“Now, now, little ’un, nothin’ to fear. Old Sally would neva hurt ye.” She undid the knot in the chain that held the canvas cover on the tank and, reaching over her head, slid it off and onto the floor.
Faron’s arm went up defensively, and the creature hissed at the odd woman. She didn’t blink, just crossed her arms and regarded the new arrival fondly.
“Now, you just stop that, little ’un, my sweet. Ye got nothin’ to fear. Ye hungry?”
Faron’s cloudy eyes narrowed. The creature looked askance at her, then nodded guardedly.
“Poor dearie. Well, I’ve brung ye some nice fish, live ’uns. Will that do ye?”
A mix of hunger and excitement came into Faron’s eyes. The woman chuckled at the response, then pulled the cloth from the tray to reveal a small bowl full of goldfish. She held it up before Faron’s face, and chortled with delight as the creature began salivating and whimpering with anticipation. She extended a long taloned finger and, with a motion so quick Faron could not follow it, speared one of the fish on her nail, then held it, wriggling, over the tank.
“Here ye go, my beauty, my sweet little ’un,” she whispered. “Come an’ eat.”
Faron floated in the back of the tank for a moment, considering; finally, hunger won out over suspicion and the creature swam forward, bracing itself against the front wall of the tank. With quivering lips Faron reached up and plucked the writhing fish from the woman’s nail, shivering with delight as it slithered down its gullet into a stomach that had known nothing but hunger since the shipwreck.
Outside the tent, voices could be heard as two men walked past.
“Ye seen Duckfoot Sally? Ringmaster’s looking fer her.”
“Ayeh, she went into the tent ta feed the new ’un.”
The canvas tent flap pulled aside again. Faron shrank away from the light. Duckfoot Sally scowled at the man who opened it.
“Sally—”
“I ’eard him. Tell him ta keep his stripes on; I’m busy feedin’ the new ’un,” she said harshly. She turned back to Faron, and the snaggletoothed smile spread over her face again.
“So sorry, my luvly; come back now. Here’s another.” She speared a second fish and held it up.
After a moment’s hesitation Faron returned to her and allowed her to continue to spear fish and hold them up to be eaten. She didn’t seem to mind the touch of the creature’s lips; in fact, took delight watching the wriggling fish disappear, sating its hunger. She spoke softly to Faron, crooning occasionally as a mother would to a child.
Her ministrations were so tender, so kind after so long being tossed about in the sea, abused on the land, that it brought a memory back to Faron’s mind, the recollection of the father that had tended the creature so gently, even though given to fits of rage and cruelty. Then there welled up a sense of loss as profound as Faron had ever felt, and a tear rolled out of one cloudy eye and down the loosely wrinkled cheek beneath it.
Duckfoot Sally’s grisly smile dissolved to a look of sympathetic consternation.
“There, there,” she said quickly, setting down the empty fishbowl and turning back to the weeping creature, “what’s wrong, luv? Ol’ Sally’s here, and she won’t let no one harm ye.” She extended her hand and carefully closed the talonlike nails into a fist to keep from scratching the creature, then ever-so-gently brushed the tear from its cheek with her knuckles. “Don’t cry my sweet little ’un, my fair ’un.”
Faron’s eyes snapped open, recognition clear for a moment in them.
Duckfoot Sally’s eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead at the reaction.
“What, luv?”
The creature’s gapped lips quivered, and its gnarled hands banged against its chest.
Sally’s brows now drew together in puzzlement. “ ‘Fair ’un’? That be yer name?”
Faron nodded enthusiastically.
The hag clapped her hands together in delight.
“Well, well,” she said brightly, reaching out to caress the creature’s cheek again with her knuckles, “pleased ta meet ye, Fair ’un. Be ye man or woman?”
The creature blinked, no understanding in its eyes.
Duckfoot Sally shook her head. “Never mind; doesn’t matter. There are many here that dun’ know, either. No worries, luv. Sally’s lookin’ out fer ye, and that’s all ye’ll need.” She drew closer, her tatters rustling as she pressed herself against the glass. “Jus’ ’member this, my Fair ’un: yer as good as any livin’ soul born in this wide world. They may pay to see folks like us, ta laugh and throw things, but mayhap where you come from, why, yer king of yer kind! Mayhap somewhere, in a distant sea, yer the lord above all the fish that swim, an’ all the clams; the oysters, too! And what are they that laugh at ye? Peasants, all of ’em. Mindless peasants who save up their miserable coppers to go hoot at others, all in the ’tempt to ferget that their lives are of no consequence.” Her smile brightened, and her voice grew warmer.
“But ye and me, my Fair ’un, we perform fer kings and queens! Kings and queens, ladies an’ lords, Fair ’un! We go to grand cities, and palaces the likes of which those wretches will never see. So never ye mind when they laugh at ye, my Fair ’un. It’s us, ye and me and our like, that will have the last laugh.”
The Monstrosity remained three more nights in Bethany, one night longer than they had planned. Each night the crowds swelled to capacity and overflowed in long lines, waiting to catch sight of the horrific fish-boy. Word had spread from the outer towns into the city proper, and there was so much interest that even the Ringmaster, who kept to a rigid schedule, could not resist the business.
But after keeping the sideshow open from dusk to the end of the dark hours just before dawn three nights in a row, the Ringmaster decided there was such a thing as too much good fortune. He called for his exhausted menagerie to pack up and put rein to horse.
An entire empire awaited, a harsh realm where trade and commerce of all sorts, honest and otherwise, flourished.
Sorbold.
11
Rhapsody was pale throughout the dinner in Gwydion’s honor. After the meal had been cleared away Ashe hoped that she would regain some of her stamina and that her stomach would settle, but she remained nervous and quiet, even when the toasting began.
Ashe had been worried ever since he had walked back into the Great Hall and found his wife conversing with Jal’asee. Rhapsody’s choice of professions, attuned to the music of life as it was, usually assured that the vibrations in the air around her matched her mood. For the most part, ever since she had been returned to her home and family, she had been at peace. But the dragon sense within Ashe’s blood told him now that behind the calm court face she was terribly distressed. Whatever the Sea Mage ambassador had said to her had unnerved her immeasurably, but she had declined to tell him what it was.
Now, as the various dukes of Roland rose, each in turn, and offered words of wisdom and congratulations to his young ward, Ashe reached over and silently took Rhapsody’s hand. It was blazingly warm, either from the pregnancy or the element of pure fire she had absorbed, long ago, on her trek through the belly of the Earth with Achmed and Grunthor. In addition, it was perspiring, the nervous sweat of panic. He leaned over casually and whispered in her ear.
“Do you want me to make a polite excuse?” Rhapsody shook her head imperceptibly. “Are you all right, beloved? You are frightening me.”
“I have to find the time and strength to speak with the Sea Mage ambassador,” Rhapsody murmured. There was very little air in her statement; Ashe heard it in his ear, a Namer’s trick.
“Tomorrow,” he said quietly in return. “I think you should offer your toast and then rest. I can ask Jal’asee to come to the garden after your morning devotions. Will that suffice?”
Rhapsody exhaled, then nodded reluctantly. Finally, when the dukes of Roland had finished saluting Gwydion, and toasts had been offered by Rial of Tyrian and the other ambassadors from members of the Alliance, she rose a little unsteadily and turned to her adopted grandson.