The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(28)
She steered the conversation, and their path, back to her purpose in coming here. Quickening her pace she led Master Catlyn through the market, past stalls piled high with fragrant Italian leather, baskets of almonds and garlic, and wheels of cheese studded with cloves. When she realised he was no longer at her side, she feared he had changed his mind about trying his skills out, but he had only stopped a few yards behind her to buy strings from a lute-maker.
The Vinlanders' stalls were set apart from the other strangers, marked out by their brown-and-white striped awnings. Strings of dried peppers and puffed corn festooned many, though rather for decoration than purchase. Neither were much to the taste of Europeans.
"You should talk to some of the skraylings," she said. "Perhaps buy something."
"I have little to spend, and no one to buy for," he replied.
"Then perhaps you could haggle badly and lose."
They passed a stall selling ribbons dyed in vivid iris shades, brighter than anything made in England. The colours brought to mind the lights that hung outside the skrayling guild house after dark.
"Why only blue, yellow and purple?" Master Catlyn asked, as if guessing her thoughts. "Surely red and green would be just as simple to make, and more popular."
"You know how some men cannot tell red from green? So it is with skraylings. Red is dull in their eyes, so they do not use it."
"Really? You didn't mention it before."
"I'm sorry, sir. Names for colours are so little used in Tradetalk, I didn't think of it."
They paused at another stall. This one held boxes of straw in which nestled earthenware and porcelain, much of it glazed a bright turquoise highlighted with yellow or white. The items themselves ranged from dishes and plates to grotesque figures with leering mouths and bulging eyes.
The stall holder, a short skrayling with blue beads threaded in his mane, bowed to Master Catlyn and held out a small pottery figure of an animal, somewhat like a long-necked sheep. Its feet had been replaced with wheels, and a striped blanket was painted on its back.
"Toy, give little one."
Master Catlyn turned pale, and Coby thought he was going to puke.
"Are you all right?" she murmured.
"It is naught," he replied, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Someone walked over my grave, that's all." He turned back to the skrayling. "No little one. No she-fellah of I."
So, he was not married. She had suspected as much, but the knowledge still pleased her. That in itself was worrying. She already risked too much by letting him touch her in their fighting lessons. Yet she felt at ease in his presence now, as she had never done with the actors. And if his kindness towards her was only that of an elder brother, it was for the best. Wasn't it?
They moved on to another stall, where a slim androgynous figure with bronze skin and sleek black hair was roasting brickcoloured tubers over a brazier.
"That is not a skrayling female?" Master Catlyn asked in an undertone.
"No," Coby whispered back. "It is a man from the New World. See, he has dark eyes, and his features are as human as yours or mine."
"What about his ears?"
The man's earlobes were as big as apricots, stretched out of their natural shape by roundels of ivory.
"It's not so very different from your earring, is it?" she said, then added, "He probably speaks Tradetalk, so he'd be as good a test of your skill as a skrayling."
Master Catlyn cleared his throat and pointed to the brazier.
"An they, sir."
The man speared a sweet potato with a fork and wrapped it in a scrap of coarse cloth, grinning at them with tobaccostained teeth.
"An denna, thank ye," he replied, holding out a scarred hand.
As Master Catlyn fumbled in his pocket for a penny, a scrap of paper fluttered to the ground. Coby picked it up. It was a letter, and not sealed. This was her chance. Hardly daring to breathe, she turned her back on the stall and unfolded the paper.
My dearest Jane–
Her throat tightened. No, it might only be a letter to a sister. She read on.
–I do most heartily wish you well, and assure you I have not forgotten my promise to visit on the 22nd of next month. In the meantime I will send 13oz of sugared almonds for you and your 3 sisters–
"What have you there?" Master Catlyn asked.
She hastily folded the strange letter and turned back to him.
"You dropped this, sir," she replied, holding it out.
He snatched the paper from her hand.
"Did you read it?"
She dropped her gaze to the ground, unable to lie to his face.
"Did you read it?"
"Yes, sir," she whispered. She wished she had never agreed to spy on him.
"And what did you make of it?"
"Only th-that you have a sweetheart, sir. And she likes sugared almonds."
"Nothing more?"
"No, sir. I didn't read any more."
He put the letter back in his pocket, his expression thoughtful. She supposed she would have to report this to Dunfell. There was something odd going on, since sugared almonds were an expensive gift, an unlikely choice for a man who claimed to have no money.
"I think I have had enough of markets," Master Catlyn said, taking his purchase from the stall holder. "And your master will be expecting you home for supper."