‘Thee look puzzled, wanderer. Hast not heard salt water talk afore this time?’
Jaer turned to confront a thin, long face, turned rather more sallow than tan by the sun, capped by pale locks which curved across a high, almost unlined brow. The face was wedgelike, coming forward from the ears in flat planes to thrust forward in a high-bridged nose between eyes the colour of washed stones, browny-green, surrounded by a network of tiny lines. Small white teeth showed briefly above a petulant lower lip almost hidden in the close curls of light beard. A foxish face, thought Jaer.
‘They dispute the existence of sea monsters,’ the stranger said.
‘Ah,’ commented Jaer noncommittally.
‘Ah, indeed. One sailor says that the creature came from deep water, lunging and dripping, with great horns. But when he told the Keepers of it, they doubted him – nay, disputed him, saying that such beasts never were, or are all dead, or could not be seen by honestly Separated men.’
‘The other sailor disputes it, too?’
‘The other wisely doubts what the Keepers doubt. Thou hast the sound of a bookish man. Thy speech marks thee.’ This was asked as though idly.
Jaer glanced about quickly. No one paid him any attention. ‘It would be better not to be marked,’ he said, drily.
‘Ah. Well, if thou art seen to be a single-goer, that marks thee of itself. Few go singly. Fools, perhaps, and madmen, and those marked for forcible robing. It none of these, we might strike bargain to travel together. That is, if thou art bound away oversea.’
Jaer drank the last of the beer, giving himself time to think. Though he had been counselled to travel as much alone as possible, he felt inadequate to the task. There was too much he did not know, such as how to take passage on a ship, how to talk best without drawing attention to himself. As he stalled, the pale man went on.
‘Thou knowest nothing of me, and I might be villain or thief. But then, so might thee. We can give names, at least. I am Medlo.’
Jaer bowed slightly. ‘I am Jaer.’
‘An odd name. But then, what name is not? “Medlo” for example conveys nothing of the person who bears it. What is it but a tag, a label, a thingummy attached to a something either less or more?’ His voice fell into a kind of singsong, almost a spoken melody.
‘Do you sing? You talk like a musician,’ said Jaer.
Medlo examined him narrowly, spoke in a new accent and style. ‘You have ears that hear more than words, youngun. Yes. I can sing a bit. I’m better than fair with the jangle, and there are other instruments I’ve played a bit with.’
Jaer smiled carefully. ‘I can play the jangle a little.’
The other returned the smile as carefully. ‘Then there might be reason for us to travel together. Musicians are acceptable still, in most places.’ He stood to reach for the jangle which was tied across his pack by a broidered sash with decorative fringes. He nodded toward Jaer’s instrument, and Jaer wished momentarily that he had held his tongue. He had not played for months, not since the old men had died. Still, there was little choice now. He would be safer with company, and safer still if he seemed a legitimate part of that company. He wiped his lips on the back of his hand and burrowed the jangle out from among his bedding.
The pale man said, Tune it to mine. It looks as though the strings have long been slack.’
Jaer strummed softly, taking the note from Medlo’s instrument, bringing the strings slowly into tune. Medlo played bits and pieces of tunes, including one which Nathan had taught Jaer, and Jaer found the key after a moment’s search. The pale man nodded.
‘Keep the rhythm strongly, and pay no attention to what I am doing. Together we will sound as though we both knew.’ He winked, and Jaer flushed as he bent above the strings. Before long he forgot his embarrassment and began to enjoy the quick dance of the plucking fingers. He caught the jangles so that bells and strings sounded together, remembering the tone walks Nathan had shown him. When they had played it through twice, Medlo stopped them with a tone walk to the top fret. Around them voices rose in pleasure, and coins struck the table by their mugs.
Jaer was startled enough to flush again.
‘Well enough,’ said Medlo, gathering the coins with a gesture of thanks to those nearby. ‘It would need work to sound as though we had been together long, but we would do well enough. Let us talk in my cubby at the bend of the stairs.’
The cubby slanted into a corner beside the stairs, a cot against one wall and a round window staring into the inn yard. Medlo caught Jaer’s measuring look. ‘The window is large enough to get out, if need be. You look rather fearful, friend Jaer. Untrusting.’
Jaer sat gingerly upon the end of the cot. ‘How much should one traveller trust another?’
‘Ha! If one traveller is as young as you seem to be, he should be as wary as you are and depend little upon trust.’
‘I’m fifteen,’ said Jaer in annoyance. ‘Is that so young?’
‘Yes. Very young. One needs to be old enough to know what one would die for, what one would live for, what is worth protecting, and what is unimportant enough to let go. I did not know any of that when I was little older than you, when I left the high courts of Methyl-Drossy in the dead of the night to wander away to the Northlands. Then it was go and find out or stay and die. Ten years ago. I’ve learned since that the choice was not as simple as it seemed then.’
‘Someone was after you?’
‘Someone wanted me out of the way. They did not care enough to come after me – I think. At least, if they once did, they no longer
