Dragon Choir (4 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Trading
Post

Minni
urged her painted mare forward, cutting ahead of the carriages and
wagons that were backed up from Calimska’s Silk Gate. Merchants and
farmers stuck in the queue called to each other, trying to find out
what was going on. Just before she got to the portcullis, two
guards stepped in her path.

One had his
thumbs tucked in his sword belt, splaying his tanned arms out like
a roast chicken. “Citizen?”

“
Not on your life, the food here’s much too salty,” Minni
smiled, hoping the guard could take a joke.

“
Permit?”

“
All talk aren’t you.” Minni leant forward, searching through
a saddlebag.

“
That’s a lovely bodice, Miss. Where do you go to from here,
so well equipped?”

Minni lifted
her head to speak to the guard, but his eyes strayed to her chest;
men were so simple, it made her job all the easier.

“
I know I put it in here somewhere,” she pouted. “I always
lose these things. Perhaps, you would just let me
through?”

The guard
shook his head and gave his partner a sly grin. “This one’ll need a
pat down, I reckon. Jandan spy, no doubt.”

Minni laughed.
“Have you ever seen a Jandan woman? No? That’s because they are all
house bound sipping tea and praying to their one Lord almighty.
What are you going to search me for anyway? Do you want to see the
rest of my smalls? Is that it? You dirty little perversion. Save
your mitts for the whores you can afford on your fancy streets of
gold.”

Her vitriol
roused a crowd of onlookers. The traders and farmers waited for the
guard’s response, a few even heckled from the back. The guard was
lost for words. Being sliced to ribbons by the sharp tongue of a
woman wasn’t how he imagined the opportunistic search to turn
out.

His commanding
officer strode over. “Just let her through Guffer. Does it look
like a kid could hide away in those saddlebags?” He clipped the
back of Guffer’s head. “Hurry it up, twit!”

The crowd
laughed and jeered at the guards.

“
Thanks. Guffer was it? I’ll remember your
kindness.”

“
Right, well bugger off then. Smartarse Reik.” Guffer stepped
away from the horse and let Minni pass.

Minni galloped
to the trading post, hoping she had not missed her target. Under
the rising heat of the morning, a collector of Nathis staggered on
the side of the road, leaning on a crook. A stain streaked down his
robes. Another pissed prentice no doubt, off drinking with the
dead.

The trading
post was as big as most of the hamlets skirting Calimska, the great
City of Gold. It grew like the weeds after dragon season had
passed, a sprawling mass of traders, merchants, and schemers. Minni
preferred the chaos of the trading post to the regulation the
guilds enforced in Calimska. She guessed it was set up outside the
city for that very reason. It kept the rabble outside and the best
shine safely inside the gates.

Minni took a
side track to bypass the hectic trade yards, riding via the ale
tents and food stalls, wary of cutpurses mingling in the traffic.
On the eastern side of the makeshift trading town were the loading
yards. Wagons and carts lined up on both sides of the road; one
side for loading and leaving, the other unloading for trade.

Minni
dismounted and tied her horse to a hitching post outside the
noisiest ale tent. It sprawled across an empty yard next to the
waiting wagons. The sides of the tent were torn and there had been
little effort to patch it up, given the patrons wandered through
the holes like doors. The roof was intact at least, and the cool
breeze that flowed through the ragged holes was a pleasant change
in the rising heat.

Porters,
roadies and sellswords passed the time with dice and drink. Barrels
of cheap ale created a wall behind the bar at the back of the tent.
Minni approached the counter, ignoring the whistles and common
calls from the roughnecks she passed. She caught the attention of a
skinny girl who was listing jobs wanted and vacancies on a
chalkboard nailed to the wall of barrels.

“
Got one, or you lookin’?” The girl wiped her nose with the
back of her hand, rubbing a stripe of chalk on her face.

“
Looking.” Minni tapped the countertop with a tab of gold.
“You still taking the shine?”

“
Till season’s come.” The girl stepped away from the board and
walked to the bar. “What favour’s it for, or are ya givin’ it
away?”

“
What’s the latest? Have the Jandan rollers come
up?”

The girl
slipped the tab off the bar and tucked it into her apron pocket
along with the stick of chalk. “Two unloaded the mornin’ past with
slaves I’d say. This mornin’ has barrels goin’ on. Don’t know
what’s in em’ though. No chalk on the boards for either, there
never is. They’ve always got their own crew; same in, same
out.”

“
Have they left yet?”

“
Doubt it. That’s some of ‘em over there. There was another
fella too; all hands and swill.”

“
No loss then,” Minni gave the girl another tab of gold. “Keep
them from thirst. And keep it to yourself.”

Minni left the
bar and found a stool near the Jandans. Their language clashed
against the soft notes of the lyrical Calimskan tongue. Though it
was harsh, Jandan was easier for Minni than the complex tones of
Calimskan. Jandan speech cut with precision and thrust with
guttural contempt. It was a language struggling with righteousness
and sin.

She listened
in to their conversation; their companion was quite late. Minni
waited while the Jandan caravan guards plied themselves with her
complimentary ale. During the first round they eyed off each of the
patrons in the tent and argued over who their benefactor might be.
The second round had them toasting all of the patrons in the tent
with good cheer. By the third round the conversation increased in
candour and volume. Between the odd bad joke and self-aggrandising
they debated the whereabouts of their missing comrade, supposing he
was their mysterious benefactor supplying the drinks. His failure
to show up for duty justified their excuses to remain and
drink.

“
What if he returns and we’re gone?” said one.

“
No honour in that!” said another.

“
Never leave a man behind!”

They could not
reach any sensible consensus on the adventures of their comrade
after his last drink with them the afternoon gone. Had he eloped
with the girl he spoke of meeting? Or had he fallen to the dice?
Perhaps he won so much shine he could stay in Calimska till the
season passed?

Minni was quite amused by all of their stories. She knew his
fate to be far less glamorous than their elaborate imaginings. The
chalk girl was on the mark;
the man was
all hands and swill
.
If he had any manners to go with his looks, he could have
enjoyed a late night and a longer life. But, as Minni found out
many times before, Jandans had great difficulty affording much
respect to the finer sex.

It was just
past midday when the sergeant strode into the ale tent searching
for his men. His face beaded with perspiration and his moustache
was slick. The Jandan was a man of distinguished girth and had
difficulty allowing for it in the fit of his uniform. His neck and
head thrust out like an angry bull, red from the tightness of his
collar and the temper of the moment.

“
What by the charity of our Lord gives you reason to hold the
shipment this long? Tegit? Come on man! Where is your dim wit
scout?” The sergeant noted the men were dulled with drink. “Have
any of you the ability for your mission?”

“
We’re not all that drunk, sir. Just a lil jolly is all.”
Tegit stood and saluted to prove his capability. The salute
succeeded well enough, defying his inebriation. Sitting down proved
harder than standing and he stumbled backwards over his
stool.

“
You’ve had half the morning to find him. Where in all the
hells has he got to?”

The men looked
to each other for support. None was sure what they thought had
happened to him.

“
Answer me!”

“
Deserted, sir.” The guard who spoke did not try to stand,
knowing that such an action would lead him to the ground beside
Tegit. “We thought to wait a pint longer. In case ...”

“
In case what? He came back with a trifle for you
all?”

“
No, sir.”

“
Are any of you fit?” The sergeant sat down on a bench,
exasperated.

Minni stepped
forward and addressed the sergeant before they answered. The men
were relieved by her distraction.

“
Might I offer my services, sir?”

“
You’re Jandan? No. Your accent ... Reik is it? What do you
have to offer? Tell our fortune? I can guess that,
lass.”

“
Outrider, sir,” said Minni, seeking to appease his
authority.

“
Woman though. I don’t think you cou—”

“
Better than this lot, sir. I’ve had an opportunity to
overhear some of their talk. It wasn’t all that quiet. If you’re
headed for Rum Hill I can scout for you. I know the trail. I have
my own kit and mount.”

“
You ready to ride?”

“
Just have to unhitch my mare from out front.”

“
What’s your price sellsword? Will you take gold?”

“
Ash on that. I’m no man’s fool. You’re headed the wrong way
for shine to be any use. Eighty in shell ... plus
rations.”

“
Cowries?” The sergeant raised his hands to the heavens.
“Sinner be damned! That’s more than this lot twice
over.”

“
And who do you imagine will ride well enough to earn a
quarter their keep? You best be sorting your men out should you
face a challenge on the trail.”

The sergeant’s
eyes narrowed in frustration as he appraised his inebriated crew.
“Right then, I’ve no shell here. You’ll be paid on delivery in Rum
Hill. Done?”

“
Done.”

Minni left the
tent, took her horse over to the wagons and introduced herself to
the drivers. They were Jandan conscripts near the end of their
service. She noticed a cloaked figure in the shadows.

This had
better not be another change. Why can’t they keep to the damn plan?
She kept the figure in her peripheral vision and maintained the
conversation, wondering who was thick enough to contact her this
late in the operation. The figure crept towards the rear wagon.

The other
wagon drivers gathered around Minni, asking inane questions and
openly leering. She felt for their poor wives, suffering the
mistakes of marrying such base creatures. Her sympathy was short
lived; there was work to be done, and these dolts had their
uses.

“
Damn hot today, don’t you think?” Minni opened a button on
her blouse and fanned herself. “They got you pushing loads till
first shadow like last season? Caught a lot of good men out last
year.”

The men took
in the view and shared their thin wisdom on the difficulties of the
job. With the guards distracted, Minni chanced a direct look at the
cowled figure skulking closer to the wagons. It was the collector
from earlier. He must have lost or traded his crook and was
staggering rather than sneaking to the rear wagon. If the contact
was injured, Minni would need a bigger distraction than her
cleavage.

Minni tested
the tension on the ropes of the lead wagon.

“
Is this rigging secure enough for the road through the pass?
I heard a trader going on about a downpour up there this morning.
Might be a touch bumpy.”

The drivers
bustled around the rigging, checking it over and arguing their
opinion on its condition. They were soon split on how it should be
altered to accommodate any damage to the road. Some thought it was
fine, but others were sure they would need more rope to keep the
barrels from jostling out.

Minni stood
back, letting them argue while the collector stowed away in the
rear wagon. There must be a message for her. She went to the rear
canvas and secured it, ensuring no one else noticed. The sergeant
emerged from the tent, his men falling in awkward step behind him.
Complications of walking straight dissolved the heady residues of
their earlier cheer, as did the sergeant’s continual
reprimands.

“
Who’s manning the rear wagon? Lord’s mercy! Do I have to be
all over your tails every bloody time?” The sergeant strode to the
milling drivers at the lead wagon. “Get to your damn stations.
We’re rolling out. I want these wagons through the pass and safe by
the North Eye before dark.”

The drivers
climbed to their seats, cracked their whips and the wagons were
away, kicking up dust as they went.

“
Reik! Get on your nag and scout no more than one mile ahead.
Report anything unusual. You’ll camp alone. I’ll not let these
imbeciles be tempted by another witch.”

Minni let him
go on, imagining her blade sinking through the sergeant’s swollen
throat. She would let his words drown in the venom that pulsed in
his heart. Jando, the City of Bones, would have no redemption from
her.

Flesh to
ash.