Talen had walked the whole way. Now he told Nettle to pull up. He drank deeply from the barrel, then dumped the rest over his head. He was more thirsty than ever. And the itch in his legs had grown.
He hadn’t worked anything out of his system. In fact, he wondered if there had been anything in his system to begin with.
“You know the stories of peopled bewitched to dance until they starved,” Talen asked, “until their very bones turned to dust? Do you think it’s possible to curse someone like that?”
“So now our hatchling wasn’t just a post when she kissed you?” asked Nettle.
“She was a post,” said Talen. “It’s just my legs have put me to thinking what could have happened in the night.”
“Who knows?” said Nettle. “If you wake up tomorrow and find yourself doing a chicken trot with Prince Conroy, then I’ll be leaning towards curse.”
Talen shook his head and began down the slope. Partway down the hill, he said, “If Atra comes to the door, I need to have something to say. Otherwise, I’ll be staring at her like a great ox.”
Atra, the glass master’s daughter, had expressed an interest in him at the last harvest dance. Or at least it had seemed she had, and he’d thought about her ever since. He knew it was nothing more than a fancy, but such an arrangement would be good for everyone: Da would get a family member into a clan, Uncle Argoth would keep his promise to his sister, the glass master would be able to tie his interests with a man close to a warlord of the Nine, and Talen, if she accepted him, would be able to serve and ponder one of the most stunning creatures he’d ever beheld.
He remembered that River had told him once the key to conversation is asking helpful questions. Good humor, a few good stories, and a few helpful questions. Not the stupid lines men came up with after a few pints of ale.
“Helpful?” he’d asked.
“Yes,” said River. “A question that makes it easy for the other person to talk.”
“Well, how’s a question going to do that? Either they have something to say or they don’t.”
“No,” River said. “Everyone has something to say. There are some people that are like an irrigation ditch. You pull the stop up and they’ll go on until you shut them off. But others aren’t like that. Other people are like a pond or lake. You’ve first got to make an outlet for them, only then will they flow.”
“I’ve never heard you go on and on about a man’s questions,” said Talen. “All you talk about is their brilliant parts and all the presents they bring.”
River smiled. “Trust me, little brother. The splendor of fine hair fades quickly.”
“Yeah, well I’d rather fade than never shine at all.”
Except after trying to think up great things to say, Talen was thinking maybe River had the right of it. Let them do the talking. But he’d never asked River for examples. What was a helpful question? How did you make an outlet for them to flow?
Well, it couldn’t be that hard. He began to mumble questions to himself.
“What are you doing?” asked Nettle.
“Thinking up something to help Atra flow like a river.”
“What?”
“Conversation. I’m thinking about making conversation.”
“We’ve got men bent on doing us harm, and you’re worried about conversation?”
“I’ve had enough of hunts and hatchlings and baker’s come-backs. I want to think about something pleasant for a while. Is it going to tax you?”
“No,” Nettle said. Then he grinned. “Tell her she looks beautiful and then ask her if she wants to breed.”
“You can rot,” said Talen.
“Touchy,” said Nettle.
Talen waved him off. Maybe he could ask after Atra’s mother’s health.
“Who cares what you say?”
“I do,” said Talen. “It doesn’t matter what you do, you’re Captain Argoth’s son. Honor and cattle hang on you like apples from a tree. You’ve got a garlic-eater’s wrist. You can do what you want and still be attractive. But I have to make a good impression, especially when I tell them I need an escort and then have to wait around for the glass master to gather one. Besides, we don’t want them asking us questions, do we?”
“You have a point,” said Nettle.
“So?”
“So we keep it short. You’ve been threatened, falsely accused by Fir-Noy. I show them my ear. Then we say it would be mighty nice to have some Shoka with us the rest of the way home.”
Talen nodded. Short and to the point. And if he got to talk to Atra that would be a small gift in a day that was turning out to be one big stinking cow pile.
They crossed the fields and stopped at the border of the yard proper. It could be dangerous to walk into the grounds of a place where the dogs did not know you. But nothing barked. And so he led Iron Boy in.
The glasshouse sat many yards away from the yard, its chimneys smoking. The doors stood open, and and Talen could see men moving about in the shadows. He could not tell what they were doing. And that’s why it had been set apart from the house. The glass master wanted to avoid prying eyes that might discover his secrets.
The dogs lay under a wagon out there, probably to guard the glassworks. Talen knew that sand was a part of glass-making. And a fiery furnace. This land had once been covered with trees, but they’d chopped down at least a square mile of the wood and fed it to the furnace. A glassmaker needed wood to make charcoal to burn in his ovens. And so there was heat involved. He knew they used lime. He’d heard the dark blues were made with cobalt. But how it all was put together and blown into shape, he’d never know. Nor would anyone outside the glass guild. It was a rare art, and the secrets were guarded with oaths and penalties of death.
A grove of willow grew all up and down a creek. The willow branches were used to weave about some of the glass to keep them from breaking. Three women sat at the side of the glasshouse weaving willow sticks around large glass jugs.
Talen heard laughter and looked over at the house. Women busied themselves in a back room. Was Atra among them? He hoped not.
But even if she were, he would simply ask for the master.
His thirst was such that he thought about going straight to the well, but that would be rude. He was still wet from dumping water over his head, and he supposed proper young men did not come begging favors in soggy clothes, but what else could he do?
There was no one outside, so Talen would have to strike their bell.
He smoothed back his hair the best he could. Then wiped his wet hands on his tunic and walked up to the door.
A brass bell hung to the side of the doorpost. The artificer had engraved delightful scenes of bears and deer on the bell. He’d engraved the symbols for health and welcome upon the striker. The bell and striker were beautiful.
Talen’s family could never afford such things. When people came visiting his home, they simply said, “Hoy,” and waited for someone to respond.
He struck the bell twice.
He heard footsteps as someone came to the door. He hoped it was not Atra. Then the door opened and Talen saw a serving girl of maybe twelve years.
“Good day,” said Talen. “I need to talk to the glass master.”
“You’re Horse’s son, aren’t you.”
Talen nodded. Da had earned a new name a few years back. They did not have Iron Boy then. On a wager, Da had altered his harness, hooked the plow to himself, then told Ke to keep the lines straight. They had plowed their whole field that way. Not as deeply as a horse might, but deep enough. So he had earned the name Horse.