“Ah,” she said automatically. She couldn’t even gather the courage to tell him, to speak the horrible thing aloud. My shadow. “Taggle—”
He had heard something, anyway. “Katerina?” He pricked his ears at her. His tail twitched and he sniffed at her, as if looking for the wound. “Are you hurt?”
“Taggle, my shadow—” But suddenly, inside the vardo, someone was shifting. The steps wobbled; the frame creaked. Daj pushed the curtain aside, and her shadow fell across Kate. My shadow, she thought again. But neither of them spoke. Taggle leaned his comforting warmth into Kate’s side.
Feeling Daj’s eyes on her, Plain Kate bent her head and tried to work. The curved length of the wood was clamped between her knees. She drew the plane over the wood toward her. Pale shavings curled up like carrot peelings. “Deadly work for such little hands,” said Daj at last.
“It’s not hard.” Though it was hard. Mending a bucket was a cooper’s work, and Kate had never done it. She had to guess how the wood might swell or shrink, bend or straighten, and the stave had to be perfect. If the bucket leaked, she thought, the Roamers would surely cast her out. Still, she said again: “It’s not hard.”
“Well, it looks hard,” said Daj. “Leave off now, kit, you’ve lost the light.” She plucked down the lantern and peered into the vardo. “Not much room in here, I’m feared. Full as the king’s pocket. Why don’t you pitch the bender tent, have a night on your own.”
Alone. At Daj’s words, Plain Kate did something she had never done. She let the plane slip.
The blade skipped off some knot in the wood and sliced into her forearm. She watched it cut a strip of skin like bark. Taggle howled.
Daj almost dropped the lantern. “Mira!” She rushed and stumbled down the steps, yanking off scarves. “Aye! I’ve jinxed you!” Plain Kate’s arm was seeping blood the way the bog seeped water. Daj tied the scarf around it, tight. The pink flowers were at once soaked through.
“Blood,” hissed Taggle, and over him, Kate said, “Oh.”
“Ah,” Daj sobbed. “I’ll never forgive myself.” She yanked Kate up—“Come on, kit”—and pulled her by the wrist, staggering, toward the big tent, with the cat tangling around their feet. They burst into the yellow light and sudden silence. Faces turned to them.
There was no men’s fire ceremony, no “May I pass between you?” Daj barked: “Tea!” Her husband, Wen, rose, creaking, his hands on his knees, and shuffled over with the black kettle. Daj seized it and pushed Kate onto one of the trestles. Taggle leapt up. Daj swatted him away. She ripped off the bandage-scarf. Before Plain Kate knew what was happening, hot tea was pouring over the open wound.
“Just brewed that,” said Wen.
Daj thrust the kettle lid at him. “Can’t you see the child’s hurt?” She slapped a handful of steaming tea leaves on Plain Kate’s arm.
“What happened?” Stivo was pushing through the tent doorway behind them. “Carver cut herself, did she? Little girl with a big knife?”
Plain Kate looked up at him. He was strangely colored in the yellow light, like a smoked fish. Daj looked at her looking and said, “It weren’t her fault. I jostled her. And she’s a better carver than you are a horseman, boy.” She dropped the bloody, gaudy scarf into the teapot, and tied another scarf over the tea leaves, and another over that.
“What news of your daughter, Stivo?” Rye Baro’s voice came from the other side of the fire. To Kate, it seemed as if the fire itself was speaking, as if it wanted to claim Drina.
“She’ll live,” said Stivo. “And it’s not thanks to this one.” He gestured roughly at Kate.
“What—” Plain Kate felt dull as the dark of the moon. “What did she tell you?
The voice came from the fire again. “What should she have told, Plain Kate Carver?”
That it was my fault, Plain Kate thought. That she was only trying to help me. That I knew it was dangerous, and I let her help me anyway. I let her go alone.
Taggle sprang back onto the trestle beside her, sniffling at the tea-soaked scarf arpund Kate’s arm, bleating wordlessly. His pink tongue flicked out like a bit of flame. Beside her, Wen suddenly spat out his tea. “Bah! Who brewed the bandages!”
“Plain Kate?” said the fire, in Rye Baro’s voice.
“I—” she croaked.
“?’Tis not the time for questioning the kit,” said Daj firmly, lifting Kate to her feet. “Come along, Plain Kate. I’ll clear you out a patch to sleep.”
“It’s full as the king’s pocket.”
“No, you’ll see,” said Daj, leading her out into the night. “You can sleep by me, mira.” She put an arm around Kate’s shoulders and guided her back across the river meadow, through the echoing, thickening fog, as if to the land of the dead.
?