Authors: David Drake
Lord of the Isles (43 page)
The old woman kneeling beside the throne peered at the islanders with sharp interest. At first the woman seemed to be wearing a blue garment, but as she hunched to her feet Sharina saw that her body had been tattooed in intricate swirls. She shuffled around the edge of the platform, leaning on a staff carved from a narwhal tusk.
Sleepsalot stood before the king, so close that a guard lowered his harpoon and pricked him back as he bellowed, “King Longtoes, these islanders were floating in the sea beside the driftwood I found. I claim the wood and the strangers also as my slaves.”
Sharina put her hand on her hatchet. Nonnus thrust the butt of his javelin between Sleepsalot's ankles from behind and levered the man forward onto his face. A guard rolled Sleepsalot backward with his foot. The watching Folk laughed and pounded their palms against the platform to make it rumble like a drum.
“King Longtoes,” the hermit said, “I am Nonnus, son of Bran, son of Pewle Island. I bring you the following wood
as payment for my family's joining the tribe. Five poles this diameterâ”
as payment for my family's joining the tribe. Five poles this diameterâ”
He formed the fingers of his left hand into a semicircle the diameter of an oarshaft like the four braces and the mainspar; his javelin point scratched a complete circle on the whalehide.
“âand this long.” Nonnus strode twenty feet out from the throne. The crowd parted for him because he followed his javelin. “Three pieces
this
diameterâ” The outriggers and mast made from the trireme's spars. He stepped another four feet outboard. “âand this long. And a log
this
diameterâ”
this
diameterâ” The outriggers and mast made from the trireme's spars. He stepped another four feet outboard. “âand this long. And a log
this
diameterâ”
Nonnus arched both arms into a broad crescent.
“âand this long, but hollowed out by a third of the volume. On my honor as a Pewleman!”
The crowd hooted in wonder. The Folk could make do with bone for most purposes, but scarcity gave wood a certain value. Logs the size of the dugout must rarely enter the great circuit in which the Floating Folk lived.
“And what's a Pewleman's honor worth!” demanded a voice from Sleepsalot's entourage.
“It's worth your teeth to me to wear and your heart to eat if there's a handspan's less wood than I say!” Nonnus said. “Shall we make that bargain, Threefingers?”
Threefingers retreated behind his father's bulkier body. Nonnus stalked forward again to face the king, his javelin resting on his shoulder. “The price of six citizens!” he said to Longtoes. “For me, my two wives, and the son in my care. He's sickly and can't hunt, but I swore an oath to my gods to care for him nonetheless.”
“So-o-o, Pewleman,” Longtoes said. It was the first time Sharina had heard the king speak since he demanded their presence before him. His voice was harsh and penetrating. “If you join the tribe, what family will you own? Sleepsalot's?”
The crowd continued to grow as folk from the outlying houseboats reached the residence. There was a general chuckle at the suggestion. It was pretty obvious that it would
mean a death shortlyâSleepsalot's, beyond any question in Sharina's mind at least.
mean a death shortlyâSleepsalot's, beyond any question in Sharina's mind at least.
“I'm father of a family myself!” Nonnus said. “I'll live here at the residence, King, until I build my own houseboat.”
The tattooed woman had vanished into the crowd. She appeared unexpectedly beside Meder and said something lowvoiced. Meder jumped; Sharina half lifted the hand axe which her hand had never left since they boarded the royal residence.
“No, Pewleman, I don't think that's what we'll do,” Longtoes said in a lazy drawl. His head turned slowly as he scanned the spectators. “Motherhugger, you'll take the Pewleman and his slaves aboard your boat. I don't think the extra weight will sink it, butâ”
He smiled; he was missing the front teeth of his upper jaw.
“âif the gods are that angry, then I wouldn't want to lose a better-found boat. Hey?”
Everybody laughed except for a hulking, bald-headed man and the dozen Folk standing near him. “My boat's not so very bad,” he muttered angrily.
Meder and the tattooed woman were talking with animation, their heads close together. Even Asera watched with some interest. Sharina relaxed, though it wasn't a development she felt comfortable with.
“All right, my king,” Nonnus said, bowing. “I obey you under the Law.” .
He stepped back. Wrangling resumed with Sleepsalot and Motherhugger among the half-dozen older men who immediately put in claims for a share of the wood.
“This way,” Nonnus murmured. “We'll be going off in Motherhugger's catcher boat and I want to be ready when he is. I was never much of a swimmer.”
“I'm staying here, my man,” Meder said unexpectedly. “Leadsthestars and I want to talk more. She says she'll see that I get to you before dark.”
“Does she?” Nonnus said without expression. “As you choose, Master Meder. Any path you choose to take.”
He turned away abruptly and said to Sharina and Asera, “Come!” Sharina wasn't sure what the procurator would do, but Asera followed willingly enough. She'd straightened noticeably since Meder and the old woman started talking.
Sharina couldn't imagine how the hermit had managed to place Motherhugger's boat among the scores that had descended on the residence, but it didn't occur to her to doubt his statement. The vessel, moored to the other hull of the catamaran, was in all respects like that of Sleepsalot's family.
“Will the houseboat really be in danger of sinking?” Sharina asked quietly.
Nonnus shrugged. “Things start to fall apart as soon as they're built,” he said, “but the Folk's houseboats are better built than most things you'll find on land. If there's pegging and patching needed, well, that'll give us something to do while we figure out how to get out of this place.”
A score of young males broke away from the council and surrounded the islanders at a harpoon's distance. They weren't hostile, precisely, but they obviously knew their presence wouldn't be welcomed.
Threefingers was one of them. “Look here, Pewleman,” he said. “You're an old man. You can't do a young wife any good. We think you ought to give her up right now since you know she'll be sneaking around to us anyway.”
Sharina pulled her hand axe from its loop.
The hermit's laugh was a challenge out of nightmare. He walked up the bone frames of the hull backward, never taking his eyes from the young men.
“Who'll take my women from me?” he demanded in a high, harsh voice, dancing on the gunwale. He leaped up and passed the javelin from hand to hand beneath his feet before he came down again. “Who'll do that? Threefingers, will you try me?”
The youths backed another step. Others of the Folk, mostly children from the royal household, were watching with interest.
“Oh, we can't fight you because you've got a metal spear,” muttered a paddler from Sleepsalot's boat.
Nonnus jumped from the gunwale more suddenly than even Sharina, who knew to expect something, could follow. He switched his javelin from right hand to left while in midair and snatched the harpoon out of Threefinger's grip.
“Oh!” Threefingers shouted as he leaped backward, colliding with several of his fellows.
Nonnus hurled the harpoon butt-forward into the chest of the youth who'd spoken. Ribs cracked; the victim's breath whooshed out as he went over on his back.
“Do you fear my steel, little men?” Nonnus crowed as he backed to his perch on the gunwale. “Fear me. Fear me!”
The youths' startlement turned to uproarious good humor, all but Threefingers and the fellow who lay wheezing as his chest refused to suck in the air his lungs so desperately needed. One of his erstwhile comrades kicked the victim when he thrashed close.
The group broke up and drifted away, still laughing. The injured man managed to roll over and crawl off with his head hanging, making little mewling sounds.
Nonnus stepped back beside Sharina. “We'll be all right for now,” he said softly. “But it wouldn't do to have us separated.”
Sharina nodded.
Meder and the tattooed woman squatted on a corner of the platform, facing one another. Meder now held what looked like a carved walrus tooth. He gestured as he spoke. A faint helix of red light lifted from the platform before him.
I
lna didn't move from the window when she heard the knock at her door: light, apologetic. “Come in,” she said a moment before she knew it would have been repeated.
She continued to look past the tilted casement onto the street.
lna didn't move from the window when she heard the knock at her door: light, apologetic. “Come in,” she said a moment before she knew it would have been repeated.
She continued to look past the tilted casement onto the street.
Noise rustling up the stairs from the hardware shop below entered the room, then cut off again as Beltar closed the door behind him. “I've come for more ribbons if you've any done,” he said diffidently. “Some of the customers are very excited. They, ah, are used to having their way.”
“Erdin's finest,” Ilna said without inflection. In the same tone she added, “Threads for my pattern.”
Three parked carriages and a sedan chair with curtains of red plush choked the right-of-way. The owners were in Beltar's shop. It was just as well that the draper had insisted on taking rooms for Ilna across and down the street instead of on his own premises. Their racket might have become disturbing otherwise. The pattern wove even when she wasn't conscious of it.
“I've been wondering ⦔ Beltar said. “Should we limit the length of ribbon that we sell to any single customer, do you think, mistress?”
The draper preferred talking to Ilna's back rather than having her face him, she knew. She didn't care one way or another whether he was comfortable. Beltar had a place which he filled acceptably.
“That doesn't concern me,” Ilna said. “I told you before: all business questions are for your determination.” She turned. “Don't bother me with something like this again.”
Beltar shifted his weight and brought his heels together unconsciously. “Yes, mistress,” he said, meeting her direct gaze with only a brief twitch at the corner of his mouth to show how nervous he was. “The only thing is, there's a belief ⦔
He paused to consider the word he'd chosen, accepted it, and went on, “A belief that not only do your ribbons have the effects rumored for them, but that a greater length increases the effect.”
Ilna smiled faintly. “Yes, that's quite correct,” she said. “The fabric I weave really does attract the attention of men to the women wearing it; and the greater the amount of fabric
displayed, the more intense the interest it arouses.”
displayed, the more intense the interest it arouses.”
The room was a single gallery across the front of the building's second story. The three casement windows provided excellent illumination from midmorning to near dusk, though that was no longer a concern for Ilna. She could work in full darkness and never weave a thread out of place.
Beltar had rented the quarters unfurnished. They remained unfurnished with the exception of a straw bed, the six looms of varied sizes, and baskets of the fine yarn with which she worked. Neither prisoners nor ascetic saints lived lives simpler than that of Ilna os-Kenset, but she was well on the way to becoming the most powerful person on Sandrakkan.
Beltar's face had grown pale. Ilna smiled at him.
“You poor fool,” she said in amused contempt. “You thought it was all a charlatan's trick, didn't you? I was going to start the rumor that my ribbons were love potions and silly women would
believe
that they worked. Well, silly they may be, but they're buying exactly what they think they're buying, Beltar.”
believe
that they worked. Well, silly they may be, but they're buying exactly what they think they're buying, Beltar.”
He closed his eyes. “I can't let anyone else handle the ribbons,” he said in a low voice. “I can't trust even my own wife. I've had women, some of the wealthiest women in Erdin, offer me ten times my price if I could find them more of your cloth.”
Ilna touched the ribbon that she'd begun weaving a few minutes before Beltar came upstairs. It was only a finger's breadth wide. The pattern was complete in two inches and she normally tied off the piece after three repetitions, but there was no fixed rule.
For these she worked in only two shades: bleached and unbleached thread, no dyed stock. She preferred flax over an animal product like wool or silk for this purpose, but she could have used any fiber. A fabric isn't a maze with only a single pathway: the thousands of threads knot and twist in a dance as complex as that of life itself. Follow any one of them and it takes you to the end of the pattern.
“Raise your prices, Beltar,” Ilna said. “Cut the ribbons
into little scraps or hoard my weaving for a month and sell it for the price of all Sandrakkanâit's your choice.”
into little scraps or hoard my weaving for a month and sell it for the price of all Sandrakkanâit's your choice.”
Her voice changed subtly. “But you'll have to come up with more money somehow, because you need to rent me a house on Palace Square to replace this location.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “I'm going up in the world, you see.”
“But mistress ⦔ Beltar said. “It's only nobles who can afford to live there. The rentals on Palace Square are a hundred times the lease of my whole premises!”
“Then raise your prices,” Ilna said coldly. “I told you, the details are your affair. I'm only interested in the results.”
She turned back to the window. There was a fourth carriage in the street now. Liveried attendants were arguing loudly and waggling whips; veiled women looked on. There'd be a riot before long.
Ilna smiled again. All the fury was useless. Beltar had no more stock in his shop. Servants could shout and crack each others' heads, but nothing would change that basic reality.
“They'll pay, you know,” she said aloud. “Women who spend fortunes for herbal packs that're supposed to smooth wrinkles but do nothingâwhat
won't
they pay for what I provide? All the fine clothing and jewelry, all the cosmetics, they're just roundabout routes to what my ribbons do directly: draw men to women!”
won't
they pay for what I provide? All the fine clothing and jewelry, all the cosmetics, they're just roundabout routes to what my ribbons do directly: draw men to women!”
“I see,” said Beltar. From the unhappy tone of the draper's voice, he really was beginning to understand. “I'll inquire about mansions on Palace Square, as you request, mistress.”
He gave a laugh of sorts. “I don't even know where to find an agent for such things, but no doubt they're available. And I'll give thought to our price schedule. No doubt you're correct regarding that matter also.”
Three of the men who carried the sedan chair climbed onto the box of a carriage while the driver struck at them with the loaded butt of his whip. A woman with a lace mantilla hanging askew over a dress of horizon blue screamed encouragement
to one side or the other. She waved a hairpin that looked like a gold dagger.
to one side or the other. She waved a hairpin that looked like a gold dagger.
“Yes,” Ilna said with a faint smile. “I'm quite correct.”
The first ribbons had gone to prostitutes and servants at modest pricesâless than the women would have paid for a love charm of no worth at all. Word traveled upward quickly; very quickly indeed.
“Erdin's finest,” Ilna repeated in a whisper. She didn't hate them. There was nothing to hate. Like the linen thread, they were the material with which she wove.
Beltar coughed to clear the hoarseness from his throat. “Given the demand, mistress,” he said carefully, “have you considered taking apprentices to, ah, lighten your load?”
She looked at him. He cringed, wringing his fashionable purple-dyed beret between his hands as he waited for the blast of anger he expected.
“I couldn't teach what I know, Beltar,” Ilna said with an odd gentleness the draper had never before heard in her voice. “And if I could, it still isn't anything I'd choose to do to some fool girl who's never harmed me.”
“Ah,” Beltar said, nodding in order to give the false impression that he understood. “It was just that with the demand so high I thought ⦔
He let his voice trail off. Looking at the windowâhe couldn't see the street from his angleâin order to avoid Ilna's calm eyes, he went on, “Well, if you have a few more lengths woven, I'll take them across to the shop and ⦠?”
“There'll be nothing more for a day or two,” Ilna said flatly. “I have a project of my own that I'll be working on instead. You may as well close up your shop and find me the dwelling I require. When you reopen they'll beg you to take their money.”
She walked to the double-span loom that filled half the room's floorspace. She was working in silk on it. Thus far there was only a hand's breadth of fabric on the frame. It was so sheer that Beltar saw it as a distortion in the sunlight.
Ilna's hand caressed the shuttle. The draper tried to focus
on the gossamer pattern. There was nothing for his eyes; almost he would have said that Ilna was weaving a panel as clear as spring water, a cloth without visible substance.
on the gossamer pattern. There was nothing for his eyes; almost he would have said that Ilna was weaving a panel as clear as spring water, a cloth without visible substance.
Almost. He felt a surge of desire too primal even to be called lust: it was more akin to the forces that cause a seed to germinate in the springtime, sending a shoot bursting upward toward the sunlight. He gasped and jerked his eyes away, hunching over involuntarily as though he'd been kicked in the groin.
“As you will, mistress,” Beltar whispered, his face to the door. He reached for the latch. “I'll return after I've looked into dwellings on Palace Square.”
The draper closed the door hastily behind him. He stood for a time in the corridor with his forehead against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He was already beginning to deny the full impact of what he'd felt when he looked at the panel Ilna had begun weaving, just as he'd been able to suppress the reality of the vision she'd shown him on the counter of his shop the day they met.
But one question kept droning through his mind: if size determined the strength of the spell the fabrics castâas rumor and Ilna herself claimed it didâthen what would be the effect of this panel the witchwoman had framed two yards wide?
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