Page 10 of The Witch who Trades with Death

Chapter Ten

Heimili stuffed her so full of food Khana didn’t want to move for the next week. He had set her on one of the thin cushions in the corner of the room and fetched her a meal fit for an emperor – noodle soup with bits of meat and roots, served with half a loaf of chuta, a type of bread that had an almost grainy taste that Khana couldn’t identify, but cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and seeds came through strongly. There was no silverware, but that didn’t stop her from inhaling the soup, using the chuta to mop up the dregs.

All of this was washed down with a pot of tea, which was the most familiar part of her meal, and yet still foreign. Reguallian teas were subtle, delicate, made from fruits, flowers and other sweet things. Ghuran tea was sharp and bitter to the point of needing a few spoonfuls of cream, which Heimili also, thankfully, had on hand, even if it came from an animal she couldn’t identify.

Khana couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper meal, never mind one she actually enjoyed , free from fresh horrors and immediate worries. She snatched up another half of bread that Heimili wordlessly placed in front of her in between tending to customers and gobbled that down as well.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Baba just hired a wolf in girl’s clothing.”

Khana startled. The young man kneeling on the opposite cushion was not Heimili, though they shared the same wide nose, reddish-brown skin common in this town, and dark eyes. When he grinned at her, it showed the gap between his two front teeth, and his brown wool shirt was almost dark enough to hide the food stains of various age and size.

She swallowed her last mouthful, considering denying that she was a girl. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep that lie going for very long. Best to start this employment off with some level of honesty. “Sorry. It’s really good!”

“Oh, I know. Best chuta in town. Don’t let those liars in the restaurant down the street tell you otherwise. I’m Hasyamin. Call me Haz.”

“Khana.” She tipped her head in a bow. “Good to meet you, Master Haz.”

“Blech. Baba might be all right with you calling him ‘master’ since he’s employing you, but not me. I’m too young and pretty to be ordering anyone around.” He made a face. “And now, of course, he’s asked me to order you around once you’re done eating, or at least show you your room and what you’ll be doing here.”

Khana finished her tea and got to her feet, fighting back a yawn. Being in a warm building with a belly full of hot food made her tired. But she refused to show her fatigue as Haz took her dishes to the kitchen, then brought her upstairs, leading her through the narrow stone halls.

“Why is only the front door made of wood, and the rest here are curtains?” she asked. Most of the curtains blocking off rooms were blankets of woven wool, or animal skins.

“Because wood is horribly expensive,” Haz explained. “To get to a forest, you have to either cross the mountains or the tundra. Baba was ridiculously proud when he was able to install that wooden door out front. The Old Families, though, they have wooden doors for every room and a bunch of furniture in each room, too.”

“Old Family?”

“They run the mountains and tundra. Seven families, and one person from each is elected chief every seven years. Most are from here – like Chief Phramanka, her family’s always been in Pahuuda – but a few are from other Ghuran towns. The Cila family’s all the way by the ocean but sent someone here to help Phramanka run things. This is you.”

He showed her a room that had the skin of a very furry animal as a door – perhaps it had been one of those creatures she’d seen grazing the tough grass out in the fields. More pelts on the floor served as her bed. There was a fireplace in the corner, a metal lantern and a handful of candles she could use for extra light, and a small window with a stone grate over it. A bit of wool served as a curtain, which she figured she could use to “close” her window.

“Animal bones burn hotter and longer than wood,” Haz said. “You ever burn bone?”

“No.”

“We can show you how to do that. It takes a while, but it’s worth it.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Your Reguallian is very good.”

She’d guessed that Haz and Heimili were mostly, if not entirely, Ghuran given the skin, height, and facial features. But that fluency came with years of experience, and Haz didn’t seem much older than her. He’d grown up with it.

“Well, Baba’s never been that good at it, which annoyed Mimi enough that she made sure I was fluent,” Haz explained. “Speaking of, I should probably introduce you to her. She gets cranky if we forget about her.”

Khana left her meager belongings in the room and followed Haz to the back of the inn, where an old woman washed a bedsheet. A Reguallian, with wrinkled tan skin and a delicate, bird-like build.

“Mimi, meet your new employee,” Haz cheered. “At least until dinner. Khana, this is my grandmother, Amati.”

Amati studied Khana with cold, sharp eyes. Khana dipped into a small bow. Amati sighed. “Your father needs to stop picking up strays.”

“You know he can’t resist a pretty face.”

Khana stiffened. Was that why Heimili had taken her on? Maybe she should’ve kept pretending to be a boy.

“Do you know how to sew, girl?” Amati asked.

“Yes,” she said. She’d mended all her clothes at the palace. And before that, she and her mother would work on various sewing and weaving projects together.

Amati motioned to a pile of folded pelts and linens in the corner. “Those each have at least one hole or tear in them. Get a kit and sew them up.”

With that, Khana’s first day of work officially started. It had been years since she’d had to sew pelts, and they were far tougher than the silks and cottons she was used to. But she made sure every tear was meticulously mended, difficult to re-break, and as invisible as she could make them. Amati grunted over her work, and when she said only, “Help me fold these sheets,” Khana took her lack of complaint as a compliment.

Amati coughed into her sleeve, so hard and harsh that Khana worried she’d break. “Are you all right?”

Amati waved her off. “Old lungs kicking up a fuss.”

“I’ll get some water–”

“I’m fine. Hand me the black thread.”

Khana silently obeyed, keeping a worried eye on the old woman. “Will I be meeting Haz’s mother?”

“Only if you die,” Amati said. “Sickness got her after the birth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Bah. None of us survive this life.”

Haz came to fetch Khana as the sun set and the dinner rush began. It was far more stressful than sewing. Heimili spent most of the time in the kitchen, leaving her and Haz to handle the dining room while he heated soup in a giant cauldron and pulled chuta from the stone oven.

The dining hall filled with customers: a couple of happy farmers in the corner celebrating a birthday, a harried mother looking for someone else to feed her children by the fireplace, an exhausted-looking hunter who drooped against the wall. Khana fetched bowls of soup and bread, and poured an endless amount of tea, vodka, and mead. When someone left, she took their dishes to the kitchen and, following Haz’s lead, beat the dirtier cushions outside or over the fire to get the crumbs out.

Most of the customers spoke Reguallian, which was a relief, and the ones that weren’t fluent knew enough to communicate what type of food they wanted. Only one person came to the inn looking for a room to sleep in – a trader from the east who only spoke Ghura. Haz handled that one.

“You’re new. Refugee?” several asked. She smiled and nodded.

“Just tell Heimili I want my usual. He’ll know,” a few said.

“Pretty face. No wonder Heimili hired you,” someone else said with a wink. Khana’s polite smile became forced as she buried that particular worry further down and asked for their order.

“At least we’re not packed,” Haz commented, handing her a new kettle of tea. “Some nights, we have more customers than cushions. Just don’t dump this in someone’s lap.”

“I’ll try,” Khana replied dryly.

One unexpected joy came from the fact that the more drunk some customers became, the more they sang. No instruments, no audience, just bursting into random song. Some of them were Reguallian ballads that she’d heard performed in court. Others had lyrics better suited to a brothel. It made her face heat and Haz laugh. Others still were in Ghura that she didn’t recognize, but she nodded along to the beat as she refilled their cups. The songs raised everyone’s spirits, including her own. They made her a little more confident, especially when she knew one enough to sing along.

One thing that Khana noticed was Pahuudans were a lot more tactile than other people she’d seen. Certainly more so than imperial culture permitted, which taught from birth that you didn’t touch anyone unless they were family. She saw a bit of that familiar hesitancy in a few of the Reguallians here, but many still clapped their friends on the back, squeezed each other in hugs, or ruffled each other’s hair. In the Naatuun Desert, she’d had no siblings, but one of her friends had had six brothers. The people in the inn reminded her of them.

About halfway through the night, a new face entered, alone. Khana almost bumped into him on her way to the kitchen, swerving at the last second so hard she almost tripped.

He grabbed her arms to steady her. “ Thitchu nalahami ta? ” he chuckled.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted, quickly regaining her balance. Thank goodness she hadn’t been carrying any food.

He let her go as soon as it was clear she wouldn’t fall, palms up in a soothing manner. Like everyone else here, he towered over her by almost two hand-lengths. He had a short, well-trimmed black beard on his square jaw, and hair the same shade. He wore it long and braided over his left shoulder, probably to make it easier to reach the quiver of arrows on his back.

“It is all right,” he said in a thick Ghuran accent, his voice soft and kind. He reminded her of the hunting dogs her father raised that would cuddle up to her by the fire, hoping for treats or scratches.

She fixed the pale gray and white cloak on his shoulders that had almost been pulled off in their collision, the soft wolf fur swallowing her hand. She wondered if his beard was just as soft. “Oh good, you speak Reguallian.”

“Some. I am still learning.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “Better than my Ghura.”

“Khana, we need you in the back!” Haz called over.

She jolted. Here she was standing in front of this man like an idiot when she had a job to do.

“Oh, hey Sava!” Haz greeted.

“Good evening, Haz.” Sava grinned, which – unfairly – made him more handsome.

His name was magic. The place had been lively before, but as soon as everyone realized Sava was here, they all shouted greetings. He politely moved around Khana to sit with a group of men playing dice, patting people on the shoulder and smiling.

Khana joined Haz. “Who is he?”

“Sava? He’s Chief Phramanka’s son, part of the Bvamso family.”

She couldn’t hide her shock. “He’s… royalty?”

Haz laughed. “We don’t have royalty here. But the Bvamsos are one of the Old Families. See the wolf pelt? They’re the only people allowed to wear those, just like the Pinnsviris are the only people allowed to wear porcupines, Cituvas wear leopards… you get it.”

“What’s he doing here? Shouldn’t he be in the… richer part of town?”

“Is that your polite way of saying, ‘What’s he doing in a dump like this?”

“It’s not a dump!” She rather liked this little inn. It was warm, homey, and seemed safe. So far.

Haz snickered. “I’m just teasing you. Sava likes going out into the town. He asked me to teach him Reguallian so he could actually talk to everyone. He comes here every few days to practice. Fast learner, that one. Help me get these loaves to that woman in the yellow hat; Heimili made her extra for her parents.”

Khana did as asked, stealing glances at Sava as she went about her duties. He quickly shed his cloak, revealing long, muscled arms and a brown vest cinched at the waist by a surprisingly bright blue belt. She didn’t see any trace of fear, disgust, or apprehension on anyone’s faces, not even when Sava lost all his coins to the night’s gambling. He just knocked the winner’s shoulder with a laugh and let them buy him another drink. Khana was right there to refill their cups and bowls.

Yamueto and most of his princely children ruled with fear. Servants and nobles alike crept in their shadow, never daring such levity to their superiors. The fact that these people were so open and relaxed around the chief’s son put Khana further at ease.

Sava’s group was the last to leave. The sun had set two hours ago, and Khana’s legs and back screamed at her while her stomach grumbled once more. But at least she was warm.

She carried the last of the dishes into the kitchen, where Heimili and Amati washed them in a basin of water that she’d seen them toss and refill half a dozen times. It was already murky brown again.

Heimili jerked his chin toward a pair of steaming bowls. “For you and Haz. Go eat.”

Part of her jumped at the chance, but the kitchen was still a mess, and she didn’t want him to think she was lazy. “Do you need help?”

He shook his head. “Your first day. Good work. Go eat.”

Beaming with the praise, she took the two bowls of soup and looked for Haz. He was sitting on the cushion next to Sava. Half of the gambling group had left, leaving plenty of room. Khana hesitated. She should give Haz his bowl and then retreat to her room. Looking at Sava made her stomach flutter in ways she didn’t understand and filled her with a nervousness she would much rather leave alone. The excitement from earlier was replaced by the dread and fear of reality.

“Khana! Over here.” Haz waved her over.

The decision had been made for her. Khana quietly joined them, handing him his bowl. The gambling continued without missing a beat. Sava, Haz, and the others lost and gained small piles of coins while Khana sipped her soup and wondered if the money on the floor in front of her was enough to hire that guide over the tundra.

“Oh! Almost forgot.” Haz handed her a pouch that jingled. “Your share of the tips.”

Payment already? This job kept getting better and better. Khana did a quick count. “Will this get me a thicker coat?”

“Pfft. Just use one of mine. I’ve outgrown half a dozen, and they’re all shoved in the back of my closet for Amati to tear apart.” He looked her up and down. “Maybe trim them a little, so you don’t drown.”

“That’s… thank you, Haz.”

The boys quickly finished their game. Khana couldn’t quite follow it, being unfamiliar with the rules, but she knew that Haz had lost, given his grumbling and Sava’s snickering. The other two men were deep in their cups, and one of them started singing. Badly.

His friend – who wore a scarf and had been silent all night – clamped a hand over his mouth before he could get past another stanza in cracked, out of tune lyrics.

“ Thank you,” Haz said empathetically, covering his ears.

The drunk man – a Ghuran – said something. Haz snorted, then translated for Khana: “He says that a beautiful night needs a beautiful song. But that requires someone to sing in tune .”

“What are good Reguallian songs?” Sava asked.

“You will pray for death if I sing them,” Haz promised. “Khana? Know any good ones?”

She almost choked on the last mouthful of soup. “Um…”

The drunks stared at her with wide-eyed curiosity. Sava put his square chin on his hand and gave a patient smile.

Khana straightened her back and sang the first thing that came to mind:

“There once was a frog

With little green toes

Who wanted to jump

The mountain…”

It was a children’s tale, sometimes sung as a lullaby, about an ambitious little frog. The impossible task of jumping the mountain took a year and involved him almost getting eaten by every type of animal there was, until he finally did it.

When she was done, the drunk bellowed his approval, and the others clapped.

“You have a great song,” Sava said warmly, making Khana’s cheeks heat even as he frowned. “No, not song. Haz, what is…from the neck…”

“Voice,” he chuckled. “Singing voice.”

“Yes!”

The drunk begged for another, and Khana kept them entertained until her voice got scratchy and Haz finally kicked them all out. Gods, it felt good to make music again, even if her audience probably wouldn’t remember it.

Sava finished his drink, counted his winnings, then split it between Khana and Haz. “Tips.”

“What?” she gasped, staring at the pile of coins in front of her.

“Ooh, more money,” Haz cheered.

“This is yours,” Khana argued, pushing the coins back to Sava. “You won them.”

“And now I tip,” Sava replied, getting to his feet and donning his wolfskin cloak.

She opened her mouth to argue further, when Haz shook his head. “He won’t take them back. Baba and Mimi have tried.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “Best to resign yourself to it.”

Sava snorted, flicking Haz in the head. “Good night.”

“’Night!”

Sava left, and the inn was bereft of customers. Khana hadn’t realized that the singing and gambling had relaxed her so well until it sank in that she was alone with her employers.

“That’s enough to get you three pairs of boots with holes in them, or one that will actually keep your feet warm,” Haz said, motioning to her share of Sava’s winnings.

“What about a tundra guide?” she asked.

“Hmm. We had a refugee work for us a while ago who was good with his money, collected big tips, and was a decent gambler. It took him two years.”

Khana’s hopes fell. She bagged her coin. “Well. We’d better head to bed.”

She looked over her shoulder to the kitchen. It was dark, all the candles and oven fires out. “Where’s your father?”

“Bed, by now. He goes down like a rock after a long night.”

She relaxed. She was safe. For now.

Unless Haz pressured her.

He didn’t. He yawned and stood. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“G-Good night.”