'I can't believe I'm walking into the harvest festival next to a boat with legs.' Kit, head and torso stuck inside the kayak, strolled over the cobbles like it was nothing. Reclaimed pack on my back, I stuck close and glared at the Flightless crowding close. We hadn't reached the booths, but there were bodies everywhere and they weren't quiet.
"Don't run anybody over." Kit snaked a hand out and pulled me to a halt, allowing a pair of children to run shrieking past. "They have so many children here. How many womb-pods do they use?"
"Womb-pod?" 'What's that? And how does she see anything?' I eyed the children and shuddered as one wiped its nose on its sleeve. 'Eww. Why does she want to?'
"How else would they get chi— Oh, look!" A hand pointed at a stall filled with penny whistles and hand drums before catching the boat as its weight shifted.
My attention didn't linger on whistles or boats, though — not when Mitry swept grandly out of his booth and into our path. He was as portly as ever and balding rather badly on top, like a fat rat with mange.
'Fat but strong. He's the only metal-smith around.' Dread hollowed my stomach, and I stilled my feet before they could turn around and walk away. 'Knife. Then home.'
"Ah, here's just the person I was hoping to see! My best customer, as faithful as the winter!" Mitry made as if to embrace me, but I stepped clear, forcing Kit to sidestep with a dip of the kayak. He backed off, but it left a sour taste in my mouth.
'Strange.' The booth displaying Mitry's wares stood three stalls from the edge of the fair. 'What's he doing here on the outskirts? He's always just off the central festival square. And after he cops a feel, he always acts like he can't spare the time to deal with my petty purchase. Until his apprentice left two years ago, he let the peon handle the business side.'
"Oh, and who is this, uh, young man with you?" Mitry asked when Kit took the boat off her head, setting it on the ground. "An associate, working with you out in the wilderness? Yes, yes, company is an excellent thing!" He licked his lips, leaving them glistening in the sun.
Kit glanced at me, passing a warning I didn't need. I scented it like a wildfire just beyond the horizon.
'Something's changed.'
"Well, since there's two of you, I'll make you a special deal. How about three knives, for your usual goods, sight unseen?"
'He's been Infected.' I tipped my head to the side, searching for the stark black hair and bold red eyes that warned when animals carried the curse. 'That's the only explanation.'
There weren't any obvious signs, which wasn't a guarantee. My fingers tightened on my pack straps, and I edged further away.
Kit made as if to speak, but I shook my head, and she lifted the boat again.
"We will see the festival first." My feet picked up speed, but my eyes remained on the most obvious danger.
"Oh, but surely you don't want to carry those heavy, uh, packs." Mitry glanced from my pack to Kit's boat. "Why don't you leave them here, behind my booth? I'll watch them as a courtesy to such a faithful customer!"
"No." I walked away.
"Do not think I will give you a bargain when you return, pleading for my wares!" he shouted after us.
'He's desperate, but why? What's changed?' The fair seemed more prosperous than ever, with more stalls full of goods lining the road. Hawkers shouted, children screeched in delight, and hagglers haggled. I had a headache already, a spiked vise clamping around my head. 'What made a complacent man with a monopoly frantic?'
"Competition." Muffled by the boat, Kit's voice was low enough I almost missed it.
'She has a point. Competition is the only logical cause. There's a new blacksmith in town, at least visiting for the festival.' I picked up my pace, looking for this new source of knives. 'Maybe I can get something better.'
My heartbeat skipped.
'If… if they're willing to trade.' Year after year, Mitry and Old Man Johnson were the only townsfolk who took notice of my furs and venison.
I tried to listen to the jumbled voices around me, to see if they had any news of a new blacksmith. But their voices were so mixed, so loud, after the different, quiet noises of the forest that I couldn't pick out any individual speaker. I was going to give up and concentrate on information my eyes could bring when Kit started murmuring again.
"A band of Gitano has moved into the area — they say they're going to stay for a while, maybe a year, maybe more."
'Gitano. Bones and feathers, why does it have to be Gitano?'
Gitano were travelers. They would move to an area that caught their fancy, then stay until they grew bored. They were skilled magicians, traders in goods from all over the known world, and master metalsmiths. Their knives lasted for decades and, if their magicians worked with the smiths in the forging, the blade could last for centuries.
'Your father is a powerful magician, and very respected among both our peoples.' The warm voice, blurred by time, filled my head, drowning out the fair. 'Though he left, he gave you a name to remind you of his love. When you're grown, he will return, and you will unite our people.' The voice swirled, trying to conjure the face I'd buried deep.
"No. No no no." My breath rasped in my throat and the fair spun around me. 'All these Flightless. So happy. So careless. How do they not see that all it takes is one loss, one death, and all this is gone?'
"Are you alright?" Kit peered at me, the kayak tipped back like a giant hat.
"Hahaha! I knew ya wouldn't miss it!"
The booming voice cut across the gabble and made both of us jump.
"Johnson." The name grounded me; the overly friendly farmer couldn't exist in the same place as my mo—
"You're almost too late, though." Johnson's thin, wrinkled cheeks drooped in a frown. "And you're too skinny. Have ya been well?"
I cleared my throat and jerked my chin toward Kit.
"'S Kit. She's got a boat."
Old Man Johnson blinked, but smiled at the girl.
"A pleasure to meet ya. Name's Johnson." He extended half-extended a hand, then paused. "Ya seem to have your hands full with that, er, boat. If ya like, my granddaughter can watch it — she's minding the stall for a bit while her husband gets their baby settled." He grinned. "Naptime, you know."
"Oh, it's quite light." Kit stuck her hand out and shook Johnson's. "I couldn't impose. I'm sure your granddaughter's busy."
"It's no trouble, but I won't twist your arm." Johnson chuckled and winked at me. "I'm quite accustomed to how independent that one is, and if you're cut from the same cloth…"
"Do you think I could be?" Kit glanced at me, eyes wide. "Is that linen, do you suppose, or something sturdier?"
Johnson's laughter drew eyes from all the surrounding Flightless, and I wanted to fly away.
"Oh, something much sturdier, to be sure!" He wiped his eyes. "And it's quite likely, I'd say. What brings you in with our little—"
"Look," I said, shifting the pack higher and hunching my shoulders. "I need to go see Mitry. You two can discuss great-grandbabies, or cloth, or… or anything. And she's looking for someone. Maybe you can help."
'Eh, now — didn't mean to rile ya." Johnson's smile faded, and I looked away, trying not to see the disappointment in his eyes. "Who're ya looking for?"
"I'm not sure." Kit smiled and looked around at the Flightless walking past.
"Ah…" Johnson looked flummoxed. "That's a challenge. How will ya know when you find him? Or her?"
"I'll smell it — they reek." Kit frowned. "But that probably means you can't help. Unless you've seen a stranger?"
"Town's full of strangers. We'll look around. Get you sorted out." He turned back, catching me by the elbow before I could sneak off. "But don't go to that old skinflint until you've at least talked to the Gitanos."
"No." The word, flat and hard, was out of my mouth without any need to think.
The frown had returned to Old Man Johnson's face, and Kit's forehead creased.
"Mitry's the man who yelled at you?" she asked.
"Doesn't matter." I scuffed the still-wet toe of my boot against the cobbles. "I need at least one knife."
"Every year, you trade everything you carry for one pot-metal blade from that… that…" Johnson glared back the way I'd come, as if he could see Mitry from here. "It doesn't last — it can't, or you wouldn't come back."
I opened my mouth to protest.
"Don't lie." He cut me off, and my mouth snapped shut. "A blind man could see ya don't want to be here."
"You had to borrow my knife yesterday." Kit's frown joined Johnson's. "That's why? Because he won't sell you good ones?"
"It's not—" I searched the crowd, hoping for a distraction, but they swirled around us with less attention than the river paid to an obstructing rock.
I sighed.
"You're right." I shrugged, jerking the pack's weight on my sore shoulders. "This pack? It's got the furs I tanned last winter, the meat from a small buck, and the deer hide it's made from. All that's barely worth a knife that — with care — will last a year as primary and a year as backup. This year? Mitry offered three blades."
My voice rasped in my throat, unused to stringing so many words together. 'Why didn't I snap that offer up? I could have been done with this and on my way home already.'
"Take a chance." Old Man Johnson's voice was heavy with something I didn't want to name. "Talk to the newbies. Maybe they won't deal with ya. But they've been asking questions — pointed questions."
"What sort?" 'Not that it matters. It doesn't affect me.'
"That wrap you gave me for my great-grandbaby? With the speckled fur?"
"Just scraps." I flushed. "Couldn't have traded it for anything."
Johnson's smile was back, nearly as warm as when I'd given it to him last fair.
"They wanted to know where it came from. Who brought it in." At my gasp, he hurried on. "Didn't tell 'em. No names." His look was pointed. "But Mitry might have been more forthcoming."
'All the more reason for me to leave. If they want the furs, let the trail lead back to Mitry.'
"They have better knives?" Kit stuck her nose in again and quite thoroughly ignored my glare. She pursed her lips. "If you don't want to talk to them, maybe… Maybe I could?" Her dubious gaze fell on my pack and her nose wrinkled. "It doesn't reek so bad. Anymore. And if you're frightened—"
"Frightened?" My eyes narrowed. "My pack reeks, and you think I'm frightened?"
Johnson's cough had a suspicious undercurrent that snapped my glare around to him.
"Fine. Let's see these Ruler-damned Gitano." I spat the name like the curse it was. "And when they won't have anything to do with my goods, hopefully Mitry will still be willing to talk to me."