has been in a building because odd things have changed; a door has been opened, perhaps, or something has been moved slightly.” Farthing nodded. “Anyway,” Weasel pressed on. “I found it again because it was different and now I know that it has to have landed somewhere on this coast.”

  “So, now what do we follow?”

  “Well, that is the problem. We don’t know if they are just travelling on foot, or whether they were met by someone, or even how many of them there are. As we flew in there were quite a few boats along the coast, and since there is nothing here and the water is shallow enough that the regular coastal traders would be in deeper water, according to Jipperson the younger, I think we can be sure most or all were bound for the market.”

  “So we just follow anyone, Mr Weasel?” Farthing suddenly got it.

  “Exactly, Mr Farthing!” Weasel grinned broadly. “We just head to the market following everyone else and then try and find your sister there.” His smile faded quickly. “Johnson, the market has been going on for days, you understand, and we are over a week behind. She may have been sold already and is no longer at the market.”

  Farthing had thought about this as they had travelled from Taken, and he and Fren-Eirol had already talked about what they would do if Rusty had gone. He tried to ignore the ifs and maybes for the moment; he could only find his sister one step at a time.

  “What about Fren-Eirol and Mab-Tok?” Farthing asked. “From what little I know about dragons, which is all learned in the last few days, they would not be seen anywhere near anything like slavery and they are not going to fit in.”

  “No, slavery has never been a part of their culture. It is another offshoot of them having no sense of territory, I suppose; ownership of another person would be a mystery. I think you and I will have to go in alone and they will have to wait it out somewhere. I am going to suggest that Mab-Tok does a bit of scouting. He is not as tired as Fren-Eirol and being smaller he doesn’t have to fly quite so high to be mistaken for a bird. He has sharp eyesight too.”

  “Fren-Eirol said that when they went hunting, he was spotting fish long before her.”

  The trip over had been made much easier by Jipperson’s and Biggerman’s stunning cartography. They had found every small island they had needed to, and Jipperson had made sure that two of them had been big enough to have water. Although neither dragon had wanted to overload themselves with food, at the halfway point they had gone feasting.

  “For the moment, the dragons have found themselves shade by a shipwreck,” Weasel said. “The dune was too warm, apparently, not that this is a hot place since we are further north than Redust. So, I suggest we join them, lay up for the day and set out in the morning.”

  There wasn’t much wind, but it was blowing from inland across the desert plane and it was warm enough. Farthing followed the magician along the coast till they reached where the dragons had camped out. This was one of many wrecks they had seen on their way along the coast when they had reached Jerr-Vone. The beach stretched endlessly in each direction and it was impossible to judge where the sand of the beach ended and the desert began. It was all but featureless, and Farthing could understand why no one lived here.

  “Hold dead still, Farthing!” Weasel shouted out in a sharp voice.

  Farthing froze and the magician came around in front of him, staring at his feet. Gently he reached down to the sand just in front of Farthing’s boots and suddenly plunged his hand down into the ground up to his wrist and pulled out a small, vivid green snake. Farthing’s eyes opened wide.

  “How did you know it was there?”

  “I saw the sand move just before you stepped forward.” Weasel had the snake held behind the head and with his other, he straightened it out to its length of about two feet. “It’s a Sand Wasp,” he said. “I thought they were only in the south of the Eastern Plains, but then I haven’t been here before.” Grabbing it firmly by the tail he whipped it around and threw it far from them. It landed, wriggled once, and vanished beneath the sand. Farthing let out his breath.

  “Thanks. I am still amazed you saw it.”

  “Luck, I think. I get a lot of that. Might explain why I am still breathing.” Weasel shrugged once and walked off to the wreck.

  The dragons had put up the larger canvas suspended from the side of the wreck of what looked like a medium-sized merchantman. It was mostly skeleton now, its oaken beams bleached white by the sea and the sand, and it could as easily have been bone as wood. With two dragons on the flight, it had been easier to transport the heavier items like the canvas. Farthing had not managed to pry out of Mab-Tok exactly why he was so keen to leave Taken in such a hur
ry and why he was going out of his way to travel with them, but he was grateful for his help all the same. It was another mystery, though, and he had enough of those. Fren-Eirol opened one eye when Farthing and Weasel came in out of the sun and picked a shady spot.

  “Have you decided our next move?” she asked Farthing. Over the last few days, she had started shifting the responsibility of the venture onto his young shoulders. Farthing suspected this was more her educating him than actually passing over the role of leader; there was a lot of similarity between her and Geezen. Alpha Female, Weasel had called it, and Farthing had new found sympathy for Truk and his unfinished well.

  “Weasel thinks we are better going to the market alone while you and Mab-Tok wait it out somewhere, probably up in the far mountains. I thought that through a bit more and I think the quieter our arrival, the better. I don’t know exactly how far the market is, but maybe we should walk at least part of the way so you two are not seen at all.”

  “It makes sense,” the sea dragon commented. “There will be no other dragons around here. Slavery is something we just don’t understand.”

  “Weasel said as much. I also think we may have missed my sister and the Prelate’s daughter already, so we need to find out where they have gone.”

  “She might still be there.”

  “I am not a fool, Eirol.” Farthing had started using the more familiar address over the last few days without thinking and no one had commented. “My sister is young and pretty. I spend half my life beating back lecherous old suitors from our door, and though I have never met this daughter of the Prelate, I know she is meant to be beautiful. I am no slaver, thank the dirt, but I can imagine they were sold before they even had a chance to sit down.”

  “I think you are right,” Weasel said. “I wish I knew more about your sister or the Prelate’s daughter. I might be more help then.”

  “She is called Precious,” Fren-Eirol supplied.

  “Sorry, I am so focused on Farthing’s sister that I forget there are other reasons we are here.”

  Farthing raised an eyebrow. Yet more he didn’t know. “So, it looks like we are going to be asking tons of questions and that needs people willing to give answers,” Farthing continued. “Weasel, do you know anything about the people that will be there?”

  Weasel shook his head. “If this were the Eastern Plains, it would be full of the desert people and in particular the Pharsil-Hin, the nomads. They are strange and isolationist and have no fondness for outsiders, but they are honest and will answer when asked in the right way. Not that I have been there for hundreds of years, mind you. But here? As far as I can work out there are no people who live in this wilderness so it will just be slavers from any of the towns around Bind. Slavers are a suspicious bunch at the best of times and this lot are all going to be working illegally, remember. We will have to tread carefully.”

  Mab-Tok yawned and opened his eyes. “Like Fren-Eirol, I have no interest or real understanding of slavery,” he commented. “But it seems to me that here is where all the most precious products are sold and bought, even though those products are people. The best of the best is not something you keep quiet about if you want the highest price. Will this be an auction?”

  Weasel nodded. “Most slaves are sold by auction though normally it is really auctioning off their honour debt or money debt, not an actual value of the person. From what the Jipperson brothers said, this is going to be more like selling cattle.”

  Farthing shivered at the thought. “So, selling to the highest bidder?” he asked. Weasel nodded again.

  “If the two girls are as pretty as you say, they might be or might have already been one of the star lots,” Mab-Tok continued. “You could just ask around and see if there are any upcoming sales for beautiful girls and then ask if you have missed any of the best.”

  Fren-Eirol laughed. “For a dragon, you seem more of a dealer than I am used to,” she said.

  “When you are small, you learn to trade up or get trodden on,” Mab-Tok explained with little humour.

  “Until you find you have outstayed your welcome?” Weasel suggested.

  “Perhaps.” Mab-Tok chose to look in the provision bag rather than continue down that line of questioning. Weasel had already worked out more than he was happy about.

  “Then in the morning, Mab-Tok, you shall scout and I will carry the other two closer to the market,” Fren-Eirol said. “Then you and I can go to the cool of the hills and hunt.”

  “That will be welcome,” he answered.

  “What will you do after the market?” Farthing was aware that any arrangement with the small dragon was only till they reached Bind.

  “Your debt is indeed fully paid,” the colourful Draig Bach-Iachawr answered. “Crossing oceans is difficult for us smaller folk, or at least it can take a long time and probably includes several wet landings. Being able to follow in Fren-Eirol’s wake has meant that I could fly higher and longer than I normally can. But I must admit that your venture has intrigued me, and if the girls are not at the market, I may continue with you a little farther, if I may.”

  Farthing was not unhappy at the idea. Mab-Tok pulled his weight and his healing knowledge might prove very useful if there were many more creatures around like the Onga and Sand Wasp.

  “Of course, any protection offered by being in the company of a strong young human, an old magician and the biggest sea dragon around the Yonder Sea would have nothing to do with it,” commented Weasel with a wicked grin.

  “It may have a small influence on the decision, perhaps,” Mab-Tok answered in an evasive tone.

  Fren-Eirol grinned at Weasel’s digging and laid back down with a long sigh. “Well, the warmth of the day will soon turn to a cool night, Messrs Tok, Farthing and Weasel,” she said, imitating the patois of Taken Town. “I suggest you collect whatever firewood this old vessel will let you have so we are reasonably comfortable for the night.” And with that, she closed her eyes tight shut.

  Farthing jumped to his feet and grabbed the small hatchet from the bag. “Well, that would be my job then. Mab-Tok, you can carry, Weasel, you can find kindling.” He walked around to the far side of the boat and scrambled up through the ribs to look for some less weathered timber.

  Mab-Tok flew off long before dawn, relying on his keen eyesight to allow him to see where a human would find it too dark. It was promising to be a fine, cloudless day which also meant that he would be easier to spot. Farthing, Weasel and Fren-Eirol were not far behind him. Their plan was to fly inland closer to where they suspected the market was and for Farthing and Weasel to make a new camp as if they had spent the night there. Fren-Eirol would then fly off to the mountains with the rest of their gear before the sun rose higher. Mab-Tok’s job was to get the lay of the land, try to get a better impression of the market itself, and find somewhere farther inland where they could all meet in five days.

  So far on their journey, almost all the flying had been just about as high as a human could go. This flight, however, was much lower and straighter and, despite the dark early hours, Farthing was very aware of the ground rushing past only a hundred feet below. The three of them remained completely quiet; to talk would have meant shouting over the wind noise and the beating of the dragon’s wings, and that might be heard over this still, flat desert. He and Weasel would have to rely on Fren-Eirol’s guesswork of how far she dared take them inland. In the distance, above the mountains, the sky began to lighten and the sea dragon took that as her cue to land.

  “I want to be away before it gets lighter,” she said.

  The two humans made a quick, simple camp and a small fire. Farthing had packed a couple of larger, already charred but cooled logs from the night before and a bag of ashes and used this to make the fire look much older than it was.

  “He is a natural at this,” Weasel commented to Fren-Eirol. “He has a future.”

  “Not as any sort of prot�
�gé to you, magician,” the dragon answered, disapprovingly.

  Farthing ignored the snip-snip banter between the sea dragon and Weasel. He had the feeling that this was the rekindling of an age-old friendship that should never have been allowed to die. His involvement was neither needed nor probably wanted.

  The dragon left quickly, pointing out a particular sharp peak in the distant mountain range and asking them to tell Mab-Tok to meet her there. Farthing and Weasel set up their small canvas, light enough for them to carry on foot, and took advantage of the early morning to to relax before embarking on the remaining walk to the market. However, Farthing had barely got comfortable on the sand when with a soft whoosh of air, Mab-Tok arrived. There was no time for formalities.

  “It is getting lighter and I mustn’t stay,” the small dragon said in hushed tones. “There is another camp about a half league behind you with seven or eight slavers and some unhappy looking male slaves. They were just waking up as I flew over and they will probably come this way fairly soon. You may want to travel to the market with them, but make it clear you are not looking for young men but girls and they won’t treat you as a potential buyer.”

  Farthing agreed. “How much of the market did you see?”

  “Enough to know that it is large but must have been a lot bigger several days ago. As you guessed, Weasel, some of the business has already been concluded. It is laid out along the seasonal river on the grass and plants that awaken with the water, and you can see flattened areas where traders had their tents. It was quiet when I flew over, but I saw hunters already heading out towards the hills, getting food for the traders, I assume. There were various pens being used to hold slaves, but they all seemed to be male and young. I also saw large, guarded tents. I guess if they are trading young women and girls, those will be where they are being held.”

  “Probably so they are kept unspoilt,” Weasel added, having been woken by the soft talk.

  “Unspoilt?” Farthing and Mab-Tok asked.

  “Yes.”

  Realisation hit both of them. “Oh,” said Farthing, and he frowned. Mab-Tok hurried on.

  “Most of the larger tents are on the far side, but I saw smaller tents, possibly buyers on foot like you, on this side of the market. There seems to be no particular organisation or fences; I guess there are no casual visitors here and if you were not interested in slaves, you wouldn’t be on this forsaken plain in the first place.”

  He was right, thought Farthing. The sand might be soft to lie on, but there was nothing else to recommend this region of Bind. He pointed over to the ridge of mountains and the sharp peak. “Fren-Eirol is waiting for you there,” he said. “She left about two hours ago. Where are we to meet?”

  “When you leave the far side of the market, walk east along the river about a league. From what I could see, that is where many have gone. There you will find three large rocks, easily the size of my house on Taken. Turn off the main path when you are certain no one is taking notice and travel south-east. There is no path there and no one going in that direction. You will have to cross the river, but it is already drying up and is very shallow if wide at that point, probably only up to your knees. I think it will not last more than a fortnight now before it vanishes altogether. After about a league there is another big pile of rocks. On the far side, there is a sheltered spot between three rocks where you will not be seen by any stray hunters. Wait and we will be there in five days. That doesn’t leave a tremendous amount of time.”

  “Probably enough to work out if the girls are still at the market or not,” commented Weasel. “If they are, and we haven’t managed to get them free, then we can go back for them.”

  It was a good plan, thought Farthing, but he had this feeling in the pit of his stomach that it was not going to be quite so easy.

  Once Mab-Tok had flown off to meet with Fren-Eirol, Farthing put on their small pot to brew the tea which they had picked up in Taken. Tea was not something he had tried before. Although you could buy it in the Prelates, it was not common, the locals there preferring to drink the rich, dark coffee that grew in the south of the continent and, of course, the huge amounts of mild wheat beer that seemed to underpin both the local culture and the local economy. The Jippersons had introduced him to the subtleties of brewing the dark, dried leaves in hot water and then adding spices and flakes of dried fruit. He had found he had rather liked it, and had brewed up tea at just about every stop they had made on the journey across from Taken.

  “Do you trust Mab-Tok, Mr Weasel,” Farthing asked, slipping into the Jipperson’s vernacular almost automatically. It must be something in the tea, he decided.

  “Distrust is not something that is easy to associate with dragons, Mr Farthing,” answered the magician, gratefully accepting a rough mug of the hot tea. The warmth of this desert plain was but a temporary thing and the cool of northern Bind reasserted itself overnight, the sand quickly losing the heat it had gained during the day.

  “How so, Mr Weasel?” The tea was a mild soporific, or some of the spice the Jippersons had suggested was, and Farthing was feeling gratefully relaxed, despite the uncertainties of the day ahead.

  “Dragons don’t really tell lies; to them that is simply a story and it is expected there is no truth in it. The idea of deceiving by telling a story appears to be a bit of a mystery to some of them. I tried many times to get Aneirin to lie to Fren-Eirol about something we had been doing, but he kept insisting on starting the conversation with, “I have a story for you,” which rather undermined the entire idea. That doesn’t mean they are not evasive or, more likely, will simply refuse to tell you something, but it is unlikely that they will intentionally mislead you. It can feel like it sometimes, though.”

  “So, what about Mab-Tok?”

  “I think he is being honest about his intentions of being with us and being helpful, and he has not hidden that he had some run-in with someone at Taken. However, that does not mean I think he is telling us everything, like where he is actually heading. A little unique that small dragon.”

  Farthing thought it could be that Mab-Tok’s plans were elsewhere and would have no effect on their journey, but he still found himself questioning the presence of the Draig Bach-Iachawr. A distant shout alerted them to the slow approach of the slave caravan. Weasel jumped up and extinguished the remains of their fire with the rest of his tea.

  “We should be mostly packed by the time they arrive so we can travel on with them easily and quickly,” Weasel said, starting to pack their few belongings. “I really don’t want to ask them the best way to get to the Market as I get the feeling that everyone who should be here already knows the answer.”

  Pretending to be new to the market was one thing; showing complete ignorance of something that was so clearly remote and illegal would raise suspicions. The sun was rising quickly now and the slave caravan came into view in the distance, a snaking column of slavers leading the large, six-legged pack animals used by people all over dirt, and, following behind, the chained slaves. It was an unhappy sight.

  “Remember that we have no qualms about slaves, Mr Farthing,” said Weasel in an upbeat voice, just in case the tone of the conversation carried across the sands, though it was still too far for the actual words to be discerned. “Be polite and ignore the slaves, as if they are just more horses.”

  “Have you come across much slavery before, Mr Weasel,” asked Farthing, imitating the artificial tone.

  “A little, here on Bind, though not much of this illegal variety; certainly, not in recent times. Of what I know, slavers are just traders at the end of the day, however dislikeable the trade, and traders are the same the world over; they want people to like what they have to offer, at least to their faces. Since we are meant to be looking for females, not males, their goods will simply be of no interest to us, not something we don’t like.”

  Farthing nodded in understanding. He would play this horrid ga
me and he would play it the best he could because the life of his sister may depend on it.

  “Welcome!”

  Ten minutes later the slavers arrived and the tall, well-dressed man at their head put his hand out in friendship. Farthing was momentarily surprised but then remembered that with no apparent slaves, they would be seen as buyers and not sellers, and so would be potential customers.

  “Welcome, indeed.” Weasel walked forward and shook the man’s hand firmly. “I am Mr Horseman,” he lied, “and this is my colleague Mr Goatherd.” Farthing blinked. A little warning about his sudden change of name would have been nice. He repeated it several times in his head so he didn’t forget it.

  “Welcome, Mr Horseman,” the tall man said, smiling warmly at Weasel and nodding to Farthing. “I am Mr Sirrupp and this is my van.”

  Weasel smiled. “Have you many following?”

  “Another six coffles. It has been a good year, Mr Horseman.”

  Weasel smiled again in apparent appreciation, and studied the line of young men in chains intently. “All male, Mr Sirrupp?”

  “Indeed, Mr Horseman.” It seemed that the Taken vernacular had a life elsewhere too, so naturally did it slip from the lips of the slaver. “Males are our speciality. Ah, you are looking for young females?”

  “We are, Mr Sirrupp. Mr Goatherd and I have the undertaking to find a particular female for an associate.”

  “Then sadly it looks like we will not be doing business this morning, Mr Horseman, Mr Goatherd. You would be more than welcome to travel with us.” It was as polite an invitation as one would expect from any of the more fair-minded of Taken, Farthing thought; pity about the business it involved.

  “We would be most grateful, Mr Sirrupp. A change of company is always welcome.” Weasel picked up the last of their belongings and packed them into Farthing’s bag without comment. The slaver was looking at Farthing with an assessing eye and turned to Weasel as the two men walked on to catch up with the van.

  “Your Mr Goatherd, Mr Horseman. Is he a close associate?”

  “Ah, my sister’s lad, Mr Sirrupp. He is young and strong and I felt the trip to the market would be a good education.”

  “Oh, quite, quite, Mr Horseman. I ask only as he is an especially fine speci … young man. He would gain much interest in the sales at the end of this week.”

  Weasel, without batting an eye, turned to look at the scowling Farthing in a thoughtful way, and then laughed. “You may be right, Mr Sirrupp, but trust me if I say that the vengeance of my sister is something I would rather not contemplate. The buyers will have to be disappointed this year, methinks.”

  Sirrupp joined in the general laughter of the moment. “I am sure there will be plenty of other excellent exhibits to whet their appetites, Mr Horseman. I have some fine examples myself only a day behind.” The slaver turned and nodded politely to Farthing as if to say he understood the position. A shiver ran down Farthing’s spine; it had never occurred to him that at this illegal place of business, he might be considered as product. It was all turning to treacle again.