The driver was a man of forty, maybe more, clean shaven in a land of beards, and brown hair to his shoulders. He’d looked twice at the bald heads of Prin and Sara, but didn’t mention it as he called over his shoulder, “There’s a place up ahead where we can stop for a moment to quench our thirst if you’re interested. That means you might as well, because there’s no charge and I intend to, and my horse is thirsty.”
His words were said in an oddly stilted manner, a strange accent and cadence combined. Prin watched the horse and compared it to the ones in the books she had read. It was better than any book.
Brice said, “Listen, my ship paid me, but I don’t have much. I hear this ride is three coppers and it’s only right I pay my share.”
Prin noticed the driver listening. She called, “Driver, if there were two of us, what would the cost of the ride be?”
He half-turned and winked so only she and Sara could see, as he said, “Same distance. Same price. Three coppers.”
Prin said, “There you go. You’re riding for free.”
“I can’t afford a room for a month, let alone food. I’ll make my way back to the port in a day or two, and maybe I can sleep on the ship.”
Sara and Prin exchanged a look. Sara said, “Okay, that sounds fair, for now.”
As the carriage reached the edge of the city, where one building touched another, and the walls were white tinged with a hint of blue, the carriage pulled to one side where a spring-fed rock-lined pool waited. The horse slurped while a small woman appeared and asked the driver a question. He answered, and they both laughed, but Prin didn’t understand a word.
The woman slipped inside and reappeared with four large mugs. She passed them out and spoke again to the driver as Prin sniffed the water, expecting it to be warm and green-tasting, but welcome. Instead, the water was cool, and the pulp of a citrus fruit floated inside. She drained half the mug in the next drink, convinced it was the best beverage she’d ever tasted.
“What is this?” Sara asked.
The driver said, “Water with orange. Sort of the favorite drink of Gallium, you can get it anywhere, but maybe not as cold and good as here.”
Prin looked at her empty mug, at Sara, Brice, the city above, and the back end of the horse. She said, “This is going to be interesting.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mrs. Lamont, the lady the flagman had directed them to see for a room to rent, was located in a small storefront at street level of a two-story building like most of the city were. She sat in an oversized chair at a desk she dwarfed. Looking up, she flashed a whole-mouth smile and said, “What can I do for you?”
The driver had unloaded their bags and brought them inside, where Prin tried to offer a tip but was refused. He departed with a jaunty wave, and Prin turned back to Sara and listened.
“We’re sailors, and our ship is being refitted. We need a place for at least a month,” Sara was telling the woman at the desk.
The large woman’s eyes flicked to Brice. “Two rooms would be proper. I run a decent business.”
Sara reacted as if slapped across her face. She reddened and then leaned closer. “You know nothing of our relationship yet you judge us. Suppose I explain that we are sisters and brother, or that in our land we marry early—and often. You might at least wait to hear what accommodations we request until you pass judgment on good people or we may do the same to you.”
Mrs. Lamont placed her hands together on her little desk and intertwined her fingers as she set her jaw. Her voice became silky smooth, “What sort of room were you looking for, if I may ask?”
Sara matched her tone, “We were looking for more than a single room. There are three of us and we all value privacy. However, we did not wish three separate small rooms, but perhaps an apartment? Nothing fancy, but we prefer to cook in and eat our own foods. We are not concerned with location if there is convenient shopping for food nearby.”
“Ah, that is a little more expensive, but not unreasonable. The money you save by making your meals at home will more than pay the difference, I’m sure. I have a few properties as you describe, one that I think will be perfect for a brother and his sisters.”
Sara sat. “Tell me about it.”
“It is near here, with a view above the rooftops of the harbor where you can see the ships. A small terrace, two sleeping rooms and a small storage room that has been used for sleeping in the past. Fully furnished, nothing fancy, as you say, but clean.”
“A common room and kitchen?”
“Yes. And the price is reasonable, hardly more than three separate rooms.” She quoted the price, which was less than Prin and Sara had discussed on the ship.
“When can we see it?”
Mrs. Lamont called in a foghorn voice, “William!”
A young man rushed into the room and pulled to a halt as he caught sight of Sara, his eyes going wide, and he tugged at his tunic hem and stood straighter. “Ma’am?”
“Escort these three to the Turner house.” She turned back to Sara, “Leave your things here. While he regains his wits about him, go see if it is suitable and if so, you may stop by later and pay me. I’m sure William will be more than happy to make a return trip if you decide to rent. And, of course, I have other rentals if this one does not fit your needs.” The tone still held a chill at being scolded.
William stood taller than any of them, his pale skin dotted with freckles, and his hair had a slight reddish tint in the bright sunlight. He tried to speak to Sara twice and failed each time. Finally, he locked his eyes on Brice’s and said, “It is not far. Follow me.”
The woman at the desk laughed crudely at his discomfort, but Sara took pity on him and stepped to William’s side, her elbow held out to him. “Thank you. Would you please take my arm and escort me?”
William eagerly accepted her arm. He encircled her elbow with his hand and motioned with his other arm in the way they should take. As they left the office, Prin noticed the glare Mrs. Lamont threw Sara’s way. She suspected they would never become best friends.
He took them out onto the street, turned right along the cobblestones, traveled two blocks with Williams' head held high, then turned right again. He pulled to a stop beside a building with an exterior stairway. “This is it,” he mumbled.
The building was bland in appearance, bluish white stucco in a middle-class neighborhood, the roof of curved tiles made of the same local clay. A large clay pot of the same color held a stunted evergreen shrub at the bottom of the stairs, and at the top, a narrow tray grew a sort of ivy that dropped down the wall. With a good watering now and then, it would probably grow lush.
William pulled a ring of keys and unlocked the massive padlock. Inside, the apartment was dark and cool. As described, a central room, a small kitchen to one side, White clay floor tiles, a stack of firewood ready for cooking, and a terrace barely large enough for three to sit at the small table.
But the view was magnificent. The white rooftops of the buildings sloping down the hillside, the sun reflecting off the sparkling harbor, and a few hundred ships anchored in the blue waters. On the piers, she saw the loading and unloading of cargo, the shipyards, and more of the city across the crescent of water.
Inside were two minuscule rooms for sleeping, and a third even smaller. All had sleeping pallets neatly rolled and stored, the central room held four chairs, all with padded seats, and two small tables. Nothing else. No pictures, paintings, plants, or anything else. It was perfect.