Page 46

BAHBA brOUGHT THEM BACK OUT TO THE CARRIAGE AND into the city, Yatho and Telle joining at her insistence. Though the rains had almost stopped, the sky was only getting darker, and the night market was a glow at the feet of the sharp slopes that descended towards the Long Harbour.

This is what we get for mixing with highborns , said Yatho, as she sat, looking less than comfortable on the brocaded seats, her wheelchair this time tied to the back of the cart along with the pieces of Kissen’s new leg. Never one to do one thing at a time.

The highborns can understand you, said Kissen. Lessa gave her a distracted smile, but it fell quickly. Inara could practically feel the churning of her mother’s mind as she tried to understand what Bahba was planning.

This isn’t an easy place for you to use your chair, Kissen signed to Yatho, clearly trying to improve the mood. It’s steep.

Yatho rolled her eyes and nodded. I can’t wait to come home, she said, then hesitated. If we can.

You’ll come back? signed Inara.

Telle bit her lip, then touched her wife’s arm in a gentle, reassuring way, but the flush of her colours was closer to shyness. Yes, she signed. Not to the archives. I want to make a school.

Yatho smiled at her proudly. For children like us, or Bea. Disabled, or in trouble. I could make useful things. She nodded at Kissen. You could teach green spaces, plantlore, fighting and rehabilitation.

I haven’t the patience for teaching, replied Kissen.

I thought that, before you met her, said Telle, nodding at Inara.

She’s right , said Inara, smirking, she doesn’t .

Yatho snorted, and Bahba looked towards them. ‘Anything interesting?’ she asked.

‘Your guests want to go back home,’ said Lessa to Bahba, pointedly.

‘And I hope they shall,’ said Bahba. ‘Lady Craier, you seem to be under the illusion that I have the power to sway all the Mithrik to my favour?’

‘You seem to be under the illusion that I care a whit for these niceties when my country is on the edge of ruin.’

This is going to be an interesting dinner, Inara thought to Skedi, who shook out his feathers. The night was growing hot and heavy after the rain, and he still didn’t like being wet.

The carriage wobbled as it descended. They passed money changers, instruments from western lutes to southern kora with their multitude of strings, and into herb-smokers, salt-sellers, sweet-makers, bread-makers.

The streets were wide enough that the stalls were in several layers, some permanent around the edges and some set up as temporary covered tables rippling out from the centre.

They came to a halt, mid-market, by a large, covered dining area between the stalls, lit by glass lamps hanging from poles.

The scent of charcoal, zither and sweet thyme filled the air, along with crisping bread, herbs and steam.

Several charms hung from the awning, in a number of different symbols for gods Inara didn’t recognise.

‘ Yameti’i melikami yataghayar! ’ a woman called, coming out to greet them.

‘ Kama alaik yatagha ,’ responded Bahba, Lessa, Inara and Yatho following suit, as well as the drivers of their carriage, in an array of greeting cries.

‘You bring friends from Middren, at last!’ said the woman in accented Middric. ‘You look hungry! Have you eaten?’

She added in Irisian to Bahba that they all looked as if they needed a proper meal. The colours were warm between them, bright and in rhythm. Affectionate. The host’s colour of greeting was the beautiful, earth-and-ochre tones of Bahba’s freckled skin.

‘The lady speaks Irisian, Albia,’ said Bahba, with a slight tone of warning.

‘The famous pirate of Middren, I should expect no less,’ said their host, unflustered. ‘Come, come in. Take tea.’

There was a man standing to the side holding an ornate tray of etched silver, bearing steaming glasses of bitter tea.

Inara took one, and they followed Albia and Bahba through brightly coloured awnings, painted silks and muslins decorated with images of changing seasons, crashing seas, skeletons and children dancing together.

The god of change is everywhere and nowhere, Telle said to Inara, Yatho having taken her tea so she could still sign easily.

Such a small grace, a loving offering. They have no totem, excluding their meaning: death, life, seasons, sky and sea, growth and decay.

I understand that if they have manifested, it is not as something visible.

Inara nodded, looking up at the vivid colours. What is change but change? she replied, and Telle put her hand approvingly on her head.

There were other patrons, in rooms that they passed behind thick curtains.

Only when someone passed through did Inara see motley collections of folk from all over the world, sitting around low tables covered in plates of food from around the market.

They were all indifferent to their passage, focussed on their own chatter and negotiations.

No threats, said Skedi, and Inara nodded. No deception, no lies.

But what does she want?

I don’t know.

Albia lifted a curtain and revealed a small marquee lit by lamps and braziers, with one side open to the busy market to let in the air and show the sights, but the rest enclosed so that it was quiet and cloistered, private.

The seats here were arranged differently too, all tipped in towards each other around a table that was heavy with steaming plates.

Another woman in light, simple robes was uncovering them: yellow rice dotted with currants, green seedpods steamed by a thick, sweet-smelling stew of purple vegetables, walnuts, onions, and chicken legs, sprinkled with pomegranate seeds like little gems. Beside it was a baking pot of tiny birds surrounded by dark pink fruits and white butternut, while on a grill over a metal tray of coals was a whole fish, broiled in a reddish broth, still bubbling and further decorated with fermented crumble.

There were also stuffed gourds, red and round and filled with egg mixed with herbs and rice, as well as long yellow tubers sliced in half, their innards baked and dusted with spices.

These were arrayed next to what looked like sticky dates stuffed with cheese and nuts and then fried with a strip of fatty meat around them, and finally, four or five dips of red, pink, beige, and white yoghurt.

There were several kinds of bread: small corn-yellow balls that looked more like cakes, the round flatbreads that Elo made, covered in the same mixture of seeds and herbs, and flat and plain disks dotted with heat where they had been cooked in the humped clay ovens that Skedi had seen across the market.

Everything was freshly prepared and hot. Lessa seemed lost for words, and Bahba took the host’s hand in hers, and kissed the ends of her fingers, one by one.

‘This is a mixture of foods from around Irisian lands,’ she said when she released it, ‘but also to the south, east and west. This market is a haven for weary travellers, and this is my favourite place to break bread and meet new people.’ She smiled at Kissen.

‘I brought Elogast here when he was just a boy, before he had decided to take up the sword.’

‘Oh I remember that lad of yours,’ said Albia. ‘Couldn’t stop eating!’

‘Ellac did indulge him. If he didn’t tend towards length in leg, he would have been wide as a ship, I swear!’

‘Wives are meant for indulging, Bahba. Oh,’ Albia turned to Yatho, ‘my friend, I have chairs that should help support your back.’ She gestured at a low chair with a shaped base and a back support, not unlike her wheelchair.

‘And I arranged the seats to face inwards so your wife can better read faces and mouths.’

‘Though please do tell me if I speak too fast,’ Bahba put in, with a self-deprecating laugh.

Telle watched Yatho’s translation, and then smiled. ‘Thank you for this feast,’ she said out loud.

They sat in their circle and put down their teas as Bahba picked up a glass bottle and poured them all a cup of a clear liqueur, then followed it with a spoonful of molasses, and another of honey which pooled in the bottom like old blood and fresh gold.

‘Please, a toast,’ she said, passing around the glasses to everyone. ‘To friendship and good fare, and the god of change.’ She poured a drop on the floor behind her, a gift to the god on the fresh reeds beyond the edge of the carpet.

‘To the god of change,’ Inara murmured, and after making her offer, took a sip.

She spluttered, coughing at the strength of it, and Kissen laughed at her, took a sip after making no offering, then spluttered as well, tears coming to her eyes.

Skedi stood up on his legs, likely afraid that the glasses were poisoned.

‘I forgot to say,’ said Bahba, ‘it’s quite strong.’

The people helped themselves to food, while Skedi watched on.

To one who didn’t eat, Inara knew he thought it an odd human custom.

With so much terror happening in the world, at home, to their loved ones, how could they take pause?

But Inara saw how peoples’ colours changed as they filled their bellies, pleasure blooming and warmth piling up.

Even her mother sat more at ease, her expression softer as she and Bahba kept suggesting different plates to the others, ordering in some more; fresh clams dipped in a spiced, clear sauce, a bowl of green vegetables with oils, vinegars and lemon zest.

‘Why did Elo never come for this?’ said Kissen at last. ‘Living in a little village, all on his own? He could have been feasting.’