Noon bells rang from the direction of the king’s castle, joined in a moment by more distant ringing. Then other bells tolled closer by, sounding from somewhere in town, likely the Justice Hall. Last came the harbor bells, chiming out across the strait.
I stopped my climb to listen—bass bells, tenor bells, bright soprano bells, all in harmony—pealing and pealing, calling to anyone with ears, but saying to only me, Two Castles, king’s town, big town, thief town, stay, Lahnt girl, stay.
Or maybe they said, Starve, Lahnt girl, starve.
The bells faded. I continued on my way.
Chapter Five
A market square opened before me, more crammed with stalls and people than the street had been. The odors of sweat and spoiled eggs hung over all, but they were redeemed by the aroma of baking bread, roast meat, and the faint but heady fragrance of marchpane—sugared almond candy.
What would three tins buy?
Nothing, it seemed. A muffin cost four tins, and I couldn’t wheedle down the price. My nose drew me to a man frying meat patties over a brazier. Though he had no customers, he still wouldn’t sell me a quarter patty.
The marchpane perfume grew stronger. An old woman walked by, carrying a tray of the candies.
I hurried after her and tried again to speak with the heavy consonants and dragged vowels of a Two Castler. “May I see, Grandmother?”
“What’s that?”
I repeated myself without the accent.
“Looking’s free.” She held the tray out.
Each candy was cunningly fashioned as a fruit or a flower, the tulip looking just like a fresh bloom, the pear green but for a hint of pink. The tiniest candy, a strawberry one, would probably cost more than a copper.
I had tasted marchpane once. I’d found a marchpane peach on the ground at the Lahnt market. It was grimy and partially flattened where a shoe had trod. Father saw me pick it up. He took it, brushed off the dirt, kept the flattened part for himself, and gave the rest to me.
“Don’t tell your mother,” he’d said, and I wasn’t sure if he thought she’d disapprove or if he didn’t want to share three ways.
The marchpane mistress moved away. I followed as if on a string. Perhaps I would have died of starvation in the marchpane mistress’s shadow if I hadn’t tripped over a cat, who mrrowed in protest. Jolted out of my reverie, I looked about and saw, just a few yards away, an enormous reptile’s huge belly and front leg.
A dragon!
I skittered backward. People filled in between IT and me. Conversations continued. The smell of rotten eggs all but overpowered me.
If others weren’t afraid, neither was I, despite the tingle at the nape of my neck and my breath huffing in and out. I sidled closer.
A little clearing surrounded the dragon. I hovered on the border, as close as I dared, midway between head and tail. ITs long, flat head faced forward, so I felt free to inspect. IT stood on stumpy legs. The tip of ITs tail, which was as long as the rest of it, curled under a dye maker’s table.
Poor creature, to be so hard to gaze upon. Imagine being covered in brown-and-orange scales except for a wrinkled brown belly that hung almost to the ground. ITs spine crested at half the height of a cottage, and ITs claws ended in long, gray talons. The wing facing me was folded, but judging from the rest, that was probably hideous, too.
ITs head thrust aggressively forward, hardly higher than my own. The head thrust seemed masculine. Was IT a he?
Wisps of white smoke rose from ITs half-closed mouth and ITs nostril holes. A pointed yellow tooth hung over ITs orange lip. ITs long head rounded at the snout. The skin about ITs eyes puffed out.
The cat between me and IT licked a paw.
At my elbow a goodwife said, “My achy knee augurs rain.”
Her goodman laughed. “Your achy knee sees clouds.”
IT turned ITs head and stared at me. ITs eye, flat as a coin, glowed emerald green. I felt IT take stock of me, from my overwide, too-short kirtle and round-toed shoes to my bare head and my smile, which I maintained with good dragon, nice dragon thoughts. IT faced away again. I resumed breathing.
A line of men and women stretched away from IT, waiting their turn for something. Two baskets rested by ITs right front leg, one basket half full of coins, the other holding wooden skewers threaded with chunks of bread and cheese.
Third in the line was Master Thiel, the handsome cat teacher from the wharf. Draped around his neck, a cat lolled, as relaxed as a rag. Might this cat have robbed me, taught by his cat teacher?
The cat had a black spot above his left eye. Three big spots dotted his back. His legs were black to the knees, as if he wore boots. The rest of him was snowy white. Copper-colored eyes, the hue of my stolen coin, examined me examining him.
Barely opening ITs mouth, the dragon spoke in a nasal and hoarse voice. “Step up, Corm.”
A stoop-shouldered man at the head of the line dropped coins into the coin basket and took a skewer, which he held out boldly. “I’ve waited long enough, Meenore.”
IT had a name, Meenore, a nasal name. Sir Meenore? Lady? Sirlady? Master? Mistress? Masteress?