Zhena Trelu was talking about them. "Porlum, this is Cory. Him and his zhena are doing some work around the place for me, and it looks like they'll be staying the winter. Thought it was high time for them to be having proper work clothes."
Porlum considered the man in the dark leather slacks and vest. A little under average height, but nothing to be unduly concerned with. The slenderness of his build might be more of a problem. Still, work clothes? He smiled at the smaller man, who did not return the courtesy, and nodded to Zhena Trelu. "I'm certain we'll come up with something suitable. Good, warm shirts and durable pants, of course. How many? And will you want him to have a set of—ah, dress clothes, also?"
Zhena Trelu frowned. "Three, four shirts, I think; couple of work pants—and a jacket, too, Porlum. Shoes . . ." She glanced at the high black boots on Cory's feet and sighed. "Work boots. I think we'll let the dress clothes go this time."
"As you say, Estra," the man agreed. "If zamir will come this way?"
"You go with Porlum, Cory," the old woman instructed. "He'll make sure you get the right things. Meri and I will meet you back here when we've gotten some things for her." She clamped her fingers around the girl's wrist and pulled her along.
Miri threw a glance over her shoulder in time to see Val Con disappearing down a clothes-lined aisle. As she watched, he ducked back to the end and waved, vanishing again immediately.
Grinning, Miri let herself be propelled farther into the store, to a place lined with clothes different from the clothes displayed in the area where they had left Val Con. A cadaverous woman with unlikely black hair, unlikelier red cheeks, and a thin, dissatisfied mouth looked at Miri, and her mouth turned sharply downward. She made no attempt to intercept Zhena Trelu, who peered about until Miri yanked on her sleeve and pointed.
"There you are, Salissa," Zhena Trelu said with a distinct lack of warmth. "This is Meri. She's been helping me out on the farm, and it's time she was getting some proper work clothes."
"I should think so!" Salissa sniffed. She turned to Miri. "Where did you come up with those—things—you're wearing? You look perfectly outlandish."
"Of course she looks outlandish," Zhena Trelu snapped. "She's a foreigner!
I
know she needs clothes—that's why we're here! Good, warm clothes, Salissa; the kind she can work in. And don't bother trying to talk to her much. She can't understand more than one word in ten."
She turned to Miri. "Meri, you go with Salissa, now. She'll find you some nice, warm clothes to work in. I'm going to buy some things for myself, and then I'll come back for you and we'll go find Cory."
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Miri watched the old woman walk away, then squared her shoulders and turned around to glare at Salissa.
The small man had a mind of his own. He insisted on being shown the different grades of work shirts, subjecting each to close inspection, and finally deciding on the soft wool-and-julam blend—by far the warmest and most durable, in Porlum's opinion. Not that it was solicited.
The customer's stringent standards were also applied to trousers and work boots, though he deferred to Porlum in the matters of size and fit, as was proper, and allowed socks and a belt to be suggested.
In all particulars, however, was Cory's own taste followed—from the plain, rather than plaid, work shirts, to the tough black trousers. The jacket he chose was stuffed with hoyper feathers—a good, warm, well-crafted garment that because of its odd, greenish-gray color, had languished on the racks. The small man grinned when he saw it and pulled it on immediately.
Porlum studied the effect and nodded. The jacket fit well; the deep pockets and hood were just the thing for winter, and the off-color brought out the amazing green of the customer's eyes. He sighed. It was a pity Estra had not thought dress clothes required.
Cory was standing quite still, head tipped as if listening, then pointed at the pile on the counter—three shirts, a pair of pants, socks, and the peculiar clothing he had worn into the store. "I come back for this," he said, and was gone.
Val Con paused to consider the scene before him. Miri—dressed in something he was fairly certain Miri should never be dressed in—was having a disagreement with a black-haired woman. Zhena Trelu was standing to one side, apparently trying to resolve the situation by keeping Miri silent long enough for the other woman to prevail.
He walked forward.
"
Bad
is," Miri was telling the black-haired woman with a great deal of passion. "Not warm! Say Zhena Trelu
warm—"
"With that hair and those freckles," the other woman cut in, "you'd better think about looking pretty! Isn't it worth being a little chilly, knowing you look pretty, instead of like a—a tomboy?"
"Now, Salissa," Zhena Trelu said. "She doesn't understand. And Meri, if you'll just let Salissa show you some more clothes—"
"No more clothes," Miri announced with decision. "Bad clothes.
My
clothes," she told Salissa clearly, "are pretty!"
"Those things you wore in here?" the saleswoman demanded. "Well, I suppose they are, if your idea of pretty is looking loose and—
hoydenish
and—"
"You will not," a quiet voice said, cutting across her rising tirade, "say those words to this zhena."
Salissa stared. A man was abruptly at the side of the red-haired woman, his green eyes resting blandly upon the saleswoman's face.
Those eyes regarded her for what felt like long minutes, before he spoke again. "You understand my words?"
She licked her lips. "Yes."
"Good," the man said, no particular inflection in his soft voice. He turned to the red-haired woman. "Cha'trez?"
Miri raised her hands in exasperation and looked down at herself. "Zhena Trelu say warm," she said, sticking to Benish. "Warm this not. Not pretty." She smiled a little. "Borril."
His lips twitched as he considered the garment. The bright yellow shirt was long-sleeved, to be sure, but made out of some flimsy material that would barely be adequate on the warmest day they had yet encountered on this world. The skirt was not quite as thin, but ruffled and furbelowed—impossible to work in.
He shook his head and turned to the old woman. "Zhena Trelu? Miri is—right? This is not warm. It is not pretty. There are clothes like Miri's clothes here?"
"I should say
not."
Salissa sniffed with rather more assurance than she felt.
The green eyes flicked to her and ran—slowly and with deliberate insult—down her length and back to her face. He shrugged and turned back to Zhena Trelu. "There are other stores."
"What?" She gaped at him. "For wind's sake . . .Yes, there's another store. But this is the
best
store, Cory."
For a moment, she thought he would insist; then he moved his shoulders in that odd not-shrug of his and sighed.
"Zhena Trelu, you will—make sure Miri gets right clothes. Cha'trez, you want?"
She grinned and waved a slim hand at his new finery. "Warm. Work in . . ." She laid a hand on his chest, ostensibly to touch his shirt. "Soft."
He tipped an eyebrow at the old woman. "This is right? Not bad?
Respectable?"
"There are women's clothes like the ones you're wearing. But, Cory, she ought to have at least one dress!"
His brows twitched together. "Dress? Dress clothes? No dress clothes."
Zhena Trelu sighed. "All right, Cory. Meri, come with me, dear . . .
But Miri tarried a moment longer to inspect his jacket. "Pretty," she admired, grinning at him. He grinned back.
"Meri!" called Zhena Trelu, and Miri laughed and ran off.
Having led the girl to the small section containing trousers and man-styled shirts for women, Zhena Trelu found that she had very little else to do. Miri's brief sojourn with Salissa had taught her the trick of the racks, and her quick eye had picked out the single recurring symbol on every item the saleswoman had chosen for her. She chose four shirts: pale blue, indigo, black-and-white check, and the palest of pale yellows.
Zhena Trelu approved those choices, allowing that they fit well enough, though there was a brief tussle over the snugness of the chosen trousers. That argument was put to rest when the girl tried on the pair Zhena Trelu thrust at her, buttoned them, and let go.
Effortlessly, they slid from waist to hip, where they hovered, apparently poised on the brink of further descent.
Zhena Trelu sighed and agreed that the others would have to do. When they left the dressing room, they found Cory leaning against the nearest end rack, holding something over one arm. When he saw Meri, he straightened, approving the light-blue shirt and indigo slacks with a grin.
"Very pretty." Stepping forward, he offered her a jacket that was the twin of his own, except that it was dark blue and several sizes smaller.
The girl's eyes widened, and she carefully put her armload of clothes on the floor. Cory helped her into the jacket as if she were a queen and the coat silk-lined fur instead of waterproof cotton stuffed with feathers. She pushed her hands deep into the pockets, fastened the front all the way to the throat, pulled the hood up to almost—but not quite—cover that outrageous hairdo, then ran her fingers over the sleeve and felt the thickness of the lining.
Cory took her by the shoulders and turned her to the mirror. She studied their reflection for a long time.
"Thank you for pretty—jacket?" she said, catching his eyes in the glass. She smiled a little. "Not Borril, us."
"Not Borril," he agreed, returning her smile, his fingers tightening slightly on her shoulders. "Very pretty us."
Then he loosed her and bent to pick up the abandoned clothing. Straightening, he smiled at the quiet old woman.
"Porlum will—make up—ticket? For all at once," he said, and went off without further ado, Meri at his side.
After a moment, Zhena Trelu followed.
They had just reached the sidewalk, Cory and Meri carrying between them the paper parcels containing their new clothes, as well as the cardboard box into which Porlum had carefully packed their foreign clothing, when disaster struck.
"Estra! Well, for goodness sake, if this isn't a surprise!" Athna Brigsbee cried, crossing the street with a wide smile on her face and her hand extended in welcome.
Resigning herself to the inevitable, Zhena Trelu forced a smile. "It's nice to see you, Athna," she managed, but so feebly that Cory, frowning, shot a look at her from under his lashes.
Characteristically, Athna Brigsbee did not notice. She seized Zhena Trelu's hand and wrung it until the bones protested before turning her voracious smile on the two slender figures standing patiently to one side.
"This must be Meri and Cory!" she surmised brightly, and Miri heard Val Con sigh. "Estra, the funniest thing! I just happened to run into Mrythis Wibecker a few moments ago in Jarvill's, and she said she'd seen you going into Brillit's with two
men!
She really should wear those glasses Dr. Lorm prescribed—but, my dear! so vain . . ." She turned her attention back to the refugees and their obviously new clothes.
"It's very kind of Zhena Trelu to buy you clothes," she said, speaking quite loudly. "You're both very grateful, aren't you? And you'll work twice as hard to pay for them."
"They've already earned their clothes," Zhena Trelu said firmly. "They work plenty hard already—I'm not sure I could bear up under it if they worked any harder." She turned to her charges. "Why don't you children go put the packages in the truck? No use carrying them with us to the library."
"Yes, Zhena Trelu," Cory said, and moved off at once. After a fractional pause, Meri followed.
"My dear," Athna said, not waiting until they were out of earshot. "What a very plain girl! And so surly! I know foreigners have all sorts of notions, but Estra, she can't be more than sixteen!"
Miri glanced at Val Con, noting the frown and the slight stiffness in his shoulders. "What's up?"
He glanced at her, lips relaxing into a faint smile. "That horrid woman . . ."
"Her?" She jerked her chin in the direction of the two old women. "Don't pay her no mind. All hot to hear the latest bad 'bout anybody. Ain't worth getting riled about. Waste of time." She slanted a look at him. "Like that dope of a woman in the store. Tough on her, weren't you? Took her down four pegs—counted 'em. Trouble is, she was only up three."
He grinned, then sobered. "She should not have spoken to you so." Pausing, he considered the street, judged it safe to cross to the truck, and stepped off the curb.
"Really," he continued. "She should not speak to anyone so. Perhaps I have taught her a lesson she will take to heart."
Miri studied the side of his face for a moment. "Gets hard, being treated like a complete know-nothing all the time, don't it?"
He reached up to yank on the truck's door handle and grinned at her, shoulders and face loose once more. "Indeed it does." The door did not open and he pulled again. "Locked."
Miri set her packages on the ground. "I'll get the key from Zhena Trelu," she began, but he shook his head.
"That should not be necessary." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, flexible wire. Balancing on the foot-ledge, he played with wire and keyhole for a bare moment, then nodded and hauled down on the handle.
The door came open with a
pop.
Grinning, he jumped to the ground, letting the door swing wide behind him, and began to put packages on the bench seat.
Miri shook her head at him. "Lazy."
When all the parcels were stowed, he slammed the door closed, solemnly checking to be sure the lock had caught. "For it would be very bad," he told Miri, offering her his hand, "if our new clothes were stolen by some desperate criminal."
She slid her hand into his. "What next? Back to Zhena Trelu and Badnews Berta?"
"Not just yet," he said, glancing around. "They seem deep in conversation—and I would like an opportunity to see what is here. Zhena Trelu rushes us about . . ."
"So, we go for a walk," she said, moving with him away from Brillit's and the two figures on the front walk. "How long you figure us for Zhena Trelu's, boss?"