He gave a quick shrug of his shoulders, taken aback by her sudden humor. ‘But I did. I thought that, just this once, you might not mind if I committed your team on your behalf, especially for so good a price. And besides the money, there was…’
‘Vandien.’ Ki choked on a laugh, and tried to pull her face to order. ‘Let me guess the task, and the terms. She will pay you only after you have successfully completed it, correct? It must be done in one day, and the task is in False Harbor.’ At each of Vandien’s cautious nods, Ki gave a bubble of laughter. ‘Vandien, did you agree to take a team into that sunken Windsinger temple and haul out a secret long-lost chest?’
Vandien’s face fell as Ki leaned against his shoulder and shook with helpless laughter. Several of the T’cherian diners swiveled eye stalks in their direction and regarded them with disgust. Rude and raucous Humans, profaning the art of consumption with their noisy chattering, while good food grew cold in the sand before them.
‘What’s funny?’ he demanded, his face twisting as he tried not to join in Ki’s laughter. ‘Ki, you should have heard the tale she told me. How since the land beneath the temple sank, folk can hear the ringing of the temple’s great bronze bell, under the sea, swung by the tides. During storms it swells to such a clamor that even animals stabled safe in barns are moved to panic by its tolling.’
‘Deep within that sunken temple,’ Ki took up the tale, making her husky voice deep with solemnity, ‘is a great metal box, containing one of the twelve secrets of the Windsingers. If it could be brought to light and put in the hands of honest folk, they could prove how the Windsingers have forsaken their sacred trust, how they have become greedy tyrants instead of the selfless servants of the world. Think of the honor that would fall to the hero who could bring such a restoration to the world. Long would the name of that teamster be remembered, heralded as the savior of…’
‘Enough, enough,’ Vandien conceded, smiling ruefully. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, and then smoothed his moustache. ‘So I was taken in by some kind of a game. But what has she to gain from it? Or is she just an old crazy who approaches strangers?’
‘Oh, no.’ Ki sipped at her liqueur, and touched a finger to the edge of the bowl before her. She snatched it back. ‘Still boiling hot. It’ll be a while yet before we can eat. You may as well hear the whole tale. It isn’t entirely a joke. There is an ancient Windsinger temple, and during an earthquake that part of the coast did sink, taking the temple with it. The moon knows how long ago that was. The temple may have had a bell, and some claim to have heard it ring during a storm. There may even be a metal chest hidden in the temple. The people of False Harbor seem quite sincere in believing it is there. And every four or five years, a month comes that offers an exceptionally low tide. They can predict its coming, and they do their best to hire a teamster. Some night this month the temple will be partially exposed by the sea. At least what’s left of it will be. And some fool teamster will be out there butt deep in cold water, trying to raise that metal chest.’
Ki sipped from her glass. The liqueur had a sweet fruity flavor, with an aftertang that stung her nostrils, not unpleasantly. ‘What are we drinking, anyway?’
‘Burgoon.’ Vandien leaned forward to refill his own glass. ‘That’s what it sounded like when the T’cherian server told me, anyway. She wanted to heat it up to a boil for me, but I told her I’d try it cold. She’s referred to me as a barbarian ever since.’
‘I wonder how much heat it would take to scald a T’cherian palate?’
‘Why hasn’t anyone ever managed to haul the chest out?’ Vandien demanded suddenly.
‘Damned if I know.’ Ki shrugged. ‘That part of the story I’ve heard a number of ways. One, that the chest isn’t there at all. Two, that the chest is there, but cleverly hidden. Three, that even if you find it, it’s too damn heavy to haul out. Four, and most likely to me, is that the Windsingers don’t want it found or hauled out. About the time that the tide goes all the way out, a big storm hits, with a freezing wind. Makes it very unpleasant to work out there, but some fool always tries. I understand that False Harbor has made the event a sort of festival time. The teamster never gets a coin out of it, of course, but if he gives it an honest try, the village treats him well enough. A good room and decent meals, that sort of thing.’
Vandien tested his food with a fingertip. ‘Well, at least it won’t be a complete loss. We should be able to work it for a couple of days of room and board.’
Ki snorted. ‘Vandien, I’m not going to drive my wagon clear to False Harbor for the sake of a room and a meal. And I am definitely not going to make a fool of myself by wading around hip deep in salt water on a stormy day. I still can’t figure out why they would approach you with the offer. Unless…since you’ve been here, have you seen any other Romni?’
‘I saw Rifa, and that dancing bear she consorts with…Ki,’ he continued in a different voice. ‘It wasn’t just the money she offered. There was another matter.’
‘Rifa. Of course. She’d find this funny. I bet they asked her to use her team, and she refused, but set them onto you, to put you in a spot. She’d guess that you wouldn’t know a thing about False Harbor.’
‘It wasn’t just the money.’ Vandien mumbled it this time, with a quick sideways glance at Ki. But she was not paying attention. The drunken tinker in the other room seemed to have switched tables, for his voice, raised in an obscenity, came from just outside the room. Ki glanced at the doorway in disgust. She had moved to this room to be away from the tinker and his diatribe agaisnt the Windsingers; she did not wish to hear it. His tales of woe would be usual ones: the rain taxes were too high for a small merchant like himself; the taxes burdened the farmers until they couldn’t afford even his simple wares; the Windsingers were bleeding the farmers of their hard-won crops. They were old tales and familiar. Ki could not think of any place her travels had ever taken her that she had not heard the same groans. But usually the complainer had the good sense to whisper them quietly to close friends, not bellow them out in public like a stricken bullock.
She glanced back to a silent Vandien. He had drawn his belt knife and was slowly stirring his food with it. T’cheria used no eating implements, and furnished none in their dining places. Ki drew her own short blade and speared a chunk of the food in her bowl. Steam wavered up from the greenish cube, and she blew on it cautiously before putting it in her mouth. She instantly wished she hadn’t. Whatever it was, it tasted like low tide smelled. She swallowed it whole to get it out of her mouth. Not even a gulp of Burgoon could cleanse her mouth of the taste. She turned with a tart comment for Vandien on his food choice, only to find him still staring into his bowl, and stirring it moodily with his blade.
‘Stir with a knife, you stir up trouble.’
‘Romni superstition!’ he snorted.
‘What more did she offer, Vandien, beside the money?’
Slow color rose in his face and then faded. Idly he fingered the scar down his face. ‘Nothing of great import, I suppose.’ He stabbed a chunk of green stuff and put it in his mouth. Ki watched him expectantly, but he chewed and swallowed with no change of expression.
‘But what was it?’ Ki pressed. He wasn’t finding Rifa’s stupid joke amusing. Vandien usually bore a joke well, if he could not find a way to turn it back upon the instigator, and Ki could not fathom his injured attitude. She continued to fix him with a green-eyed stare as he ate three more mouthfuls. At last he spoke.
‘I did give her my word, you know. We touched hands on it.’
‘And what else?’ Ki demanded, sure there was more to it than this.
‘Isn’t that enough, dammit? I’ve seen you lay your life on the line to keep from breaking your word.’
‘But Rifa intended it as a joke, Vandien. I’m sure of it.’
‘Perhaps. But it was not a joke to the woman that made