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“Father’s
gone on business for the moment,” Djaren said, opening the carriage door
for his mother.
“He’ll be
home quite soon, I imagine.” Hellin Blackfeather picked her small
daughter up nimbly and set her in the carriage. Ellea bore this with
dignity and chose a window seat for herself. Hellin took the hand Tam
offered and climbed up into the carriage, revealing in that motion that
her full skirts were in fact voluminous trousers. The Professor
followed her in. Jon wavered a moment, finding his choices were to sit
between Hellin Blackfeather and the Professor, or next to Ellea, who was
regarding him steadily with some unreadable expression. She edged over
an inch. Jon took the motion as an invitation and sat down carefully.
The Professor smiled across at him. Tam and Djaren took the remaining
seats. Djaren wiped dust from his spectacles with an equally dusty
handkerchief and settled them back on his nose with a smile. “Off to
the dig. Wait till you see it!”
They
traveled over an arid landscape on bumpy roads while Djaren described
the dig and what had already been uncovered. Ellea interrupted him
halfway through a description of some jeweled daggers. “The thieves
took those.”
Djaren
looked embarrassed. “We didn’t want to tell you right off,” he
explained, looking from Tam, to Jon, to the Professor. “No sense in
alarming you, but yes, you’re not the only ones to have run-ins with
thieves lately.”
“What
else did they take?” The Professor sounded worried.
“The
usual things,” Djaren said.
“Everything shiny and
small,” Ellea answered at the same time.
“And the
household silver,” Hellin smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid one of the
maidservants has a dangerous taste in suitors. She alone had access to
the household, and she disappeared with the lot. I only hope the girl
was plucky enough to get her fair share. The thieves of Alarna are not
very egalitarian in their divisions.”
“Mama
Darvin told you not to hire her,” Ellea said.
“I know,
I know,” Hellin Blackfeather sighed, “but I felt that girl had spirit,
and could make good use of some opportunity.”
“Well,
she did that.” Djaren grinned.
“As Mama
Darvin has been continually reminding me.” Hellin wrinkled her freckled
nose at her son. Jon decided that Lady Blackfeather was a great deal
younger than he and Tam’s mother. She was extraordinarily lovely. Jon
had expected something quite different. Hellin Blackfeather’s name
appeared as a co-author on all of Doctor Blackfeather’s writings. Jon
had thought she would be older, or sterner, or maybe even more like his
own round, dimpled mother, whom he was trying manfully not to miss.
“Haven’t
you called in the authorities about the theft?” Tam asked.
“Of
course,” Djaren answered. “But Alarna is a small province. Thieves and
authorities are close cousins here. Though up till now we’ve been on
good terms with the lot of them.”
“We’ve
been fortunate,” Hellin explained. “We Shandorians are allowed to dig
where others--”
“Like the
Arienish,” Djaren put in.
“--are
not,” Hellin finished.
“They
take things home with them,” Ellea explained. “Big things.”
“One
noble took home a whole temple, it’s true,” Djaren said. “We, on the
other hand, are here for the history. Father’s discoveries have founded
two museums and four libraries.” Djaren looked proud. “We work with
governments to find and preserve treasures.”
“Yes,”
Hellin remarked dryly. “We dig up antiquities and document them. Then
the governments sell them to foreign nobles. Priceless artifacts
for a quick penny.”
“But
isn’t it dreadful to them to lose their history?” Jon asked, appalled.
“It would
seem common sense to treasure the past, but not everyone does. Men see
money for old rubbish, not a loss of valuable history.”
“They
forget,” Ellea said gravely. “And what you forget about will come and
bite you.”
The
carriage rumbled to a stop at last and the party tumbled out to find
themselves amid a small city of bright tents, red and green and dusty
yellow as well as plain canvas. It was a little like the festivals that
happened back at home when the clans came down at harvest time. Except
here it was hot, and oddly quiet.
“It’s the
time of the midday rest,” Djaren explained. “The people of Alarna know
there’s no point working in this heat, and they know their land, so we
take on Alarnan customs while we work here. Later as the air cools work
will begin again and continue until the sun sets. Come see the house!”
The
“house,” as it turned out, was a great jumbled maze of tents, stuck one
onto another in rooms and passages. Jon had once built a similar
structure on a much smaller scale using sheets and his mother’s kitchen
chairs. The tent with the main entrance was crimson, and Djaren drew
back the curtain-like doors to reveal reed mats and colorful rugs
inside. A row of sandals sat in a row just inside, and the
Blackfeathers began to remove their shoes.
“We guessed at
sizes,” Djaren explained. “I think, Tam, you’ll want to wear Harl
Darvin’s spare set, there. He won’t mind.”
Tam set down the too
small pair of slippers he had been considering, and smiled in some
relief. “Aye, those look righter.”
Jon found a pair of
blue slippers that seemed to be his size exactly, and set his shoes
carefully beside Tam’s boots, before straightening up and looking
round. Tam was already staring at their hosts exotic looking home.
There were paper lanterns and brass ones. There were low tables, high
chests of drawers, and colorful pillows everywhere. Even more exciting,
there were lots of bookshelves. Books and scrolls were open on almost
every available surface. With a nod of encouragement from Hellin, Jon
and Tam began to explore. Djaren followed after, grinning. “Ask me
anything. I’ve read nearly everything in here. Mother says I’m a
walking encyclopedia.”
Ellea yawned. “You
shouldn’t brag about that.”
“I wasn’t,” Djaren
made a face at her.
She made one back.
Hellin Blackfeather
clapped her hands. “Ellea dear. Do help me find Ma Darvin, won’t you?”
Ellea nodded, with a
sudden little smile. “I bet she has biscuits waiting.” She skipped out a
doorway through a beaded curtain into a green walled corridor.
Djaren
went over to a very large old steamer trunk thickly papered with stamps
and labels from all over the world, and opened it with a casual little
kick. It was three quarters of the way full with copper pieces, an odd
and inconvenient sort of treasure chest. Djaren tossed the new copper
coins in, and let the lid back down with a thump. Tam had stopped before
a glass case full of weapons. He passed over a jeweled scimitar and
some graceful blades with carved ivory hilts to admire a big black
Shandorian great-sword. It looked very old indeed, pitted and chipped
with age and most likely famous old battles. “You can tell that old
sword has seen some days,” Tam said, impressed.
Jon’s attention however was drawn to the bookshelves. He lingered over
the bindings, finding several scripts and languages he didn’t recognize.
“That’s
in Kardu,” Djaren said, noting the book Jon was looking at. “I’m just
learning. I could teach you what I know.”
Jon
grinned. Despite the dust and heat, this place was beginning to look
like paradise. |
