Prin spread the contents of part of her bag on a chair and found another pointed hat, a dark blue one. She said, “I’ve been looking at you closely, and I think that shimmer around your head is from your hair. When you turn sideways, I see it on the back of you, but not on your nose or cheeks.”
Sara started circling him. “You’re right.”
Prin held up the hat that matched theirs, all but the color. Prin wore green while Sara preferred dull red. “We should shave off his hair before we go out.”
Brice shook his head and held his hands out as if to stop them.
Sara said, “Calm down. It’ll grow back, but if it’s the hair that is giving you away, it’s going to bring danger to you, sooner or later. I’m amazed it hasn’t happened yet. Probably just the luck of being on a ship with only a few crewmen. But in a city this size, you’re sure to be spotted.”
Prin said, “Besides, shaving and wearing a hat like ours will make it seem we’re family, or from the same land. Is there anybody searching for you? If so, they will think twice.”
“Three times,” Sara said, pointing to each of them.
“Maybe later,” Brice said.
Sara approached him like a lion that had been slapped by the claws of a kitten. She stalked him, face stern, ready to teach him a lesson. Pulling up one small step from his chest, she said, “You need to listen to us, respect what we say, and understand my next few words. Shaving your head is not an option if you wish to survive ten more days, because no gambling house in my homeland would take odds on you doing better than that. You can shave your head or die.”
Brice stood silently, not agreeing with her, nor backing away.
She placed one finger in the center of his chest and applied pressure. “But that’s your problem. Mine is for me to remain alive and I am telling you now,” she pushed harder with her finger, “that your stubbornness will not bring about my death, or the death of Prin.”
Her final shove pushed him back a step, but she continued advancing.
“I’ll do it,” he muttered sourly, “I’ll cut my hair.”
“Not good enough. Now, I want you to use your brain and think. Since meeting you, we may have already saved your life, but you don’t know that for sure, yet. What you do know is that we have offered to share our food, shelter, money, wisdom, education, and Prin has secured you a position on our ship. In return, you have . . .”
“Done nothing,” Prin filled in. “But argue, question, and resist.”
Sara said, “I realize this is all new to you, but your life is in danger. We can help, but we’re not obligated to do anything. So, this is how we’re going to proceed. Prin get your bag, and you and I are going shopping.”
“And me?” Brice asked.
“As I said, you will not place us in danger, and we can’t trust you to do what we say without a fight. That could cost us all, at any time. When we tell you what to do, you have to do it and ask questions later, but I don’t think you really believe or understand what I’m saying. So, I’m putting you on the stairs like a cat to guard the house. If any mice come along, run them off. Or you can run off, and we’ll never see each other again.”
Brice bristled, his face twisting in hurt and fear.
Prin threw the strap of the backpack over her shoulder. Inside were her most precious items, all that she’d removed from her father’s apartment, but especially the paintings, and above all, the one that changed expressions. She wondered what face they wore now.
Sara fell into step with her, and as they turned at the first cross street, her eyes went to Brice. Prin didn’t look at him, she watched Sara’s eyes and knew what she saw. Prin said, “You were hard on him.”
“He’s had a soft life. Not enough fear to temper him.”
Prin increased the length of her strides to match those of Sara. A stray breeze threatened to blow her hat off, so she grabbed the brim and pulled it firmly down. “Do you have any idea of where we’re going?”
“The market.”
“Is it this way?”
Sara paused and shrugged. “That boy back there is scaring me so much I can’t think straight. We should have let him go on about his way.”
Prin pulled to a stop, forcing Sara to do the same. “The same as we would do if we came upon a baby playing with a sharp knife?”
“At least that baby and knife are not likely to be the death of either of us.” Sara strode away, Prin hurrying to catch up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A woman carrying a head of cabbage and a fistful of carrots strode in their direction. Prin said to her, “We’re new here. Is the market in that direction?”
“It is. Be careful, the farmers are asking top prices for their vegetables this time of the year.”
They thanked her and promised to be wary. After a few more blocks, Sara said, “I’m not over-reacting to the danger Brice presents, you know.”
“But you’re going to teach him a lesson he won’t soon forget? Maybe the bos’n can come up here and give him one too? Or a thug on the street can punch him in his eye?”
“Brice is not our friend.”
“At least not yet, and if you continue to treat him like that, he never will be.”
Sara turned away and headed for the market with long, determined strides. When they reached it, they found nothing like the wild and bustling bazaar at Indore. The market at Gallium had an almost serene aspect to it, having none of the music, dancing, colorful flags, and loud hawkers extolling their goods and prices. Instead, the stalls were neatly lined up in rows according to markers painted on the pave stones, each with a table or two displaying the fruit or wares, a few with canvas tent roofs.
The rows were wide, the sellers polite, and there were men dressed in blue that patrolled, usually in pairs. A small disagreement between a buyer and seller broke out, and four of the men in blue descended to settle the quarrel quietly and efficiently.
Prin said, “I like the Bazaar better.”
They strolled past the stalls, buying nothing. Sara looked for specific ingredients needed for the magic spells and found a few at a vegetable stand. She also purchased a sprig of basil, some mustard seed, salt, and mint leaves.
The displays of other items drew Prin. She examined a tray of knives, finding none to her satisfaction, despite the fact she already owned two and didn’t need another. She fingered lace, and almost purchased a ball of twine so tough she couldn’t break it with her fingers. She did buy three apples, planning one for each of them.
Farmers sold their crops at most tables. Sara suggested they buy food at the last, so they didn’t have to carry it around with them. As they admired carved figurines at one table, along with a nice selection of spoons, Prin glanced up in time to see a man not-looking at them.
He was perhaps ten steps away, Sara was twenty-years-old, and even without her long black hair, her classic features and curvy figure always drew attention. Sara was the sort of beauty that if she smudged a little dirt on her cheek, instead of detracting, it would make most men think her more attractive.
But the young man looked off to their side as if something down there was so interesting he couldn’t spare the time to glance at Sara. Prin averted her gaze, but kept him in her peripheral vision, as he seemed to be doing to them. Sure enough, his eyes flicked in their direction, then away.
Prin took Sara by her elbow harder than necessary, and steered her several tables away, where they looked at turnips as if they were interesting. Prin said, “A man in pale green is behind us. I think he is watching, so don’t look.”