'Damn!' Ki hissed. 'Much as I hate hauling livestock, I'd have taken it, if we had the proper wagon for it. But as it is, they'd be inside with us. In this heat.'
'They're supposed to be in stout wooden cages.'
'They'd still stink. And make noises.'
Vandien was taking a cautious sip from his own glass. 'I left word with the fellow next to me that anyone looking for a wagon and team to hire could find us here. I'm starving. Is the food as bad as the wine?'
'I haven't been that brave yet,' Ki replied distractedly.
'Shall we order something and find out, or go back to the wagon and fix something ourselves?'
When Ki didn't reply, Vandien turned to her. She was staring moodily at her wine glass. Her elbow was on the table, her chin propped on her fist. Deft as a cat's paw, his hand hooked her elbow off the edge of the table, snapping her attention back to him.
'The wagon,' she said suddenly, 'is the whole damn problem. All house and no freight bed. I don't know why I bought a caravan like that.'
'I do. It was cheap, and it was there, and we were both in one hell of a hurry to get out of Jojorum. If you wanted a wagon like your old one, with room for freight in the back, you'd have to have it specially built.'
'Maybe,' Ki conceded. 'But that peddler's wagon hasn't saved us time or coin. It's built all wrong; top-heavy and unstable in a river crossing or on a rough road. And where it should be built sturdy, it's built flimsy. I nearly went right through the door-step yesterday. You know what we should do?' 'Get a new wagon built?'
'Yes. Go to the wainwright in Firbanks and get him to ...'
'No.' Vandien's denial was absolute. 'Too many of the people between here and there would remember us too well. And a good number of them are Windsingers that could sing up a killing storm. There's no going back north for us, Ki.'
'Just for a short time,' Ki argued grimly. 'To get a decent wagon. Look at the thing we're driving. I can't even make a living with it. It's an ugly old peddler's wagon, not a freight wagon. There's no space to haul anything. It's all closed in.'
'Just like every other Romni wagon I've ever seen,' Vandien cut in smoothly. 'They seem to cope just fine with their wagons being all living quarters. They don't worry about how they're going to pay their expenses. They just travel and live and trust to the luck of the wheels to provide for them. But not you. Sometimes I just don't understand you. You were raised Romni, but you won't put your trust in their ways. Think of your old wagon, only half caravan and the rest left open for freight. Some might say due to a lack of faith in the luck of the wheels.'
And some might say due to a streak of sanity. I've lived by the luck of the wheels, Vandien. You notice they don't call it the good luck of the wheels. Sometimes it's very bad. Especially in places like this, where they want a piece of paper sealed and stamped for every breath you take. I've seen Romni with a wagon full of children, in the middle of a hostile town, without a' bite of food to eat and only the family gold to their names. Gold they'd sooner die for than spend.'
'And no doubt they all starved to death?' he asked shrewdly.
'Well, no,' she admitted reluctantly. 'There are ways of getting by. Ways that can get your hand cut off if you're caught. I'd rather have an open-backed wagon, and a load of freight to haul.'
He tried a new tack. 'Well, we could pick up a load of trade goods,' he offered speculatively. 'You've still enough left of Rebeke's gold to do that. We could get scarves and pans and bells and earrings and lace ...'
'And live in the middle of it all, and open up our home to every customer's prying eyes. No. I've gotten used to the cuddy being private. And I won't use up the rest of the Windsinger's gold. It was too hard come by to part with for bells and buttons. No, it's going to buy me a new, decent wagon, built to my specifications. And that means the wainwright in Firbanks.'
'It means any wainwright who can build a square corner,' Vandien contradicted her irritably. He dipped his finger in the wine, idly drew on the tabletop with it. 'Don't get so stubborn and set in your ways. Just because he built the last one doesn't mean he has to build the next one. I don't think we should go back north. Even if this Duke's iron hand bothers you. It's just another set of rules to get used to. We can manage.'
A tired smile broke on Ki's face. 'Listen to us. What's happened to your impulsiveness, that devil-may-care attitude?'
'A Windsinger scared it right out of me. And you're a fine one to talk. What's happened to all your cautions and planning? You're talking about walking back into the lion's den.' Ki refilled both their glasses from Vandien's bottle. 'My caution isn't gone,' she revealed after a sip. 'I'm just regaining it. We've worked too far south, Vandien. It's been obvious since we crossed the border into Loveran. I don't have any contacts here, I don't understand the coins, I detest the regulations, and I don't know where the roads go, let alone how safe they are or where the short-cuts are. How can I make a living down here? We've been in sunny, dreary Keddi for a week now, with no offer of work. What happens if we don't get work?'
'We'd survive.' He sipped the wine, grimaced.
'How?'
'By the luck of the wheels, Ki! Just as all the other Romni survive.' He paused and looked at her shrewdly. Ki narrowed her eyes warily, but he opened his wide, declaring the innocence of his intentions. 'Look. Let's compromise. For a month, let's live by our wits. Seeing new places, no delivery dates, no pushy customers, no spoiling cargoes. For a month.'
'In a month, we could starve.'
He gave a snort of disdain. 'I never starved in all the years before I met you. Lost a bit of weight, learned to be charming to strangers, and not particular about what I ate or where I slept, but I never starved.'
'We can't all be stray cats.'
'No? Let me teach you how.' He made the offer with his most persuasive smile. His dark eyes, brown half a shade short of black, were inches from her green ones.
'And at the end of that month?' Ki asked coolly.
He leaned back with a sigh. 'If we aren't successful, then we'll go back to the wainwright in Firbanks and get a new wagon.'
And take up my old trade routes,' Ki bartered.
Vandien emptied his glass, winced at the taste, and then shook his head. 'No. The first Windsinger who heard of us would report it to Rebeke. She wouldn't let us go again.'
'If we were careful,' Ki began, leaning forward and speaking quietly but intensely. 'If we were cautious ...'
Are you the teamsters for hire?'
Their heads turned in unison. The speaker was an old man. No. With a start, Ki realized that the man standing by their table was only a few years older than she was. It was his eyes that were old, and his voice. He looked as if some task had so wearied him that he had already spent the years of his mind if not his body. Like the child-mystic she and Vandien had seen in Adjutan, who could recite all six thousand of the sacred verses of Krinth. Ancient, weary eyes.
'We are,' said Ki. 'Not any more,' Vandien chimed at the same instant. The man looked confused. Ki kicked Vandien's booted ankle under the table.
'We may be. It depends on the cargo, the distance, the road, and of course, the coin involved. Please,share our table and wine,' Ki invited him graciously.
Trelira had seen him enter, and was setting an extra glass at the table before he was seated. 'Brin!' she greeted him, smiling pleasantly and kissing his cheek. But her eyes darted past his shoulder anxiously. 'You didn't bring Gotheris?'
'No. I left him at home this time, with Channry.'
'Oh.' Trelira paused overlong, and Ki wondered what she wasn't saying. 'Well. Do you have enough? Something to eat? Well. Good to see you, Brin.'
After each shake of their heads, Trelira had paused, but when at last she could find no excuse to hover by their table, she departed. Ki noticed that almost immediately she was back, raking smooth the sand floor by the next table. Old gossip, Ki thought to herself, and ignored her.
'I am Brin, as Trelira has let you know,' the old man began. Vandien had filled his glass for him, but Brin made no move to touch it. 'Your names are not known to me.'
