They bowed and left the garden. As they made their way through the house, Pug nearly knocked over a young girl coming around a corner. She was dressed in a slave’s robe and carried a large bundle of washing. It went flying across the hall.
“Oh!” she cried. “I’ve just now washed these. Now I’ll have to do them over.” Pug quickly bent to help her pick them up. She was tall for a Tsurani, nearly Pug’s height, and well proportioned. Her brown hair was tied back, and her brown eyes were framed by long, dark lashes. Pug stopped gathering the clothing and stared at her in open admiration. She hesitated under his scrutiny, then quickly picked up the rest of the clothes and hurried off. Laurie watched her trim figure retreat, tan legs shown to good advantage by the short slave’s robe.
Laurie slapped Pug’s shoulder. “Ha! I told you things would be looking up.”
They left the house and approached the cookhouse, where the smell of hot food set their appetites on edge. “I think you’ve made an impression on that girl, Pug.”
Pug had never had much experience with women and felt his ears start to burn. At the slave camp much of the talk was about women, and this, more than anything else, had kept him feeling like a boy. He turned to see if Laurie was having sport with him, then saw the blond singer looking behind him. He followed Laurie’s gaze and caught a glimpse of a shyly smiling face pull back from a window in the house.
The next day the household of the Shinzawai Family was in an uproar Slaves and servants hurried every which way making ready for the journey to the north. Pug and Laurie were left to themselves, as there was no one among the household staff free enough to assign them tasks. They sat in the shade of a large willowhke tree, enjoying the novelty of free time as they observed the furor.
“These people are crazy, Pug. I’ve seen less preparation for caravans. It looks as if they plan on taking everything with them.”
“Maybe they are. These people no longer surprise me.” Pug stood, leaning against the bole. “I’ve seen things that defy logic.”
“True enough. But when you’ve seen as many different lands as I have, you learn that the more things look different, the more they are the same.”
“What do you mean?”
Laurie rose and leaned on the other side of the tree. In low tones he said, “I’m not sure, but something is afoot, and we play a part, be sure. If we keep sharp, we may be able to turn it to our advantage. Always remember that. Should a man want something from you, you can always make a bargain, no matter what the apparent differences in your stations.”
“Of course. Give him what he wants, and he’ll let you live.”
“You’re too young to be so cynical,” Laurie countered, with mirth sparkling in his eyes. “Tell you what. You leave the world-weary pose to old travelers such as myself, and I’ll make sure that you don’t miss a single opportunity.”
Pug snorted. “What opportunity?”
“Well, for one thing,” Laurie said, pointing behind Pug, “that little girl you nearly knocked over yesterday is appearing to have some difficulty in lifting those boxes.” Pug, glancing back, saw the laundry girl struggling to stack several large crates ready to be loaded into wagons. “I think she might appreciate a little help, don’t you think?”
Pug’s confusion was evident on his face. “What . . . ?”
Laurie gave him a gentle push. “Off with you, dolt. A little help now, later . . . who knows?”
Pug stumbled. “Later?”
“Gods!” laughed Laurie, fetching Pug a playful kick in the rump.
The troubadour’s humor was infectious, and Pug was smiling as he approached the girl. She was trying to lift a large wooden crate atop another. Pug took it from her. “Here, I can do that.”
She stepped away, uncertain. “It’s not heavy. It’s just too high for me.” She looked everywhere but at Pug.
Pug lifted the crate easily and placed it on top of the others, favoring his tender hand only a little. “There you are,” he said, trying to sound casual.
The girl brushed back a stray wisp of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You’re a barbarian, aren’t you?” She spoke hesitantly.
Pug flinched. “You call us that. I like to think I’m as civilized as the next man.”
She blushed. “I didn’t mean any offense. My people are called barbarians also. Anyone who’s not a Tsurani is called that. I meant you’re from that other world.”
Pug nodded. “What’s your name?”
She said, “Katala,” then in a rush, “What is your name?”
“Pug.”
She smiled. “That’s a strange name. Pug.” She seemed to like the sound of it.
Just then the hadonra, Septiem, an old but erect man with the bearing of a retired general, came around the house. “You two!” he snapped. “There’s work to do! Don’t stand there.”
Katala ran back into the house, and Pug was left hesitating before the yellow-robed estate manager. “You! What’s your name?”
“Pug, sir.”