the battle, my lord brother?” he asked nervously. Nona was standing beside him, and he had his arm around her.
Wallie had not heard a word. He pulled his wits together. “I don’t care,” he said, “although I doubt that these gentle ladies will be interested in such a tale. No, something you said reminded me of another battle. That’s all.”
Everyone relaxed, including Nnanji. He leered up at Nona. “You don’t need me for a little while then, do you, my lord brother? Farmer Nona has offered to show me her house.” For him, this sudden interest in domestic architecture was a surprisingly tactful way of describing what the two of them obviously had in mind.
“Yes, I do need you,” Wallie said. “I’m putting you in charge for . . . for a little while. I want to see Apprentice Quili’s house.”
Quili blanched. Then she bared her teeth at Wallie in an attempt at a smile. “I shall be greatly honored, my lord.” It came out as a whisper.
“Then let us go right away. Ladies, I thank you for the meal. It was superb.”
With varied expressions of surprise and amusement, approval and disapproval, the company moved out of the way as Wallie followed Quili around to the door. The outside air seemed cool and fresh after the stuffy room, flapping his loincloth as if to mock such unswordsmanlike dress. The rain seemed heavier.
Huddled again in her cloak, the priestess pointed to the far side of the pond. “That one, my lord. We should run!”
Hers was the smallest of the cottages, badly in need of a new roof from the look of the sag in the present one.
She would not run very fast in her gown, so Wallie announced that he would carry her. He scooped her up and ran, mud splattering below his boots. She weighed very little, less than Katanji.
The door was not locked. She lifted the latch, and he carried her across the threshold, wondering as he did so if that gesture had the same implications in the World as it did on Earth. He set her down and closed the door and looked around.
It was very small and, obviously, very old. One of the walls leaned inward, and the floor was uneven. Probably the present bowed roof was far from the first that these ancient stones had supported. There were two stools and a chair, a table, and a rough dresser. The floor was made of flagstones, with straw on them by the entrance. Cooking would be done on the fire, of course, and there was an oven built into the fireplace. Faint scents of woodsmoke gave the place a homey air. A bucket and two large baskets stood in a corner; a couple of garments hung on pegs; a small and very rough image of the Goddess sat on a shelf with flowers laid before it . . . There was no great comfort, but the room was clean and friendly.
He looked around to speak to Quili, and she had vanished. Quiet creaking of ropes came from the other room. He ducked through the other doorway in time to see her stretching out on the bed.
“Very pretty,” he said harshly, aware of his sudden physical response. Her body was every bit as fine as the tight gown had promised.
She twisted a smile and held out her arms to him, but he could see her hands shaking.
“You’re very pretty, apprentice, but you’re trying to distract me. Now put your gown on again and come out here. I want to talk to you.”
He went and sat on the more solid looking of the two stools. In a moment Quili crept in from the other room, dressed again in her threadbare yellow robe, but barefoot. She lit on the edge of the chair, hands clasped, eyes staring down at the floor, long hair falling to hide her face.
Wallie forced his mind back to business. “Tell me about the murdered swordsmen.”
Again, all the color drained from her face. She stared at him.
“Men do not go to clear land on the wettest day since winter, Quili.”
She slid to her knees. “My lord, they were not at fault! They are good people!”
“I must be the judge of that.”
Quili crouched over and began to weep,
Wallie had not heard a word. He pulled his wits together. “I don’t care,” he said, “although I doubt that these gentle ladies will be interested in such a tale. No, something you said reminded me of another battle. That’s all.”
Everyone relaxed, including Nnanji. He leered up at Nona. “You don’t need me for a little while then, do you, my lord brother? Farmer Nona has offered to show me her house.” For him, this sudden interest in domestic architecture was a surprisingly tactful way of describing what the two of them obviously had in mind.
“Yes, I do need you,” Wallie said. “I’m putting you in charge for . . . for a little while. I want to see Apprentice Quili’s house.”
Quili blanched. Then she bared her teeth at Wallie in an attempt at a smile. “I shall be greatly honored, my lord.” It came out as a whisper.
“Then let us go right away. Ladies, I thank you for the meal. It was superb.”
With varied expressions of surprise and amusement, approval and disapproval, the company moved out of the way as Wallie followed Quili around to the door. The outside air seemed cool and fresh after the stuffy room, flapping his loincloth as if to mock such unswordsmanlike dress. The rain seemed heavier.
Huddled again in her cloak, the priestess pointed to the far side of the pond. “That one, my lord. We should run!”
Hers was the smallest of the cottages, badly in need of a new roof from the look of the sag in the present one.
She would not run very fast in her gown, so Wallie announced that he would carry her. He scooped her up and ran, mud splattering below his boots. She weighed very little, less than Katanji.
The door was not locked. She lifted the latch, and he carried her across the threshold, wondering as he did so if that gesture had the same implications in the World as it did on Earth. He set her down and closed the door and looked around.
It was very small and, obviously, very old. One of the walls leaned inward, and the floor was uneven. Probably the present bowed roof was far from the first that these ancient stones had supported. There were two stools and a chair, a table, and a rough dresser. The floor was made of flagstones, with straw on them by the entrance. Cooking would be done on the fire, of course, and there was an oven built into the fireplace. Faint scents of woodsmoke gave the place a homey air. A bucket and two large baskets stood in a corner; a couple of garments hung on pegs; a small and very rough image of the Goddess sat on a shelf with flowers laid before it . . . There was no great comfort, but the room was clean and friendly.
He looked around to speak to Quili, and she had vanished. Quiet creaking of ropes came from the other room. He ducked through the other doorway in time to see her stretching out on the bed.
“Very pretty,” he said harshly, aware of his sudden physical response. Her body was every bit as fine as the tight gown had promised.
She twisted a smile and held out her arms to him, but he could see her hands shaking.
“You’re very pretty, apprentice, but you’re trying to distract me. Now put your gown on again and come out here. I want to talk to you.”
He went and sat on the more solid looking of the two stools. In a moment Quili crept in from the other room, dressed again in her threadbare yellow robe, but barefoot. She lit on the edge of the chair, hands clasped, eyes staring down at the floor, long hair falling to hide her face.
Wallie forced his mind back to business. “Tell me about the murdered swordsmen.”
Again, all the color drained from her face. She stared at him.
“Men do not go to clear land on the wettest day since winter, Quili.”
She slid to her knees. “My lord, they were not at fault! They are good people!”
“I must be the judge of that.”
Quili crouched over and began to weep,
Similar Books
