more in Yliharma than they had back in Skrunda, but not a great deal more. The money this fellow offered a tailor’s assistant would have made an independent Jelgavan tailor prosperous. “How much does this man make for himself?” Talsu asked.
“I cannot answer that,” Ryti answered. “But he does make enough to be able to pay you what he says he will. We have looked into that. We do not want people going into bad situations.”
“Tell me his name. Tell me where his shop is,” Talsu said. “Tell me when I need to be there, and I’ll be there at that time tomorrow.”
“Good.” The instructor smiled. “I told him I thought you were diligent. I see I am right. His name is Valamo. His shop is near the center of town, not far from the hostel called the Principality. Here-let me draw you a map.” She did, quickly and competently. “Where are you staying now?” she asked. When Talsu told her, she nodded. “I thought you dwelt in that district. There is a ley-line route that will take you close to the shop. Valamo says he would like you to be there by an hour after sunrise.”
This far south, the sun rose very early in the summertime: one more thing Talsu was getting used to. Even so, he nodded. “I will.”
And he did, though he missed the caravan stop closest to the tailor’s shop and had to get out at the next one and then go running back up the street. People stared at him. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to be late, not on his first day.
“Greetings. You must be Talsu,” Valamo said in classical Kaunian when he came in out of breath and sweaty. The tailor wasn’t young. Past that, Talsu had trouble guessing. Kuusamans seemed to show their years less than his own countrymen did.
“Aye, sir,” Talsu answered in the same tongue. “Thank you for taking me in. I shall work hard for you. I promise it.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.” Despite a Kuusaman accent, Valamo was more fluent in the old language than Talsu was himself. Talsu found that distressing, as he had with other Kuusamans who knew more classical Kaunian than he did. Valamo said, “Come here behind the counter, and I will show you what wants doing.”
The first jobs he gave Talsu were simple repairs. Talsu handled some of them with no more than needle and thread, others with the craft tricks that were sorcery but hardly seemed like it. Before long, he was done. “Here you are,” he told Valamo.
“Thank you.” His new boss was polite enough, but inspected the work with a knowing eye before nodding. “Good. You have some notion of what you are doing. One can never tell beforehand, you understand. I speak without intending to cause offense.”
“Of course,” Talsu said. “What else have you for me to do?”
“I have the pieces of an outfit here,” Valamo said. “Join them together, if you would be so kind.”
“Of course,” Talsu said again. He examined the pieces, got needle and thread to sew small parts of them together, and then used the sorcery an Algarvian mage had taught his father to finish the joining. All told, it took about an hour. He brought Valamo the finished garment.
This time, the Kuusaman tailor gave him a very odd look. “How did you get done so fast?” he asked. “Did you use one of those basting spells that will not last?”
“No,” Talsu answered. “Judge for yourself.”
Valamo poked and prodded at the tunic and leggings. He examined the stitchery, not only with his bare eyes but with a jeweler’s loupe and with spells. At last, he said, “This looks to be good work. But how did you do it so well so quickly?”
Talsu explained, finishing, “I shall be glad to teach you the charm.”
“You have earned your pay, by the powers above,” Valamo exclaimed. “You have more than earned it. Please do teach me that spell. Before long, I am sure you will use it in a place of your own.”
“A place of my own,” Talsu echoed dreamily. Could he ever find such a thing in this foreign land? Slowly, he nodded to himself.
Ealstan looked at his father. “Aye, of course I’ll help you with this business,” he said. “I have my doubts you really need any help from me, though.”
“Well, that depends,” Hestan answered. “Two can often do a job quicker than one. I suppose I could manage it myself, but I know for a fact it would take me longer. And the town officials have said they’d pay for an assistant. I’m hoping you recall that nine comes after eight and not the other way round.”
“I still have some notion of how to cast accounts,” Ealstan agreed. “I made a living at it in Eoforwic. You taught me well, Father-I knew more than most of the men who’d been bookkeepers for years.”
That teased out one of his father’s rare, slow smiles. “You make me proud of myself,” Hestan said, “and that’s a dangerous thing in any man.”
“Why is being proud of what you’re good at dangerous?” Ealstan asked. “Most ways, Eoforwic makes Gromheort look like a provincial town, and-”
“It is,” his father broke in.
“But you would have made any of the bookkeepers there ashamed to call himself by the name,” Ealstan went on, as if the older man hadn’t spoken. “You could have gone there and got rich, Father. It makes me wonder why you stayed here.”
“Don’t forget, up till about the time I was your age, Gromheort was in Algarve and Eoforwic was in Unkerlant,” Hestan replied. “Forthweg didn’t get its freedom back till after the Six Years’ War. And then, not much later, I married your mother and settled down. And I never truly wanted to be what you’d call rich. Enough is enough. Too much?” He made a face. “If you go after money for the sake of money instead of for the sake of being comfortable, it has you-you don’t have it any more.”
“I’m not so sure I believe that,” Ealstan said.
Hestan smiled again, at least with half his mouth. “I’m sure I didn’t, not at your age. And you asked why being proud of what you’re good at is dangerous? I’ll tell you why: it can make you proud of yourself in general, and it can make you think you’re good at things you’re not.”
Ealstan considered, then nodded. If that wasn’t his careful, cautious father, he didn’t know what was. Using a cane, Ealstan got to his feet. “Well, I already told you: if you want me to come along, I will. And if our city fathers want to know where every last copper in the rebuilding of Gromheort is going, I’ll help you tell them.”
“Good,” Hestan said. “Truth to tell, I don’t think the city fathers care so much. Baron Brorda never did, back before the war, and things haven’t changed a great deal since. But the Unkerlanters want to know what everything is worth. Efficiency, you know.” In a different tone of voice, that would have been praise.
As Ealstan and his father walked toward the door, Saxburh toddled down the hall toward them. “Dada!” she said. She called Ealstan that with much more conviction these days than she’d shown when she first came to Gromheort. He picked her up, gave her a kiss, and then jerked his head back in a hurry so she couldn’t grab a couple of handfuls of beard and yank. She looked over at Hestan. She had a name for him too now: “Pop!”
“Hello, sweetheart.” Ealstan’s father kissed her, too. This time, Hestan’s smile was broad and rather sappy. He took to being a grandfather with great relish.
When Vanai came around the corner, Ealstan was glad enough to put Saxburh down. Handling her and the cane was awkward, and her weight put extra strain on his bad leg. “Mama!” Saxburh squealed, and dashed for Vanai as fast as her legs would take her. As far as the baby was concerned, Vanai was the center of the universe, and everyone and everything else-Ealstan included-only details.
“Out and about?” Vanai asked as she bent to scoop up Saxburh.
“Bookkeeping,” Ealstan answered.
“Ah,” she said. “Good. We can use the money. Your parents are wonderfully generous, but. ” She didn’t know what to make of generous parents-or of any parents, come to that. Ealstan didn’t care to think about what being raised by Brivibas would have been like.
Hestan switched to classical Kaunian: “You make it sound as if you were a burden. How long will it be before you understand that is not so?”
“You are very kind, sir,” Vanai replied in the same language, which meant she didn’t believe him for a moment.
Ealstan’s father understood the meaning behind the meaning, too. He let out a slightly exasperated snort. “Come on, son,” he said. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her when we get home.”
“Oh, I doubt it,” Ealstan answered. “After all, she married me, so how much sense is she likely to
