Vergence (15 page)

“What?” Ebryn said.

Sash sat cross-legged in a chair near the window, early light filtering in behind her. On her lap was a large open book which she read head down, shaking with near silent laughter.

Leth swooped down and landed on the back of her chair with a soft thump, sparkling yellow and gold in the light.

“Sash?”

“Sorry,” she said, looking up. “I didn't mean to wake you up. This is just so funny.”

“What are you doing?” Ebryn asked.

“Reading your Ullvenards book. I can see why you like it so much — it's so funny.”

“I mean what are you doing here — in my room?”

“I came to see if you were up yet. I found your book and decided to read it while I waited for you to wake.”

Ebryn looked at her, uncertain how to respond. He felt sure he'd bolted his door the previous evening, but now it stood slightly ajar, and anybody walking past in the passage outside would be able to see in.

“Was my door open?”

“No,” Sash said. “I opened it.”

“You opened it?”

“Yes. We don't have many doors in Senesella, but I thought it might come in useful here — so I learnt how. Want me to show you?”

Sash gestured and whispered something that sounded like a half rhyme, and his room door swung gently, silently into place, and the bolt slid shut.

“See now were locked in.”

“How did you learn that if you didn't have any doors?” Ebryn asked.

“There was a man, a caster from here, who wanted some kind of favour from my mother, and I told him I'd introduce him to her if he taught me.”

“What did he want from your mother?”

“I don't know,” Sash said. “Whatever it was he probably wouldn't have got it after teaching me anyway. My mother didn't want me learning casting, or coming here to Vergence, I doubt she'd have been very happy with him when she found out.”

“Wasn't that a bit unfair of you?” Ebryn asked.

He regretted the question the moment the words were past his lips, and was relieved to see she didn't seem to be offended.

“No. There is a way to win the help of my family and he thought he could ignore it by using me. Are you getting up, or staying in bed?”

“I'll need my clothes,” Ebryn said.

“Where are they?”

“I think you are sitting on them.”

Sash laughed and threw his clothes to him, one item at a time, then watched with interest as he struggled to put his trousers on under the bedsheets.

“Is it a custom in Fyrenar to get dressed in bed?”

“Err, sometimes,” Ebryn said, “if you have company.”

As he fought to get his shirt on, Ebryn wondered what Fidela and Sarl might think to see him with a young woman in his sleeping quarters. He had a fairly good idea what Fidela would say.

“Come on,” she said. “There's so much to see, unless you want to stay inside all day reading mouldy old books.”

“Where do you want to go?” Ebryn asked.

“I thought we might try the tavern Teblin suggested. I have the directions here.”

Sash unfolded the small piece of parchment, and showed it to him.

“What part of the city is it in?” Ebryn asked.

“Near the Claws. Can you read his writing?”

Teblin's directions took them to an older, unhurried part of the city, where none of the buildings rose above two levels. The Westerwall tavern lay along one entire side of a large open square, set well back from the road. It had a wide garden in front, filled with tables and benches, and partially covered by an awning extending from the edge of the roof.

Roads ran along the four sides of the square, with generous foot-paths. In the centre of the square stood a huge fountain where carvings of more than a dozen impossible looking creatures spouted water into the air. At the base stood a broad circular pool, shaded by the overhanging branches of trees planted around the perimeter.

The stone surfaces of buildings and lanes which joined the square were rounded and weathered smooth, at least a few hundred years old, but still intact in the face of the taller buildings of the surrounding city, which seemed to lean in over this small neighbourhood.

The main room, while not as large as the lower level of The Etched Man, was extensive and far more interesting. Circular tables of solid wood occupied the right hand side, while the other two thirds held more familiar rectangular tables with benches and stools. Many of the tables were already occupied.

A group of selerians clustered around one, jabbering animatedly in their own language. They spoke all at once, talking over each other, waving hands and tails for emphasis, and frequently grabbing at neighbours for attention.

A dozen members of another race, four-limbed, with thin hairless bodies, crouched on benches around three other tables. Their heads were thinner, more angular, than the selerians, with wide-set, watchful eyes, and back-slanting pointed ears.

The nearest selerian examined a handful of brightly coloured cards, held spread between three hands, while he used a fourth to scratch under his armpit.

“Do you know what they're doing?” Ebryn asked.

Sash glanced across the room. “It's some kind of game, I guess. Let's sit here, then we can see who comes in.”

Ebryn sat down at the nearest table, facing the entrance. “Are you expecting somebody?”

“I told a few of the others about this place, you know — Addae and Teblin might be here. If you wait and keep an eye on the door, I'll find out if they have anything good to eat.”

As Sash turned the corner, heading towards the serving counter, a tryth lumbered into the room and looked round. The new arrival was around two thirds the height of Ebryn with a skin colour which shaded between a lumpy dark green and mottled lighter pale off-white green.

Two large black eyes, lacking any white, were set forward but offset to face slightly outwards on each side of its head. It didn't have any recognisable nose, but compensated with an oversized mouth filled with multiple rows of small sharply pointed teeth and hands sporting webbed fingers.

It wore a sleeveless leather jerkin and short trousers cut at the knee. After a brief pause, it moved awkwardly towards the back of the room. Short powerful legs gave it a rolling gait, and Ebryn could see its feet slipping on the polished wooden floorboards. Its feet had oversized toes, three forward-facing, one back from the heel, each with a large pointed nail, almost like a claw. They reminded Ebryn of a bird's feet, better suited to gripping than walking.

A heavyset young man dressed in brown entered just behind the tryth. He noticed Ebryn and changed direction, holding up a hand in a greeting gesture. Ebryn remembered him as the one who'd broken, and then repaired, one of the lamp holders on the night of the banquet.

“Jure?” Ebryn asked, hoping he'd recalled the correct name.

“That's right. You were on the world-ship, weren't you? Ebryn, isn't it? You're the one who stopped that crazy drunk from making a hole in the deck — what was his name?”

“Marus Romain.”

“That's the one,” Jure said. He spoke Volanian clearly, but with a strong accent.

Jure dropped onto the opposite bench with a grunt, the wood creaking under the impact of his frame, occupying the place Ebryn had hoped Sash might sit.

“Strange fellow. A drunk angry man, not a good combination. His sister was right enough though,” Jure said, grinning and raising an eyebrow at Ebryn.

“I didn't speak to her,” Ebryn said.

“Lovely lass, a bit high born I reckon, so not much chance there for the likes of me.”

“I suppose not.”

“You practising much for the tests?” Jure asked.

“Not too much,” Ebryn said, not wanting to say he hadn't much thought about it since the last time he'd seen master Quentyn.

“You're right, no point just a few days before-hand. Better to relax and have a good time, go in fresh. Besides, I hear they work you hard once you have a place.”

“Doing what?” Ebryn asked, a little alarmed at the idea of being forced to work to stay in Vergence.

Jure chuckled. “Fixing stuff will be the job for me, I guess, just for a change.”

Ebryn experienced a heavy feeling in his stomach, wondering what kind of work there might be for him with his abilities limited to creating wards and disappearing small objects. “I see.”

“You here alone?” Jure asked.

“No. Sash is in here somewhere, getting breakfast. What about you, are you meeting someone?”

“Nah,” Jure said. “I hear this place has the best food, and when they serve meat it's actually the kind they say it is.”

“How did you learn to mend things so well?” Ebryn asked, his mind still on the prospect of work.

“Dunno, it's something I've always been able to do. Master Gasange, at home in Brulle, always said there were some things you could only do well if you were born that way. Wayfaring and healing, finding and binding — and by binding he meant fixing stuff. There's some with powerful affinities, and some just powerful, but most everything else you can learn, he said.”

“Who said?” Sash asked, emerging from behind the corner, holding a tray in one hand and mugs in the other.

A six-limbed anvolene followed behind her, moving with a clumsy gait, four broad feet padding across the stone floor, top half held upright. It had a slim serpentine body, with a long neck, and wedge-shaped face covered in sleek short brown oily fur. Intrigued as he was by the newcomer, Ebryn noticed Jure's colouring as Sash approached, cheeks reddening in a way that for some reason he found annoying.

“My master in Brulle,” Jure said. “That's in Fyrenar—”

“We were talking about natural caster skill, like affinities.”

“Oh,” Sash said, sliding the tray to the centre of the table, and placed the mugs carefully in front of Ebryn.

“Who's this?” Ebryn asked.

“Elouphe,” Sash said, turning to her new companion. “And this is Ebryn, and Jure, isn't it?

Elouphe bobbed his head, which Ebryn took to be a form of greeting, looking at each in turn with large liquid brown eyes.

“Elouphe is so sweet, I really wanted you to meet him. He was showing some people inside some really clever things with water, but some of the selerians were being horrible, so I invited him to join us,” Sash said, inclining her head in the direction of the card player.

Sash slipped onto the bench next to Ebryn, sitting so close their elbows almost touched. Elouphe crouched on his hind legs, mid limbs folded on the edge of the tabletop, and the hands of his upper limbs flat on the table surface, showing three long partially webbed fingers and a kind of thumb.

“Elouphe, are you comfortable there?” Sash asked.

“Yes, Sash,” Elouphe said, his words coming out flat and indistinct.

As interesting as he found Elouphe, Ebryn felt hungrier. The tray held a variety of flat breads, oat biscuits, and things that looked like small crumbly cakes.

“The woman I bought these from said they are served in Fyrenar for breakfast.”

Ebryn glanced at Jure, seeing the same thought reflected in his face — every piece of food on the tray might be from their homeland, and not recognisable to either of them.

“We didn't stop on the way here, so I thought it might be nice to try something from Fyrenar,” Sash said.

Jure half choked on a mouthful, and reddened again.

Traditional or not, the breads and cakes were delicious, and they left nothing on the tray but crumbs. Elouphe watched them eat, tracing each bite from plate to mouth.

“Do you want some?” Ebryn asked.

“Eat fish,” Elouphe said.

Probably a good thing, Ebryn thought, as he watched Jure cram the last of the soft pastries into his mouth.

Addae arrived as they finished and were thinking about leaving. He had a bulging brown bag clutched in his hand, and smiled broadly, displaying impressive rows of perfectly white teeth.

“Look what I have found in the market place. I have the food of my people. Please try,” Addae said, holding the bag open.

Jure took one of the crusty brown tubes, barely clearing his hand before Elouphe reached in and pulled out a bunch. Addae watched Jure expectantly until he'd bitten off half, and started to chew.

“Good—” Jure said.

“Too much to eat already, I couldn't manage another bite,” Ebryn said, waving the bag away.

“Me too,” Sash said as it headed in her direction.

“I don't think Teblin's going to be here this morning,” Ebryn said. “Should we have a look around and come back later?”

Elouphe followed them outside, spitting out pieces of food. “Taste of bugs.”

From the corner of his eye Ebryn could see Jure standing behind Addae's back, emptying the contents of his mouth into his hand, and dropping the fragments into a convenient plant pot.

“Where are we going?” Jure asked, when he'd cleared his mouth.

“How would you like to find the Claws? I think they're near here,” Sash said.

“Yeah, good idea,”

“What are the Claws?” Ebryn asked.

“It's where all the orders are, where we'll be living once we've done the entrance test,” Sash said.

“If we get in.”

Sash laughed. “Oh, don't worry about that Ebryn. If they let Quentyn in, you'll find it easy.”

“Yes … there are three roads, side by side, coming off the great circular road. They're called the Claws, because they're the longest roads in the city, aside from the spine roads, and they're together like they've been clawed out,” Jure said, making a claw shape with three fingers.

“Are we going to need to go all the way up to the circle road to get there?” Ebryn asked.

“No, I don't think so. There's bound to be some way to cut across them,” Sash said.

“It will be much longer if we lose our way,” Addae said.

“Don't fret,” Sash said, as she lead them down a side lane. “I've explored lots of places, and I always manage to find my way back when I got lost.”

“I'm a decent enough finder, if it comes to it,” Jure said, picking at fragments in the gaps between his teeth with a fingernail. “Not as good as that lass on the ship, I forget her name, but good enough to return here.”

“Are you speaking of Aara Sur?” Addae asked.

“Yeah, that's the one. She was odd — didn't have much to say for herself.”