Maia (Beklan Empire 1)

"From Tonilda, I think," replied Terebinthia.

"Oh, well, that settles it," said Occula. "Have you got any money, Meris?"

"Some: but Dyphna's got more," said Meris, sliding off the couch where she had been dozing in the heat.

"I'll go and ask her whether she's interested."

Dyphna, the fourth girl in Sencho's household, was a tall, graceful, rather superior girl from Yelda, whom Sen-cho occasionally made use of himself, but really kept by way of trying to convince Beklan aristocrats that his enjoyment of women was capable of going beyond the merely physical. So far, Occula and Maia had seen little of her except at meals, when she spoke seldom but seemed friendly enough. As the senior concubine she had her own, larger room, where she spent most of her time. Maia had become nervous of her upon discovering that she could read and write and apparently--according to Meris--possessed all manner of other accomplishments; but as Occula pointed out, she had done nothing by way of pushing these down their throats or trying to make them feel small.

She came in now, following Meris and fastening a cloak over her transparent muslin shift. The airless heat in the women's quarters was hard enough to bear even without clothes, and Maia, who felt little interest either in the pedlar or in any news there might be from Tonilda, hoped Occula and the others would not keep him long. She had just slipped into her robe and was running a comb through her hair when Terebinthia returned, holding the bead curtains aside for a tall young man who ducked his head as he came through the doorway.

Pedlars licensed to travel throughout the empire under the protection of Bekla wore a traditional costume to de-note their occupation. Maia had often seen such men as this in the streets of Meerzat or tramping the lakeside road. His round, hard hat of scarlet leather, too hot to wear at this time of year, hung at his back by a loop, and the sleeves of his green shirt, dark with sweat, were rolled above the elbow. His jerkin, with its white stripe back and front and colored ribbons at each shoulder, was slung over one arm, while on the other he was carrying by its straps his canvas pack, from the top of which protruded three or four colored feather dusters on sticks. Coming to a halt in the middle of the room, he pulled out one of these and tickled Meris under the chin.

"Well, well, well," said the pedlar cheerfully. "Keeping nice and warm, young ladies, are we, this weather? Not too cold in bed, I hope?"

The eye with which he winked at Maia was sharp and bright as a jackdaw's. He looked about twenty-three or -four, and everything about him, from his sunburned face to the dust on his shoes, suggested a life spent out of doors and a man used to give-and-take with all comers.

"Is that all you've come to sell us?" asked Meris, grabbing for his hand and missing it. "Feather dusters?" She had let her cloak slide down from her shoulders, exposing as much as she dared with Terebinthia in the room.

"Oh, no, no!" said the pedlar, tickling her again. "By no means! But I always begin by tickling--that's the style, don't you think, to get things going? I'm sure she knows more about tickling than I do," he remarked to Maia.

Meris squealed with laughter. The young man unslung his pack, put it down on the floor and then turned to look more closely at Maia. "Where you from, lass?"

"Lake Serrelind," said Maia, her eyes pricking in spite of herself.

"Then you ought to be back there, that's all I can say," answered he, in a more serious tone. "You're far too young to be here. How did they come to steal you?"

Terebinthia spoke languidly from the opposite side of the room.

"Do you know where you are, my good man? You're in the upper city, in the house of the High Counselor. If you have any goods fit to show these girls, you'd better get on with it, and stop wasting their time and mine."

"Why, certainly, saiyett," replied he. "But I was waiting until all the young ladies were present. Isn't there one more somewhere?"

Maia, looking round, realized that Occula was not in the room. She had not seen her leave it.

"What do you know--?" Terebinthia was beginning, when Occula came in from the corridor leading to the bedrooms wearing her gold nose-stud, orange metlan and hunting-jacket. The pedlar, who had been crouching be-side his pack to open it, stood up again.

"Hello, Zirek," said Occula. "Did you know I was here?"

"I heard at Lalloc's," answered he. "I knew you'd gone to Bekla, of course, for Domris told me: to better yourself, she said. I hope you will. They miss you at the Lily Pool, I'm told."

"Oh, do get on and open your pack!" cried Meris. "I mean, if you're both from Thettit that's wonderful, I'm sure, but I want to see what you've brought."

"Why, I've got rolls of silk," said the pedlar, "and veils, all fine fartaa-work--see, here--if that's your style. And just try this perfume, now. That's real kepris, that is, from up the Vrako. Let me put a drop on the back of your hand. The whole flask's only a hundred meld to you. Well, say ninety, but I couldn't let it go for less."

Meris's face fell. "I can't manage that much."

"Well, here's a nice soap, now, scented with roses, and that's only four meld for a big one like this; and the same in scent, only that's thirty meld. And then I've these necklaces, see: topaz this one; and this one's onyx. Only they're dear. I don't really know why I risk my life carrying them about, but one day some lady'll put up the money, I dare say."

"Got any ornaments?" asked Occula suddenly. "My room's as bare as a cell."

The pedlar turned and looked at her for a moment.

"Why, yes, quite a few. Th

ey're all just pottery, animals and birds, you know, but they're nicely painted."

He laid out a couple of dozen bulls, bears and leopards; pigeons and terracotta cockerels--all the same size and painted in gaudy colors. "How about this cat, now? She's Yeldashay, she is. It's one of their tales down that way, you know--the Cat Colonna."

"I thought they called her-- Bakris?" replied Occula, with a certain emphasis.

"Why, so they may, perhaps," said the pedlar. "I see she's got a bit chipped, so you can have her for nothing, if you like." He handed her the rather clumsy little figure with its curving, erect tail. Occula took it from him with a curtsey and a flash of her white teeth.

"Oh, she'll brighten up the place no end: I like a bit of plain pottery. Everything gold and silver here--'cept me, of course--you get tired of it."

"And what are you?" asked the pedlar.

"Black marble," said Occula. "Polished, too. Can' you tell?"

At this moment Dyphna entered into the conversation by enquiring the price of a carnelian ring laid out beside the necklaces. The pedlar, having told her rather shortly that it was eighty-five meld, was turning back to Occula when Dyphna quietly offered him seventy in ready money. Clearly surprised, he suggested seventy-five, but the girl merely smiled, shrugged her shoulders and seemed about to go when he accepted her offer, remarking that it would be a pleasure to be ruined by such a beautiful girl.

Thereupon Dyphna, fetching from her room a bronze casket, unlocked it and paid him on the spot.

"I'll bet she's got a damned sight more than that, too, banzi," whispered Occula as Dyphna, having evidently concluded business for the day, smiled graciously at the pedlar and left the room. "Makes you realize the possibilities, doesn't it? How long's she been at it, d'you suppose? Five years? Six?"

"Oh, it's the noblemen who fancy her," said Meris, glancing round to make sure that Terebinthia, who was examining the necklaces, was out of earshot. "You've only got to see the way she lays it out at one of these banquets. She can sing and tell stories and play the hinnari and dance and--oh, she's got a lot of style, has Dyphna. She can make herself very good company. And as for business, she's got it all arranged. Terebinthia takes a good, big cut, but Dyphna'll have enough to buy herself out soon and set up as a shearna. Or she might even get married, I suppose."