Into the Raging Mountains Page 5

  Assist, Take Money, and Depart, she thought over and over in her mind. The conversation started out perfunctory, “May I assist you, sir?”

  “Yes, thanks. It’s been a long night and I need something solid.”

  Somewhat embarrassed by the condition of her shop and goods, Alizarin replied, “Well, I apologize for the meager selection. I had an unfortunate, late start this sunrise.”

  “Seems to be the day for it, late starts that is.” He spoke with dry humor, barely above a whisper.

  “What would you like? Several types of butters and creams are available in the stall directly across the way, Churning Time, and steaming cacao sells right next door to the creamery, at Too Hot To Handle. Those along with my sturdy bread, should see you through the rest of your day.”

  He swayed a little, and she looked up into his dilated eyes.

  “Sir?” she prompted.

  Suddenly, he seemed to come to a decision. “I’ll take a loaf of sourdough since it’s hot, and a dozen of the fruit and nut cookies.”

  “Perfect choice. One moment and I will have them ready for you.”

  She concluded their business, eager for his departure. This was clearly one of those peculiar customers that Alizarin was never displeased to see the backside of. Anyone who partook of dangerous substances, mind-altering ones, even for religious ritual participation, was often an extremely disruptive customer. Grabbing a cloth sack for the loaf, and a small paper box for the cookies, Alizarin swiftly packed the food from the display and turned back to the ordertable.

  “The total for your order is fifteen sabals, sir. Sir?” The store was empty. “Sir?”

  Where did he go? Glancing at the door, Alizarin did not see the tall man across the roadway, or anywhere in her shop. Just what I need today, a canceled order. Blowing stray bangs away from her eyes, she turned to replace the food back onto the display shelves. Wondering at the perpetual oddity of people and somewhat disappointed with the loss of revenue, she continued to clean and busy herself punching the dough.

  Broom in hand, Alizarin walked to the front of the shop to begin clearing the floor of spilled dry ingredients and the ever-constant dust created outside during the parching high sun at the end of the growing season. As she came around the ordertable, her foot caught on an unexpected obstacle.

  Unbalanced, she fell sideways, one arm flailing, the other clutching at the broomstick for a brace and failing miserably. Awkwardly and unexpectedly, Alizarin found herself on her hands and knees for the second time in one day. This time though, the reason she tripped was quite explainable.

  The body lay slumped on the bakery floor, blood oozing slowly from a brutal head wound. Several earlier questions were immediately, obviously answered. Too emotionally drained to react, Alizarin reached instantly to touch her injured client. From the front, while she had been assisting him with breadshopping, he had not appeared too seriously injured, just a little tired or inebriated.

  Feeling sheepish then, she turned the unconscious man over, keeping his head sideways. Reaching to her belt, she pulled the kitchen cloth to its full length and wrapped it around the back of his head. Then using her rope belt, she tied the makeshift bandage in place. Setting his injury down gently again, she felt and saw his breath, which was steady but shallow.

  What to do?

  The workday was already behind schedule and, though she made a decent wage baking, an injured man was certainly not going to increase her custom. Alizarin could see the scenes in her head of walk-in and regular clients stepping over an unconscious man for bread and pastries; it was laughable really. While she wanted to be sympathetic, a part of her was wondering: Why today? and Why me?

  Mother’s words came flooding back to her from repetition in childhood, “Sometimes, Little Darlin’, grand adventures begin with little steps and sometimes little steps are entirely their own adventures.” Well enough, then. Having determined that two adventures in one day was not too many for her, Alizarin set to work.

  Squaring her shoulders against his weight, Alizarin grabbed the unconscious man and, placing his arms over his head, dragged him on her hands and knees around the ordering tabletop. That was when she noticed his walking stick abandoned on the floor of the bakery. She placed him behind the yellow embroidered tablecloth and under the counter, laying his staff next to him. Then she went into the back for her spare aprons.

  By moving his upper body first to one side and then the other, Alizarin was able to lay the much bigger, injured man on a slightly comfortable incline, raising the head injury above his heart. This emergency care was not really in keeping with her self-image. Now I’m a battlefield nurse. What else next? Quickly, she got out the mop and soap and scrubbed the floor in front of her ordertable clean again.

  It was not too difficult a tidy job, all in all. She went back to sweeping in the front and waving at fellow shopkeeps. She hailed customers, dispersed breads, and collected new orders, as if by ignoring the bleeding man stuffed under her counter, she could make the disastrous situation vanish.Daylight passed.

  For no reason she could think of consciously, Alizarin chose to alert no one for medical help or assistance with the injured man. Only when the flurry of midday activity had slowed, did she take a moment to check on the man and his wound. No point in fetching food for him if he’s dead. Dead or dying, she would have to send for the Dressarna undertakers to come for the body. Not too enjoyable, that prospect.

  Leaning over him, Alizarin touched his neck, and felt the lifethrobbing of his blood. His breath was stable and shallow. The bleeding seemed to have ceased, or at least the scarlet bloom on the towel stayed the same size. Perhaps he would live.

  Stepping out of the bakery for a moment, she hailed Gerantha, mistress of the creamery. In a few swift moments, Alizarin had traded fresh muffins for cool cream. From the cacao shopkeep, Durnit, she took a small cauldron of thick, hot, and steaming drink. Reentering her shop, she searched the man’s cloak and purse for money and thanked him aloud for his patronage, not wanting to be accused of stealing.

  He didn’t move.

  Closing the storefront for a few moments, Alizarin sat down on a pillow behind her ordertable, hidden from public view by the saffron curtain formed by her tablecloth. Dipping small bits of goldenbread into the cacao, she dabbed at the parched lips of her slumbering client. A moment later, his lips parted slightly and she responded by dripping more liquid into the side of his mouth.

  The man’s eyes danced sideways beneath his lids; she could see awareness slowly returning. Sopping a bit more bread, she again gave him a little heat, a little energy, a sensory connection. Drifting into wakefulness slowly, his eyes fluttered open. Looking at the underside of the table, taking in the pale yellow curtain of cloth, and registering the cacao-soaked bread touching his lips, he smiled slightly.

  “Under a table again,” he murmured.

  Taken slightly off balance by his smile, Alizarin lifted an eyebrow in question. “Are you awake, then?”

  He watched her, observing.

  “Do you know where you are?” She received a considering look and a slight nod.

  “Well, I placed you behind my ordertable because I am unsure of what do to with you. You are too heavy for me to move alone. I cannot help you stand, other than as a crutch.” After a pause, she added, “The wound on your head is bleeding less.”

  Slowly a hand moved up from his side and reached gingerly behind his head, the searching touch to the wound blocked by the twined belt and kitchen towel.

  Alizarin said quickly, “That’s my towel and belt. I didn’t know how else to help you.” Then the words spilled out. “My name is Alizarin D’Trellista D’Napthol. This is my mother’s shop, Sunbaked. You came in this late sunrise for cookies and a loaf of bread and then fell on my floor. Do you remember? What is your name? Or what should I call you? Is there someone I can send for? Anyone who can give you a bit of care?”

  Then, almost helplessly, as emotional exhaustion caught up
with her, her tongue continued with a life of its own, much to Alizarin’s embarrassment. “That is a terrible wound you received. Were you robbed? Can you drink some more cacao? Are you hungry? Are you well? Because I am not. I am not and I am so tired.”

  She had to breathe in hard at that point, as tears began to well behind her flushed cheeks. “I am afraid that I can be of little help to you. Are malicious people after you?” Her eyes caught the purple ribbon of Thenta on his belt. “Have you angered the thieves? Their ribbon should have protected you. Because I can’t protect you, there’s just me and my bread.” Panic started to take hold of her already frayed nerves. Then she remembered, “No one knows you are here—so you’re safe for a little bit.”

  Alizarin tried to bite her own tongue, but it flailed on. “I am so sorry to keep talking, I have been so alone for a season, and don’t seem to be able to stop babbling. Please sir, tell me how I can help you! I am feeling a touch overwhelmed.” Almost hysterical now, Alizarin paused for breath, having just run a long distance race with her own sorrow. Unbidden, a tear fell down her nose.

  A touch fell lightly on her shoulder. She turned to find the man’s hand offering her the cup of cacao. “You appear to need this more than I do, Baker.”

  The moment caused her thoughts to come to a screeching halt. “Well,” Alizarin said, “Perhaps we both should drink a few cups, eh?” They looked at each other, and heads nodding in commiseration, chuckled.

  *

  They reached a mutual agreement. He would stay under the ordertable for the day, recuperating. As it turned out, he was quite pleased she had not sounded a general alarm at his collapse, as it had bought him some moments of peace. Due to the sour smell of his shirt, they agreed he had to surrender it to be washed, although the breeches appeared to be in good condition generally and were made of durable cotton. She was glad to spare them both that particular indignity.

  He called himself Vered. He said it was a nickname from his misspent youth, Ver for short, again with a little smile that seemed to indicate some hidden laughter. As her business day wound down, Alizarin took notes from an exhausted Vered regarding a few necessities. Placing her last loaves of the day onto the cooling racks, she locked the store and merged into the pre-dinner pedestrian traffic with his money and a short list.

  Chatting with her neighbors, she passed on from her usual haunts, deciding that there might be questions asked if she were to purchase too much at any one stall. Bargaining her way through the market, Alizarin accomplished her task with ease and returned to the Sunbaked, in remarkably efficient time. The shop looked so pretty and welcoming from the outside, with large rolls, goldenbread, decorated cookies and braided bread fertility wreaths glossy with egg yolks, all displayed side by side. It was an abundance of wheat and talent, all for sale.

  Reentering the door, there was no detectable odor of wounds or blood, which gave her some comfort. Setting the two cloth sacks down in the back, full of requested items, Alizarin turned to speak with Ver, who was still partially reclined under the tablecloth. Then the shop door opened, the welcome bells chiming musically. A large, hairy man dressed in a well-made tunic and tailored breeches entered. A squat brunette in braids and wearing an obnoxious floral farm dress followed him, carring a basket of turtle eggs. Glad she had not yet begun to unpack the new purchases, Alizarin thought, Timing is everything, and smiled.

  “Can I help you, sir and madam?”

  The middle-aged couple seemed to take full inventory of her wares in sweeping gazes, noticing all the care and attention to detail she took to keep the Sunbaked’s atmosphere warm and cozy. When their eyes settled at last on her, she had the strangest feeling of being weighed and measured.

  “Well, yes,” the man said. “Yes, you may. We are looking for one of your fertility wreaths for our dear cousin’s wedding. Want to wish him all the luck in the world getting some extra farmhands he won’t have to pay a fair wage to, eh?”

  “Certainly. When would you be needing the wreath and what shape would you require?” Alizarin was proper and professional though something about their manner was abrupt.

  “Hmmm—Circular, one level with concentric leaves of laurel garnished with, let’s see, five apples. Five kids should be enough to keep even that crazy boy and his bride busy. Can you have it ready nextevening?”

  This was work she could do blindfolded. Making wreaths for weddings and births always made her feel a part of the celebration. With a nod of her head, Alizarin replied, “Happy to do it and with ease.”

  One large arm wrapped around the woman’s shoulder, the man nodded and they turned to leave. Pausing, he turned partially back and said over his shoulder, “Have you happened to see our friend named Terrad? Tall man, thin, wearing tan. Gray eyes. He wandered off from our wagon and we can’t seem to find him among the market stalls. We feel responsible and a bit chagrined because his wife won’t forgive us if he was left alone in the city with so many available whores to choose from.”

  Startled, Alizarin said, “Did you lose a party member then? That’s unfortunate in these crowds.”

  A tug on her pants warned her from under the tablecloth. “No one like that gave me any business today,” she replied, turning away and busying herself with feeding her starter dough. “If I see your friend Terrad before the bakery closes, how should I contact you?”

  At this, the brunette turned around and aimed her brown-bronze eyes Alizarin’s way. She began in a honey-sweet voice, “Dear me, Ronnit and I are staying at The Stuck Pig until nexteve when we will take your wreath and set off for Onnadir, where the marriage is occurring. Should you see the scamp between now and then, send a messenger right away to our inn. But don’t bother to alert him; Terrad is too likely to find the nearest bar and begin drinking again.

  “That troublesome manboy should not be loosed on your tiny provincial city. We are offering a small finders fee to any shopkeep who can help us usher the poor lamb home to his grateful wife.”

  “Fair enough. Nexteve for the wreath, then?” Alizarin said in heartfelt farewell.

  “Nexteve will be perfect.” Nodding in agreement, they exited the bakery and walked over to the creamery where the hairy man fell to talking animatedly to Gerantha.

  *

  “Explain. Now.” Alizarin demanded, not looking down. “Terrad?” She felt betrayed and a fool. Really, that was all she could say. Her back was to the shopopening and to “Ver” as she started the special bread for the ordered wreath. “If you were not so badly injured, I would be kicking you hard under the tablecloth. This had better be a fantastic explanation.”

  After all, Alizarin thought, he had come in with his tunic reeking of ale and perfectly matched the description of the missing wagon party member. Why bother to rescue a misbegotten cur and a wifecheater? Her indignity rose at being so easily taken in by his senseless duping.

  With an exhaling sigh came his reply, “Ah, Baker, I am the one they seek but not for their stated reasons.” Taking a long breath, Ver continued. “It’s safe to say they don’t want to escort me ‘home’ to any darling, long-suffering wife. Nor is my name Terrad. If I were hale, I could probably defeat these two hounds or outrun them. Obviously, currently I cannot and must rely on your trust. Truly, I was hoping someone would be looking for me, as it gives me further evidence in my current pursuit.”

  Alizarin’s back moved in continuous kneading repetition, as her arms worked the ends of an unplanned bread loaf. It was simple busy work to give the man a chance to explain before she started screaming shrilly enough to alert the watch as well as the couple across the road.

  “Ver,” or whatever his name was, continued. “This nasty wound is from a robbery that occurred yestereve as I waited to make a legitimate business transaction. Who did the stealing and why is at the nut of my problem. It’s obviously someone powerful. Frankly you are better left out of it entirely. Your kindness to a stranger was remarkable and will be rewarded if not by me then by the Gods.”

  Lo
oking up at her again, Ver spoke directly to her confusion, “Do not believe the silly explanation of Ronnit and his so-called wife. I believe my death or worse lies in that path of their custody.”

  Alizarin was startled by this revelation but truthfully, it had been that kind of day for her. Beginning with Trellista’s unexplained return, terrible wounds, and rapid death, then the sumptuous gifts she left behind for Alizarin, and the general chaos of the entire day, it was all extraordinary.Somewhat mollified by “Ver’s” simple explanation, and trusting a wounded stranger for no reason she could consciously determine, Alizarin decided to act by not acting.

  One more small adventure, Mother! she thought. Mostly what moved her was a flickering hope that there might be some good to be had out of a tragic day, that there might be some good that she could participate in out in the great, wide world. She wanted to attack, fight and entirely destroy whatever nasty beast had mauled her mother to death, but second to that, she would fight this peculiar fight, choosing Ver’s side.

  There was something in his voice that assured her doubts. Besides, the couple who tracked him gave the baker a sensation of unease.

  After a few moments of contemplation, Alizarin heard Ver’s voice quietly ask, “Do you believe me?”

  Continuing to knead bread, she gave no answer, just going about her ordinary business. Ver continued after a few more silent moments, “Calling me Ver is probably the safest for you. I think even knowing my given name with my current unknown enemies may be too dangerous. Most likely this is some kind of barter war or political scramble for power within the labyrinthine dealings of Dressarna, but until I know more, let’s stay Ver and ‘Zarin, if that’s agreeable to you?”

  Bustling around the kneading counter, Alizarin threw the dough into the waiting buttered pan and deftly collecting it on her baker’s spatula, lifted it into the open oven. “That will take a few minutes to finish,” she remarked, as if to no one, and then started into the braiding of the wreath dough. “Rest now.”