“Otherwise, this will take all day.”
They finally got past the warehouse area and reached a trackway that was more stable. “Which way now?” Orm asked.
Magnus explained Sigurd’s instructions and they soon arrived in the market area of the settlement. Both sides of the trackway were lined with workshops. In front of each shop was a wooden sign with a picture of the kind of merchandise made there: shoes, jewelry, combs, weapons. Magnus examined each sign, looking for one that might indicate a soapstone carver. Finally spying what looked like a bowl on one of the signs, he gestured to Orm. “I think that’s the place.”
As they hauled the cart toward the shop, a woman stepped out in front of them. She paused, startled, and the hood of her sable-trimmed mantle fell back to reveal her carefully braided auburn hair and elegantly beautiful face. Her light brown eyes flashed over them, then she made a face and turned away, stepping daintily on her wood-bottomed shoes and holding her green and blue plaid mantle out of the muck. A moment later, a man dressed in the coarse garb of a servant came out of the shop carrying a cloth-wrapped package and hurried after her.
“Did you see that?” Orm asked.
Magnus snorted. “Aye. She looked at us as if we were two worms who’d just wriggled out from under a rock.”
Orm sighed. “What I would give to possess such a creature.”
“Don’t even think about it. She’s undoubtedly the wife or concubine of one of the jarls who live here.” As he said the words, Magnus thought of the princess. Was she destined to end up in similar circumstances? It didn’t seem so bad a life—to dress in fine clothing and have servants wait upon you. Yet he knew she’d hate it and always recall what it was like to be free.
“I suppose you’re right,” Orm said glumly. “She’s far beyond me.” He nodded to the cart. “We might as well get our errand over with.”
They found the soapstone carver’s shop and Magnus went inside to speak to the owner. The man told them to take the cart behind the shop—no easy task given the narrowness of the walkway around the building. Once there, they unloaded the chunks of soapstone into a pile. While the shop owner inspected his purchase, Magnus noted a small gray and gold cat sitting near the doorway of the shop, watching them with serene gold eyes. It reminded him of the one that had guided him to the storeroom behind Croa’s dwelling. Regret stabbed through him. He should have rescued the princess then. It would have been difficult, but far less challenging than what was ahead of him now.
Satisfied with his purchase, the soapstone carver unfastened a money pouch from beneath his tunic and held it out to Magnus. Magnus took the pouch and tied it to his cowhide belt. He nodded to the shop owner, then grabbed the handle of the empty cart and started back around the building. Orm followed.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the shop owner, Orm said, “How much do you think is in the pouch?”
Magnus reached down and hefted the leather bag in his hand. “Two pounds. Maybe more.”
“That would buy a lot of ale and willing wenches.” Magnus raised his brows at Orm, who quickly added, “Of course, since the silver doesn’t belong to us, it doesn’t really matter. On the other hand, I doubt Sigurd would miss a piece or two.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Magnus responded. “Sigurd will probably weigh the pouch when we get back to the ship. If it’s short, he’ll know we took some. Besides, it would be wrong to steal from Sigurd. Especially since he’s been fair and honest in all his dealings with us.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Orm said wistfully.
Even as he explained to Orm why they dare not take the silver, Magnus couldn’t help wondering if the amount in the pouch would be enough to purchase the princess. Hardly. Soapstone was a useful commodity—almost any household Magnus had ever been in owned several bowls and a
They finally got past the warehouse area and reached a trackway that was more stable. “Which way now?” Orm asked.
Magnus explained Sigurd’s instructions and they soon arrived in the market area of the settlement. Both sides of the trackway were lined with workshops. In front of each shop was a wooden sign with a picture of the kind of merchandise made there: shoes, jewelry, combs, weapons. Magnus examined each sign, looking for one that might indicate a soapstone carver. Finally spying what looked like a bowl on one of the signs, he gestured to Orm. “I think that’s the place.”
As they hauled the cart toward the shop, a woman stepped out in front of them. She paused, startled, and the hood of her sable-trimmed mantle fell back to reveal her carefully braided auburn hair and elegantly beautiful face. Her light brown eyes flashed over them, then she made a face and turned away, stepping daintily on her wood-bottomed shoes and holding her green and blue plaid mantle out of the muck. A moment later, a man dressed in the coarse garb of a servant came out of the shop carrying a cloth-wrapped package and hurried after her.
“Did you see that?” Orm asked.
Magnus snorted. “Aye. She looked at us as if we were two worms who’d just wriggled out from under a rock.”
Orm sighed. “What I would give to possess such a creature.”
“Don’t even think about it. She’s undoubtedly the wife or concubine of one of the jarls who live here.” As he said the words, Magnus thought of the princess. Was she destined to end up in similar circumstances? It didn’t seem so bad a life—to dress in fine clothing and have servants wait upon you. Yet he knew she’d hate it and always recall what it was like to be free.
“I suppose you’re right,” Orm said glumly. “She’s far beyond me.” He nodded to the cart. “We might as well get our errand over with.”
They found the soapstone carver’s shop and Magnus went inside to speak to the owner. The man told them to take the cart behind the shop—no easy task given the narrowness of the walkway around the building. Once there, they unloaded the chunks of soapstone into a pile. While the shop owner inspected his purchase, Magnus noted a small gray and gold cat sitting near the doorway of the shop, watching them with serene gold eyes. It reminded him of the one that had guided him to the storeroom behind Croa’s dwelling. Regret stabbed through him. He should have rescued the princess then. It would have been difficult, but far less challenging than what was ahead of him now.
Satisfied with his purchase, the soapstone carver unfastened a money pouch from beneath his tunic and held it out to Magnus. Magnus took the pouch and tied it to his cowhide belt. He nodded to the shop owner, then grabbed the handle of the empty cart and started back around the building. Orm followed.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the shop owner, Orm said, “How much do you think is in the pouch?”
Magnus reached down and hefted the leather bag in his hand. “Two pounds. Maybe more.”
“That would buy a lot of ale and willing wenches.” Magnus raised his brows at Orm, who quickly added, “Of course, since the silver doesn’t belong to us, it doesn’t really matter. On the other hand, I doubt Sigurd would miss a piece or two.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Magnus responded. “Sigurd will probably weigh the pouch when we get back to the ship. If it’s short, he’ll know we took some. Besides, it would be wrong to steal from Sigurd. Especially since he’s been fair and honest in all his dealings with us.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Orm said wistfully.
Even as he explained to Orm why they dare not take the silver, Magnus couldn’t help wondering if the amount in the pouch would be enough to purchase the princess. Hardly. Soapstone was a useful commodity—almost any household Magnus had ever been in owned several bowls and a
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