Red Magic (20 page)

A few blocks later, the street changed from hard-packed dirt to cobblestones, and the facades of the buildings looked fancier, evidence that people of wealth lived here. The druid felt caged in by the buildings, which stretched three stories tall in this neighborhood. There was no way out but to follow street after street like a rat running through a maze. He couldn’t see a sign of trees or open spaces; the only green things were the sod roofs that covered nearly every structure. To him, the sod was the city’s only redeeming feature. Too bad he couldn’t walk on it. The cobblestones were uncomfortable.

Galvin knew he should adapt. Nearly all of the Harpers lived in cities, and the majority of missions were in well-populated areas. He had never declined an assignment from Harper leaders that would take him into a city, but he had frequently made himself scarce when he knew one was going to come up. He couldn’t dodge all of them; he certainly didn’t want his peers to realize his weakness. And this mission was one he welcomed because of his hatred of the Red Wizards.

For most of his life, he had considered city people weak, dependent on the city for food, shelter, clothing, and protection. Few could properly defend themselves, and fewer still would be able to survive in the wilderness. They feared being alone, Galvin thought, so they congregated in their stone buildings inside stone walls.

Ahead, Wynter came to a stop. Galvin and Brenna could see he was talking to someone, but the figure stood in front of the centaur and was mostly obscured. The centaur’s tail swished back and forth lazily, then he bent forward to shake the figure’s hand.

The centaur continued on for several more blocks, turning down one street, then going up another, his hooves clopping rhythmically on the cobblestones. Brenna noticed that the city was built like a wheel; the major streets were like spokes emanating out from a central hub, probably the government district. Wynter was heading down one of the spokes, toward what looked like the city’s stable district. Here the cobblestones ended and the dirt road began again.

Brenna strolled closer, then suddenly stopped. Galvin looked up at her and noticed she had turned pale. Beyond her, in Wynter’s direction, was a series of pens. All of them contained people. The druid stared openmouthed at the sight. Like cattle, the people milled about slowly as workers directed them away from the corners so the pens could be cleaned.

Wynter paused several yards from the pens and glanced over his shoulder, nodding for Brenna and Galvin to join him. Still shocked at the tableau, they padded forward.

“I’ll look over the slave pens for an hour or two, inspecting the merchandise and talking to other buyers.” The centaur’s eyes were sad as he stared at the pens. “Since Maligor’s a zulkir, he’s bound to have plenty of slaves. Maybe I can find out a little bit about our wizard friend here.”

Brenna took the initiative now, happy for an opportunity to get away from the pens. “Galvin and I will go shopping.”

Wynter had heard the location of a respected business district only a few blocks away and pointed the sorceress and Galvin in that direction.

“Meet me back here in two hours,” Wynter advised. “I won’t be able to stomach the pens any longer than that. If you’re not here by then, I’ll know you’ve found trouble and I’ll come looking for you.” Wynter pawed at the ground and lowered his voice. “One of the slavers is watching us, so let’s be about our tasks.”

Brenna tugged on Galvin’s sleeve, guiding him toward the shop district Wynter had described. She knew they had followed his directions correctly when the cobblestone street began again.

There were sidewalks in the small but fashionable business district—planks raised above the cobblestone streets and covered with awnings to keep the shoppers dry during showers and cool during the heat of midday. There were plenty of Thayvians about, but not nearly the number as in the open-air market.

Galvin saw that these people acted differently, more refined and courteous. They didn’t shove each other to get a better position near a store window. Most were dressed well, and aside from the slaves they had in tow to carry their packages, they didn’t strike him as objectionable. Obviously not everyone in Thay was bad. The druid wondered what kept the good people in such an evil land.

“We don’t have much time,” Brenna said, summoning his mind back to the business at hand. “The sun’s starting to set, and if this is like other cities, that means businesses will be closing soon.”

“How about this one?” he suggested, pointing at a women’s dress shop, the exterior of which was made of rose-colored stone rather than clay bricks. The large front window was trimmed with light blue paint, and bright red flowers were arranged in a planter in front of it. A deep green dress with sequin trim hung in the window.

“Good choice,” she said, thinking Galvin was looking at the dress; in fact, he was staring at the flowers. “But that particular dress is a bit flashy for me. I want to look rich, not gaudy. I’ll go inside and see what I can find. There’s a men’s shop next door. Make use of it.”

Galvin waited until Brenna was swallowed by the women’s shop, then he shuffled toward the men’s clothing store and fumbled with the door latch with his sweaty hand. At last it creaked inward, and the smell of cedar rushed out to meet him. He padded slowly inside, forgetting to close the door behind him.

“High class for a slave.”

The man behind the counter startled Galvin, and the druid whirled around to face the speaker, his eyes at the same time taking in row upon row of folded clothes and brass lanterns that cast a soft, even glow throughout the shop’s interior.

“Sure you’re in the right shop?” the proprietor persisted, eyeing Galvin intently, as if memorizing every detail about him. The man was thin and bald, and the riot of tattoos on his head made it look as if he was wearing a cap. His skin was nearly white from lack of sun and it had the appearance of parchment, frail and brittle.

“Are you in the right place?” the man asked, his voice rising. He emphasized each word.

“My mistress …” the druid stammered, uncertain of what to say and debating whether to flee back out into the street.

A glimmer caught in the man’s dark blue eyes. “Hmmm … I see,” he said, rubbing his manicured hands together. “She wants you to look presentable, huh?”

“Yes,” Galvin said nervously, glancing about and spying a rack of cloaks, several of them green. The druid hadn’t been in a clothing store since his youth. The memory was uncomfortable, as were the outfits his mother had ordered him to try on.

He quickly attempted to take everything in, realizing he must look foolish. Focusing on the glass counter in front of the proprietor, he tried to relax and failed miserably.

“Haven’t been in a place like this before, huh? It’s rare that we get one of your kind here.”

The druid cast his eyes on the polished floor that smelled faintly of lemons and clenched his fist. He understood why Wynter was so opposed to slavery.

“I need clothes,” Galvin said simply.

The proprietor laughed and waved his hand at the racks and neatly stacked piles of clothes. “Go ahead. Just don’t get anything dirty.”

The druid lost himself in a long aisle of cedar shelves, grateful to be out of view of the shop owner. He scanned the shelves until he spied a stack of green tunics. Quickly grabbing the one on top, he trotted back to the counter.

“Right size?”

The druid shrugged.

The proprietor shook his head at Galvin. “Turn around. Here.” The bald man strode from behind the counter and held the tunic up to Galvin’s back, snickering when he discovered the shoulders were far too small. “You need something bigger. C’mon, I’ll help you. Your mistress better appreciate this.”

“Do Red Wizards ever shop here?” Galvin asked as the man ushered him back down the aisle.

“Sometimes,” the man replied, muttering softly about the stupidity of slaves.

“Any zulkirs?”

“Why does a slave care where Red Wizards shop?”

“Just interested,” Galvin replied glumly.

Replacing the tunic Galvin had selected, the man ignored the druid and thumbed through a stack, pulling out an olive-green shirt. He handed it to Galvin and strolled deeper into the store.

“Need some leggings?”

Galvin nodded. The druid realized there were enough articles in this store to clothe an entire village.

“What color?”

The druid flushed. “Umm, green. Or brown. It really doesn’t matter.”

The bald man shook his head and pulled a tan pair of breeches from another stack. Holding them in front of the druid, he smiled, pleased he had guessed the size correctly.

“And a cloak. Green or gray, I suppose,” Galvin added, remembering the green ones he had spotted when he came in. “I guess the color isn’t important.”

The proprietor shuffled to the racks and scanned the garments. Galvin watched the proprietor pull out a plain gray cloak the color of hearth ashes. Satisfied, the man returned to the counter and began scratching on a sheet of curled parchment, figuring out the cost.

Galvin shifted back and forth on his feet. “I should have another set,” he decided. “Just in case.”

“In case of what?” the proprietor quipped.

In case I’m stuck in Amruthar for awhile, Galvin thought. But he kept the thought to himself.

“All right,” the man sighed, dropping the parchment with a flourish and escorting Galvin down another aisle of clothes.

The druid emerged from the shop wearing his second purchase, consisting of light brown pants with a voluminous-sleeved ivory shirt over the top and a cloak. The cloak was rather elaborate—green trimmed with a lighter green embroidery. Its suede collar was dyed green and pinned together by a simple iron clasp in the shape of an owl’s head. Galvin actually liked the outfit, even though the two changes of clothes had cost him all of his coins. He suspected that the proprietor had charged him too much, but he knew better than to argue.

He waited outside the women’s shop for several minutes, catching admiring glances from several Thayvian women who passed by and feeling increasingly ill at ease. One woman stopped to demand directions. She had a pleasant voice and obviously seemed to know where she was going, but Galvin avoided her attempt at conversation and began pacing nervously in front of the shop window. Eventually Brenna came out in a midnight blue dress trimmed with light blue lace that fit her tightly from neck to hips, then flared out to hang a few inches above the ground. Like Galvin, she carried a package under her arm. The druid eyed the bundle and guessed there were two or three dresses in it.

“Nice,” she said, giving Galvin the once-over. “Good taste. Find out anything while you were in there?”

The druid shook his head.

“Well, I found out that Maligor has an army in the woods. A bunch of gnolls.” Brenna seemed pleased with herself and noted Galvin’s surprised expression. “Women gossip,” she explained. “But the women in the shop didn’t know what the army’s for.”

Smugly nodding across the street, the sorceress added, “Want a bath?” Just then the bald shopkeeper closed and locked the door of the men’s store behind them and put up a “closed” sign. The shops were starting to shut down for the day, and that meant they would have to meet Wynter soon.

They scampered across the street, sidestepping the patrons emerging from the bathhouse cleaned and perfumed. The bathhouse windows were fogged, and the scent of soap greeted them as they hurried inside.

After Brenna vouched for the behavior of her slave, they were led into a large room. Steam drifted upward from a dozen large, waist-high wooden tubs, two of which were occupied. The room was divided, one side for women, the other for men.

Brenna waltzed away from Galvin, and an attendant herded the druid to a tub in the back of the room. Galvin noted there were no other slaves here.

The attendant held out his arm for Galvin’s clothes, and the druid quickly turned around. Carefully removing his Harper neck chain and stuffing it discreetly into a pocket, he discarded his clothes and climbed several steps. Settling into the tub, he gasped at the unaccustomed heat. Slowly he eased himself into the water, watching his flesh turn pink from the hot liquid. He glanced over the side of the tub, determined to discover what made the water so warm.

“Problem?” the attendant asked, as he handed Galvin a cake of yellow-tinged soap.

The druid shook his head and grabbed the soap, noting it smelled earthy and rather pleasant. Watching a pudgy bald man in a nearby tub, Galvin imitated him, rubbing the cake up and down his arms, then submerging himself to rinse off the lather. The druid found he was getting used to the warm water, and he enjoyed the sensation.

Across the room, he caught a glimpse of Brenna slipping into a smaller tub. Her pale skin shone through the steam, and the druid found himself staring at her. He knew that some city residents cloaked themselves in modesty, but in this bathhouse, people didn’t seem to worry.

The sorceress dipped her face into the water, scrubbing at her forehead. Holding her breath, she sank into the recesses of the tub and emerged to spot the druid staring at her.

They left the bathhouse a half-hour later, cleaned and perfumed. Brenna had new designs painted on her head—a curved-bladed dagger and the symbol of Malar, the Beast Lord. Refreshed, they sauntered toward the slave pens.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Galvin admitted, angry at himself for not thinking of their spying mission while delighting in his bath.

Brenna tittered and Galvin reddened, then glanced down the street to hide his embarrassment. The slave market was only a few more blocks away.

She tugged at his sleeve.

Galvin turned and looked at her. The last rays of the sun glinted off her polished scalp and reflected warmly in her eyes. He found himself staring again.

“You’re supposed to walk behind me, remember?” she said. The folds of her dress swished softly as she passed by the druid, chin tilted toward the rooftops.

Wynter’s childhood rushed at him as the centaur toured the slave pens. Nearly four dozen slaves milled about the largest pen; these were not prime stock and could be bartered for. There were four other pens. One contained women who were too fat, too old, or too ugly to be used for pleasure slaves, but could work well as domestic servants.