The Dreamtrails by Isobelle Carmody Page A

chieftain of Saithwold.” He stretched languorously and said that he would rather eat outside and soak up a bit of sunlight. Ordering me to bring him the eggs when they came, he ambled out, humming to himself. I had to repress a smile at how well he played his part.
    The woman shook her head at me, provoked just as I hadhoped. “He is a comely lad, your brother, but a dear fool,” she said tartly. “Ye’ll be lucky if he gets no more than a sound beating when ye try getting past the blockade.”
    “Blockade?” I thought I must have misheard her.
    “There is a blockade set up on the road to Saithwold. It is supposed to keep out brigands, but if you ask me, it is the brigands mannin’ it,” she said, breaking eggs forcefully into a pan. “They provoke trouble with anyone who wants to go to Saithwold and use that as an excuse to stop them entering the town.”
    “They stop people going to Saithwold?” I asked with mild skepticism.
    “Exactly that,” she said sharply. “And the blockade doesn’t only keep people out. It keeps in them as wants to leave. You try scribin’ a letter to Sirrah Noviny to tell him yer coming to take up his offer, and ye’ll get back a polite missive from him saying he has no work for yer brother.” The woman glanced about, then leaned closer. “I’ve a sister who went to live in Saithwold wi’ her bondmate years back. We have visited back and forth over the years, but at the beginnin’ of this wintertime just past, I sent her an invitation an’ got back a missive full of small news. My sister nivver even mentioned my suggestion that she come an’ visit. I wrote again an’ asked her more bluntly. Again she wrote a lot of queer prattle about recipes an’ descriptions of th’ weather and all manner of news about people I didn’t know, but still no answer. I have scribed two more letters since, and it were th’ same both times when she scribed back. There is something amiss; I know it well, but I can’t go there to see her because of yon blockade.” The woman’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. “There is so much trouble about. Robbers creeping along the road at night in gangs, burnin’ an’ destroyin’ homes, an’ kitchen gardens,an’ planted fields of good people.… Many’s the time I wish fer the Council back. I hated their corruption, but at least I could see my sister.”
    Her voice had risen and I glanced around, but the other patrons appeared indifferent to our conversation. The woman visibly mastered herself. “My advice to ye and that handsome ninnyhammer of a brother waitin’ for his eggs is to ferget about Saithwold. If ye’ve a promise of work in Sutrium, go there and take it up.” Her eyes searched my face; then she said quickly, “But if ye do go to Saithwold, mayhap ye’d consent to … to take a missive from me to my sister? She’s a rare fine cook and ye’ll nowt be sorry.…” She stopped in confusion, her eyes again filling with tears, which she dashed away angrily.
    I said softly, “Scribe your missive and tell me her name. My brother may look a fool, but he is resourceful. If your sister will scribe a message to you, I will bring it out and give it to a jack I know who comes this way regularly. You have been kind to give a stranger so much information, and I am sorry for your trouble.”
    The woman nodded and vanished for a time. When she returned, it was with red eyes, a laden plate for Zarak, a package of food wrapped in cloth, and a small folded paper that she surreptitiously pressed into my palm. “I’d like not ter charge ye for your meal, but my master is over at that table,” she said apologetically.
    I paid her, carried the plate out to Zarak, and sat with him while he ate, telling him what had transpired as he wolfed down the food.
    “My father made no mention of any blockade, but perhaps he kenned the letter would nowt be allowed to leave Saithwold if he did. Can Vos really expect to force the people ofSaithwold to vote