Cold Fire (Spiritwalker 2)

I had never in my life been too stunned to eat. “Might I have both?”

Aunty Djeneba smiled as if I had called her children the best-mannered in the city. “’Tis good when a gal likes to eat,” she said with a knowing glance at Vai as if to congratulate him.

I blushed, although I am sure I did not know why.

“Things is still cooking, for it is early yet,” she added. “Yee like a bath first? Yee look a bit mucked. The gals shall fetch clean cloth, and yee shall wash and hang that yee have on.”

“Yes, please,” I said with a reflexive courtesy, dipping my knees.

Two girls somewhat younger than me hurried over giggling, and I wasn’t sure if it was me and my muck and my foreign manners they were giggling over or the fact that Vai had not yet let go of my hand.

“Lad,” Aunty said as she patted flour dust off her hands, “yee run down to the harbor and get pargo from Baba. Cat shall still be here when yee get back.”

“Will you?” he asked, looking at me as if he expected me to vanish in a puff of smoke.

“Where else would I go?”

The girls giggled. Aunty swatted them on the arms. His expression got more rigid. With an exhalation that could have been no more pained if he had been pulling a nail from his flesh, he released my hand. For an instant I thought he was going to grab it back, but Aunty nudged him.

“Go on,” she said. All the folk in the compound—at this time of day five women, the two girls, an older man and a lad at the counter, plus two old men lounging in sling-backed chairs and an ancient crone likewise, and several toddling children—were watching with evident pleasure.

He walked to the gate. There he halted to look back at me.

“Go on, maku!” There was nothing insulting in her tone, despite what Drake had said about the word. She sounded positively affectionate.

Still, he hesitated.

“I will still be here when you come back,” I said, not adding: Where else do I have to go?

With a grimace, he left.

The girls led me past the big tree. In its shade two women were washing dishes in a trough fed by a pipe and drained by a ditch lined with ceramic. They greeted me with what appeared to be genuine kindness. Yet the lilt in their speech and the number of unknown words made them difficult to understand. Everything was so strange, and my head was beginning to hurt.

Oh, glorious! A brick-paved platform behind screens made a washhouse. After I set aside my cane, the locket, and the stone, the girls took away all my clothing except for my jacket, which I draped over my arm to hide the bite. By a cunning mechanism with pipes, pumps, a big cistern below and a small one on the roof of the two-storied wing, water flowed through a sieve to create a waterfall of refreshingly cool water. In this shower, I scrubbed away salt and spume and grime with sweet-smelling soap.

I dressed in fresh drawers and a sleeveless bodice tightly laced up like a vest with no blouse over or under it, which the girls assured me was perfectly acceptable attire for a young woman. I tugged the filthy jacket on over it anyway. They brought a green cloth whose print depicted a pattern of fans opening and shutting, which I wrapped for a skirt. Then they had me sit on one of the benches in the courtyard while they combed and braided my hair.

The older girl had just finished tying off the end with a strand of beads when Vai returned with a bundle of wrapped paper. He took the bundle to the kitchen, washed his hands, and, at a word from Aunty Djeneba, grabbed a tray of drink and fruit she had prepared while I was bathing. He set it on the table and sat on the bench opposite me. Aunty called to the girls, and they giggled and left us alone.

He poured liquid into a cup, which he pushed across to me. “You must drink, Catherine.”

With his hands, he began to peel an orange object.

I drank. “This juice is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He separated off a wedge of fruit and held it out. “Here.”

It looked moist and cool, so I set down the cup and tried it. I had to close my eyes because the texture melted so sweetly inside my mouth.

“Just spit out the seeds,” he said, holding out a piece of the peel.

He fed me half the fruit wedge by wedge before I recollected myself and said, “You have some.”

“You look sunburned and yet you’re pale beneath it, so you’ve got to eat,” he said. “You’d be cooler with that jacket off.”

My healing bite itched like an accusation. “It comforts me to keep it on.”

He shrugged, and fed me the rest.