Tim said what he should have said first. 'I've only been married two months.'
'Yes, to Loria Bed... Bednacourt. She carrying a guest yet?'
This question seemed excessively personal, but Tim supposed it might matter to merchants interested in hiring a woman's husband. He said, 'Not yet.'
'So come.'
Tim shook his head.
She was trying to study his face in the dark. 'Nobody has to be down there on the sand with the sharks, Tim. Not a labor yutz, anyway. They never reach the wagon roofs.'
She thought he was afraid?
'You know,' she said, 'the Otterfolk must have been the first unhuman tool users anyone ever saw. Cavorite wouldn't have just sailed past.'
She was right, he thought. And- 'They can draw pictures of Cavorite,' he said.
He couldn't say, Loria doesn't even want me talking to you, let alone- Rian would wonder why, and Tim didn't know, but that left only a killing in Spiral Town as his excuse, and what would he tell her instead? He said, 'I wasn't the only cook-'
'You have four. Van Barstowe limps. A caravan yutz has to walk, you know. Drew Bednacourt drops things, and he's surly. You and Van, you're the best. Do you like my company, Tim?'
At dinnertime there were knives everywhere you looked, and where was Loria right now? 'No, look, Rian, we all grow up knowing about hybrid vigor, but Loria doesn't think like that. My life wouldn't be worth living if-'
He stopped talking, because the merchant woman was up and moving away.
He wondered if he'd jumped to conclusions. 'Company,' she'd said. Only that. He'd made an embarrassing mistake.
The house was empty.
Long after he was in bed, Loria slid in and tickled him awake. There was a ferocity to her lovemaking, and she wouldn't let him talk. She didn't want to talk afterward either. They made love again... unless he fell asleep first... but sunlight blazed through the bedroom window and someone was pounding on the door.
Tim pulled himself out of bed, squinting. Why didn't Loria answer? 'Come,' he called. He pulled on some pants and went into the common room.
Sharlot Clellan, Drew Bednacourt, Harl Cloochi, and Berda Farrow, all elders of Twerdahl Town, came in from the glare of sunlight. They ushered in three merchants wearing wild colors. Two men, one woman. Tim recognized the dark man named Damon.
'What's it all about?' he asked.
Harl said, 'Tim, these are Damon and Milo and Halida, elders of the caravan. They came to us last night, not just to us, you understand, but to all of Twerdahl Town. Tim, this may sound odd-'
The door opened again. Loria and Tarzana.
Tim repeated, 'What is this?'
'Loria, dear, we've had an offer,' Harl said.
'Right. Did you know they came to Tim last night? Tim, what did they offer you?'
She could have learned that last night. 'Job as a labor yutz. Cooking.'
The elder Twerdahls stared at the merchants. 'You went to him first?'
Damon smiled and shrugged. 'We looked for a better bargain. He was reluctant.'
Tim couldn't read Loria's expression.
The merchant woman, Halida, said to Tim, 'Your elders and mine, they've been talking. We offer a long knife for every twenty days you're gone.'
'Loria, is that a good price?'
'Dammit, Tim!'
'Tarzana?'
Tarzana said, 'Yes.'
'Sounded like it. Haron got less, his first time.'
Damon said, 'We want you cooking for us tonight, Tim. That means you join us now. You'll be with ibn-Rushd wagon, my family's wagon. Don't take too much with you, no more than you can carry. Don't take speckles. We've got plenty. And Tim-' He smiled. 'The more we discuss it, the farther we'll have to chase the wagons.'
It was happening faster than he could think, and he was still playing catch-up. 'Loria, let's talk,' he said, and pulled her into the bedroom.
Dawn light blazed through the window. It was easier to read her face in here. 'What's going on?'
'Can't you tell?'
'Oh, a little. They'd have had me cheap if I'd gone with them last night. Now they've got to pay off the whole town, but Loria, do they think I'm for sale? I have a house and a wife.'
And a secret that any of three hundred people might speak.
'The old people, they've already taken the knives,' Loria said bleakly. She swept the blanket off their bed, flung it high and let it settle on the floor. 'We have to pack. I knew they'd have you. You can do things nobody else can. Tim, didn't I try to keep you in the house?' He saw she was crying. 'At least I gave you a great send-off. Didn't I?'
'I didn't know I was going.'
'T-'
'Great send-off, damn right. Can you come with me?' Her head snapped up, amazed.
'You'd...
'What?'
'Want me?'
'Yes!'
'No. No, I can't. Yutzes are always men.'
'What do you want, Loria?'
'I want you to come back. But if you're coming back like Haron Welsh, then don't.'
She'd stacked his possessions on the blanket. Coat and shirts. No hat; Twerdahls never wore hats. The skillet from Bloocher Farm had become Twerdahl Town property, and retrieving it would be a mistake. She took his pouch of speckles. 'If a yutz carries speckles, they think it's caravan property,' she said.
She considered, then added one of the few things she'd brought from the Bednacourt House. It was an old wooden toy model of Cavorite, vague in detail, worn by handling in places.
'That's yours,' he said.
She said, 'You'd have something like this, if you really grew up here. Take it.'
'Loria, what happened to Haron Welsh?'
'The way he sees us ... changed. He's Uncle Haron, but we don't call him that anymore. He thinks he's too good to talk to us. Don't come back that way. Tim, what's your name?'
'Jemmy Bloocher.'
'All right.' Loria rolled the blanket and tied it into a compact bundle. 'Go on.'
He could have smoothed it over, made his peace with Loria. He knew it then and he believed it later. But the caravan was already moving, and Twerdahi Town wanted knives, and Otterfolk remembered enough of Cavorite to draw pictures.
8
On the Road
You don't stop your wagon to do business, not unless it's a favored mark or a decent offer. Stopping makes you look eager. Keep talking and let the chugs move on until the mark takes your offer.
