avoid trouble with the alvar until it is too late."
Chapter 7
It was amazing, Meb thought, how a couple of apples and a few handfuls of late blackberries could change the way you looked at things. She'd woken before dawn, and beat a hasty retreat from a sniffing, but tail-wagging dog. She hadn't been able to resist the apples in the orchard next to what was becoming a country lane. She still felt guilty about them. They had just been windfalls, but still. One didn't steal, even if the common sense part of her mind said that the pigs could spare a couple of bruised windfalls. But now she was wearing stolen clothes, and eating stolen fruit. Hallgerd would have said that she was on her way to perdition.
Thinking about her made Meb's eyes misty with sadness and half-realized tears. She didn't even notice that, as she crested the hill, Tarport had come into view.
It was, by Meb's standards, a vast metropolis, and very frightening. Hallgerd had always been full of horrific tales of what happened to nice girls on the streets of that sinful city. Of course the details had been rather vague, possibly because Hallgerd hadn't had much of an imagination, and she'd only been there a few times herself. But girls definitely came to tragic ends if they went there alone, without a male escort.
When Meb looked up, it was there. The great city. Even from a mile away she could smell it—a mixture of fish, smoke, tar from the tar-pits a few miles inland and other less pleasant smells from thousands of people, a handful of dvergar, and an occasional visiting alvar come to oversee the work of their underlings. She didn't have much of a choice but to enter it alone.
A little further on her coastal track joined the main pike from the tar-pits, and from the farmlands inland and from the more populous South Coast. Fresh wares, inclined to spoil, came in by cart, rather than by the canal that ran next to the road. Meb was thirsty, but she didn't want to drink that canal-water! It was dirty green and smelled of rot. Small bubbling tufts of suspicious-looking emerald drifted in it.
Eight-horse drays loaded with stinking barrels—material to calk and seal ships across the seas of Tasmarin—trundled along slowly. Carts and even a carriage with some alvar lord in it made their way among the walkers and donkey trains.
No one seemed to notice a girl in boy's clothes, with bare feet and hair that had been roughly cropped by a merrow knife. It didn't stop Meb looking very warily at the people around her. Anyone of them could be the vehicle of her horrific fate, after all.
Being alone took some of the magic out of the place. Despite the smells, the idea of strange places had always fascinated her. Now, in a large part, she was simply too scared to marvel at wonders like buildings that were three whole stories high. And made of brick too!
In the jostling crowd at the open city gate she did feel ghostly fingers in her pocket, but as she had nothing to steal, these vanished. The men always said that in Tarport you kept your money in your fist, and your fist in your pocket, and even that didn't always work.
Meb had not thought much beyond walking to Tarport. Now that she was here, alone, in the thronging streets, it occurred to her that she had absolutely no idea how to begin looking for the other villagers, let alone her step-brothers. Well, said the sensible voice in her head, if the boys were anywhere, it would be down at the docks. But, in between the houses, she seemed to have lost her sense of direction. Finally, after wandering—for a second time—past a tantalizing smelling bakery, she steeled herself and asked a porter with a load of cloth-bales. He looked a little puzzled. "Back the way you've just come, sonny. Most of the boats are out, though. Yellowtail are running off Headly point. They were taking everybody who could haul a line this morning."
"Thank you, sir." Just in time she stopped
Chapter 7
It was amazing, Meb thought, how a couple of apples and a few handfuls of late blackberries could change the way you looked at things. She'd woken before dawn, and beat a hasty retreat from a sniffing, but tail-wagging dog. She hadn't been able to resist the apples in the orchard next to what was becoming a country lane. She still felt guilty about them. They had just been windfalls, but still. One didn't steal, even if the common sense part of her mind said that the pigs could spare a couple of bruised windfalls. But now she was wearing stolen clothes, and eating stolen fruit. Hallgerd would have said that she was on her way to perdition.
Thinking about her made Meb's eyes misty with sadness and half-realized tears. She didn't even notice that, as she crested the hill, Tarport had come into view.
It was, by Meb's standards, a vast metropolis, and very frightening. Hallgerd had always been full of horrific tales of what happened to nice girls on the streets of that sinful city. Of course the details had been rather vague, possibly because Hallgerd hadn't had much of an imagination, and she'd only been there a few times herself. But girls definitely came to tragic ends if they went there alone, without a male escort.
When Meb looked up, it was there. The great city. Even from a mile away she could smell it—a mixture of fish, smoke, tar from the tar-pits a few miles inland and other less pleasant smells from thousands of people, a handful of dvergar, and an occasional visiting alvar come to oversee the work of their underlings. She didn't have much of a choice but to enter it alone.
A little further on her coastal track joined the main pike from the tar-pits, and from the farmlands inland and from the more populous South Coast. Fresh wares, inclined to spoil, came in by cart, rather than by the canal that ran next to the road. Meb was thirsty, but she didn't want to drink that canal-water! It was dirty green and smelled of rot. Small bubbling tufts of suspicious-looking emerald drifted in it.
Eight-horse drays loaded with stinking barrels—material to calk and seal ships across the seas of Tasmarin—trundled along slowly. Carts and even a carriage with some alvar lord in it made their way among the walkers and donkey trains.
No one seemed to notice a girl in boy's clothes, with bare feet and hair that had been roughly cropped by a merrow knife. It didn't stop Meb looking very warily at the people around her. Anyone of them could be the vehicle of her horrific fate, after all.
Being alone took some of the magic out of the place. Despite the smells, the idea of strange places had always fascinated her. Now, in a large part, she was simply too scared to marvel at wonders like buildings that were three whole stories high. And made of brick too!
In the jostling crowd at the open city gate she did feel ghostly fingers in her pocket, but as she had nothing to steal, these vanished. The men always said that in Tarport you kept your money in your fist, and your fist in your pocket, and even that didn't always work.
Meb had not thought much beyond walking to Tarport. Now that she was here, alone, in the thronging streets, it occurred to her that she had absolutely no idea how to begin looking for the other villagers, let alone her step-brothers. Well, said the sensible voice in her head, if the boys were anywhere, it would be down at the docks. But, in between the houses, she seemed to have lost her sense of direction. Finally, after wandering—for a second time—past a tantalizing smelling bakery, she steeled herself and asked a porter with a load of cloth-bales. He looked a little puzzled. "Back the way you've just come, sonny. Most of the boats are out, though. Yellowtail are running off Headly point. They were taking everybody who could haul a line this morning."
"Thank you, sir." Just in time she stopped
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