Glass Swallow (13 page)

‘Rain, you will take no break at midday since you’ve been frittering away the morning with that dirty bondsman by the gates.’ The cook waved a rolling pin at her as she entered the shabby, low-ceilinged kitchen. It smelt of boiled cabbage and the tables were none too clean. By chance, it had turned out that Rain’s new mistress was the very woman who had sat in front of her in the employment office. The claim to prior acquaintance had not helped. Rain suspected it had worked against her as the cook felt ashamed she had been seen there by someone else.

‘Yes, Mistress Hundle.’

‘Wash yourself thoroughly. I will not have the artisans’ food rendered unfit for them because you have been gossiping with the lower classes.’

‘Yes, mistress.’

The cook turned to address the gathered servants, tapping a metal bowl to get their attention. ‘A glass-maker will be on site today. Since the attempt to bring in foreign craftsmen failed last year, Jettan Kirn has appointed one of ours to design the windows. You will treat him with utmost respect.’

Rain clenched her fists. That was supposed to have been her job. She’d spent long enough on the site to have thought up patterns for all the empty window niches as a means of filling her lonely hours. In her mind’s eye, she could already see the summer palace as a blaze of colour: flowers, skies, wild animals, trees, all delicately picked out in a lacework design to complement the airy architecture.

‘If you are fortunate enough to come across the glassmaker during your duties, you are to stand to one side and curtsey. Rain, keep your eyes lowered.’

‘Yes, mistress.’

‘And for the Master’s sake, do something about your hair. I can see it tumbling down your back.’

Rain tried to bundle it all under her scarf but Helgis’s exploration earlier had undone her braid. She would have to start again.

‘Now, stop all looking at me like a herd of mindless cows. Get back to work!’

Rain couldn’t help watching for the designer as she went about her tasks. Given the unpleasant job of heaving buckets of water from the well, she made many tottering journeys across the site. She knew that Mikel was keeping an eye on her from the gate, making sure she wasn’t bothered by any of the labourers, but there was no sign of the falcon men. They’d probably left before the ordinary workers had reported for duty. Towards noon, a party arrived on horseback, flanked by six guards dressed in blue livery. Rain recognized Jettan Kirn, the overseer of the works, a thin man with receding hair and an expression of permanent disgust. She’d been told he was the most important man in Magharna after the Master. Kirn’s footsteps were dogged by a smartly dressed drummer, employed to be his intermediary with the lower classes. Next to the jettan was a stout man with brawny arms. He had the look of a glassmaker, down to the scarred hands of one who worked at a forge. Rain felt a pang of homesickness. He reminded her of her father—the same stature and air of competence. The bucket slopped, dampening the hem of her gown, as she stumbled out of their way.

‘Now, Master Glassmaker, Jettan Kirn would like you to explain your preliminary sketches to him,’ said the servant.

The man began his description, relating how he planned to fill the windows with images taken from Magharnan history, portraits of famous Masters, images of decisive battles.

All wrong
, thought Rain. They would ruin the building, being completely out of harmony with the vision of summer lightness created by the architect. The palace needed beauty with a touch of fantasy.

‘That sounds very satisfactory,’ said the jettan. ‘I expect work to begin immediately.’

‘Tell your master that I will have my best apprentices dedicated to the task working day and night,’ replied the craftsman.

‘I will leave him to his work then.’ The jettan gave the glassmaker a nod and strode from the site, his work for the day complete. The designer wiped his brow and gave a huff of relief, thankful for passing the test. He looked up and saw Rain waiting by the side of the plank walkway over the rough ground.

‘Here, girl, bring me some water.’ He beckoned her closer.

Rain presented him with the dipper she carried at her belt for use of the builders when they required a drink.

The glassmaker took a long, deep draught and smacked his lips. ‘That’s better. Thirsty work, dealing with a jettan.’ He held out the dipper. As Rain reached to take it back, she glanced up, giving the glassmaker a glimpse of her eyes. He kept hold of the scoop, not letting her tug it from his grip. ‘Wait a moment, I’ve heard of you.’ He scratched his nose trying to remember. ‘You’re that girl from Holt. A few months back someone was asking around for you, but I said I’d never seen you.’

Rain felt a leap of hope. ‘Who, sir?’

He relinquished his hold on the dipper. ‘Oh, some scavenger. I couldn’t understand why that lot would be interested in a foreigner. You came to Magharna with the Holtish glassmaker, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, sir.’ So it hadn’t been someone from home; she’d been foolish to let herself even think this.

He rolled his shoulders, easing the tension. ‘Sorry for your loss, but I can’t say that I was sad that the work stayed with us Magharnans. Still, do you know anything about Holtish glassmaking?’

Rain could have laughed: what did she know? Only everything.

‘I grew up in my father’s forge, sir. I have picked up a few bits here and there.’

‘Do you know what your kinsman had in mind for the palace?’

Rain glanced towards the kitchen, wondering if she would be reprimanded for talking so freely to the craftsman. ‘I think he would have made the windows with a variety of summer themes—fruit and flowers, that sort of thing.’

The glassmaker shook his head. ‘Just as well then. That would never have done for the Master.’ He gave her another inspection. ‘In the House of the Indigent, are you?’

‘As you see, sir.’ She wondered for a moment if he was going to offer her the hospitality of one craftsman to another. That is what would have happened in Tigral.

‘Good. I’m glad to see the Master is looking after you.’

Her heart sank. ‘He has been most kind,’ she lied.

He reached in a bag hanging from his shoulder to draw out a scroll, already dismissing her from his thoughts.

‘Sir?’

‘What?’

‘If anyone from Holt should ask after me, will you tell them where I am to be found?’

He looked puzzled. ‘Why would they ask me?’

‘I think my family would expect me to be lodged with the glassmakers.’

He didn’t take the hint. ‘All right, I’ll tell them. Now leave me in peace: I’ve work to do.’

O
ne evening late in March, Hern returned from a hunting trip on a jettan’s estate.

‘Another merchant convoy’s been attacked,’ he announced to the family as everyone gathered in the shared kitchen for supper.

Shaking his head, Peri finished oiling his gauntlet and started on Helgis’s glove.

‘Any survivors?’ asked Katia, checking that Rosie wasn’t in earshot. The little girl was playing ball with some other scavenger children by the open door, untouched by the troubles that worried their elders.

‘None. Word has it that they carried a cargo of gold for Wealer Damset.’ Hern poured himself a mug of beer, took a gulp and wiped the foam from his top lip. ‘There will be lots of worried people up in the city tonight.’

‘Why?’ Helgis scrawled absent-mindedly on a slate, drawing the mountain pass. ‘It wasn’t their stuff that was stolen, was it?’

‘Not directly. But Damset runs the biggest house of coinage; his money underpins our whole currency. If he goes down, so do many of the people who borrow from him,’ Hern explained.

Helgis grinned. ‘So what? A few rich men lose out: sounds like good news to me.’

‘We’ll see.’

Peri checked the stitching on the gauntlet carefully, ensuring there were no loose threads to catch on a raptor’s claws. Remarkably for Helgis, it was in a sound condition, unlike the Magharnan state. That had been fragile ever since the run of bad harvests and huge losses to the bandits. This latest attack was cutting off the blood supply to the heart of an already wounded patient; there was only so much trauma Magharna could withstand.

‘What do you think we should do, Pa?’ Peri asked quietly.

Hern sat down next to his oldest son and lowered his voice. ‘I think we should make preparations for the worst. Your mother and I, along with the other families, have been stockpiling supplies for some time now, but we’ll have to think how we’ll react if law and order breaks down in the city-within-the-walls. I wouldn’t put it past the rich merchants to think they can walk in here and take our stuff if they are in need.’

‘So, what? An armed guard?’

‘Yes. All of us capable of defending the compound will have to take our turn.’

‘Starting when?’

Hern took a breath. ‘About now, I’d say.’ He stood up, climbing on a bench. ‘My friends!’

The chatter quickly died away as the scavengers gathered in the four sections of the room turned in their seats to look up at Hern.

‘We’ve been expecting trouble for some months, haven’t we?’ There were rumbles of agreement. ‘It’s time to take precautions. The city’s on a knife edge and there’s no guarantee the problems won’t spread down here. If you agree, I propose we choose someone to organize our defenders and another to control our stores to see us through the bad times to come.’

A woman at the far end of the room stood on her chair. ‘We trust you, Hern. My vote is to put you in charge of our defence.’

Her suggestion was seconded by many in the room.

‘I’d be honoured, Kentara.’ Hern shifted uneasily. ‘But what about supplies? Will you take that on?’

She shrugged, hands on hips. ‘If you think I’d do a good job.’

‘It’s right that a butcher does it,’ agreed Katia, standing beside her husband. ‘You’re the best woman for the position.’

Kentara grinned. ‘All right. At least between us, we won’t run short of meat, eh?’

There was a ripple of laughter in the room, lightening the mood despite the seriousness of the occasion. Peri found it hard to join in. The scavengers wouldn’t be able to save everyone, their resources just didn’t stretch that far, but he hoped to make the case for some exceptions. He wondered what would happen to those he knew in the city, to Mikel and to Rain. If things got as bad as his father feared, he would have to do something for them; he couldn’t hide in safety knowing they were suffering.

Rain encountered the first sign of the approaching crisis on her way to work the next morning. Queues had formed outside a beautiful mansion on a city square, the line snaking round a peacock-shaped fountain and under the arcade of exclusive tailors’ shops. The house was decorated with a shield over the door, inscribed with the word ‘Damset’. But the mood of the crowd was out of step with the tranquillity of the plaza; the people were talking angrily, the men at the front thumping on the closed gates.

‘Let us in!’ they shouted.

‘No more worthless paper and empty promises: we want gold!’ yelled a puce-faced man.

Rain hurried on, arriving just in time at the kitchen for the start of her duties.

‘Keep off the streets today, lovey,’ Mikel advised her when she went to fill up his kettle. ‘There’ll be ugly scenes.’

‘Why?’ She accepted the cup of tea he offered her and took a perch on a stool with a sigh of relief, her feet aching in her ill-fitting clogs.

‘Big wealer going down, taking lots of little ones with him. No telling where it will stop.’

‘That won’t affect us, will it?’

Mikel sneezed into a grubby handkerchief. ‘Wish I could get rid of this blooming cold. No one knows. We’re travelling in uncharted territory, if you follow me.’

Rain wrinkled her brow. ‘I’m not sure I do. Haven’t you had problems before in Magharna?’

‘Not as bad as this.’

‘But can’t the Master do something to put things right?’ She thought of her own country where King Ramil always seemed to have a plan to deal with any trouble before it developed into a crisis.