Mollo was about to reply when Elleroth, seated at the boatman's back, spoke again, without any alteration in his quiet tone.
'We are about to run into a large floating log, which, will probably stave in the bow.' The boatman stopped rowing at once and turned his head. 'Where, sir?' he asked, in Beklan. 'I don't see anything.'
'Well, I see that you understand me when I am speaking Yeldashay,' replied Elleroth, 'but that is not a crime. It seems to have turned even more chilly, and the wind is fresher than it was. You had better take us back, I think, before we catch the Telthearna ague. You have done very well – here are another ten meld for you. I'm sure you never gossip.' 'God bless you, sir,' said the boatman, pulling on his right oar.
'Where now?' asked Moilo, as they stepped ashore in the garden. 'Your room – or mine? We can go on talking there.'
'Come, come, Mollo – the arrangements for eavesdropping will have been completed days ago. Dear me, those amateur instructors of yours in Deelguy! We will have a stroll through the town – hide a leaf in the forest, you know. Now that priestess woman who addressed us this morning – the one with a face like a night-jar -would you say that she -'
They made their way downhill, by way of the walled lane, to the Peacock Gate, and were shut into the little, enclosed chamber called me Moon Room while the porter, unseen, operated the counter-poise that opened the postern. There was no way between the upper and lower cities except through this gate and the porters, vigilant and uncommunicative as hounds, opened for none whom they had not been instructed to recognize. As Elleroth followed Mollo out into the lower city, the gate closed behind them, heavy, smooth and flat, its iron flanges overlapping the walls on either side. For a few moments they stood alone above the din of the town, grinning at each other like two lads about to plunge together into a pool.
The street of the Armourers led downhill into the colonnaded square called the Caravan Market, where all the goods coming into the city were weighed and checked by the customs officers. On one side stood the city warehouses, with their loading and unloading platforms, and Fleitil's brazen scales, which could weigh a cart and two oxen as easily as a sack of flour. Mollo was watching the weights being piled against forty ingots of Gelt iron when a grimy-faced, ragged boy, limping on a crutch, stumbled against him, stooped quickly sideways with a kind of clumsy, sweeping bow, and then began to beg from him.
'No mother, sir, no father – a hard life – two meld nothing to a gentleman like you – generous face – easy to sec you're a lucky man – you like to meet a nice girl – be careful of rogues here – many rogues in Bekla – many thieves – perhaps one meld – need a fortune teller – you like to gamble perhaps -1 meet you here tonight – help a poor boy – no food today -'
His left leg had been severed above the ankle and the stump, bound in dirty cloth, hung a foot above the ground. As he shifted his weight the leg swung limply, as though there were no strength from the thigh down. He had lost a front tooth, and as he lisped out his monotonous, inexpressive offers and entreaties, red betel-stained spittle crept over his lower lip and down his chin. He had a shifty-eyed, wary look and kept his right arm slightly bent at his side, the hand open, the thumb and fingers crooked like claws.
Suddenly Elleroth stepped forward, gripped the boy's chin in his hand and jerked up his face to meet his own eyes. The boy gave a shrill cry and tried to back away, pouring out more words, distorted now by Elleroth's grip on his jaw.
'Poor boy, sir, no harm, gentleman won't hurt a poor boy, no work, very hard times, be of service -' 'How long have you followed this life?' asked Elleroth sternly. The boy stammered with eyes averted.
'Don't know, sir, four years, sir, five years, done no wrong, sir, six years perhaps, whatever you say -'
Elleroth, with his free hand, pulled up the boy's sleeve. Bound round the forearm was a broad leather band and thrust beneath it by the blade was a handsome, silver-hiked knife. Elleroth pulled it out and handed it to Mollo.
'Didn't feel him take it, did you? That's the worst of wearing one's knife in a sheath on the hip. Now stop howling, my boy, or I'll see you flogged before the market warden -' 'I'll see him flogged, howling or no,' interrupted Mollo. 'I'll -'
'Wait a moment, my dear fellow.' Elleroth, still grasping the boy's chin, turned his head to one side and with his other hand thrust back his dirty hair. The lobe of the car was pierced by a round hole about as big as an orange pip. Elleroth touched it with his finger and the boy began to weep silently.
'Genshed u arkon lowt tha?' said Elleroth, speaking in Terekenalt, a tongue unknown to Mollo. The boy, who was unable to speak for his tears, nodded wretchedly. 'Genshed varon, shu varon il pekeronta?' The boy nodded again.
'Listen,' said Elleroth, reverting to Beklan. 'I am going to give you some money. As I do so I shall curse you and pretend to hit you, for otherwise a hundred wretches will come like vultures from every hole in the market. Say nothing, hide it and go, you understand? Curse you!' he shouted, gripping the boy's shoulder and pushing him away. 'Be off, get away from me! Filthy beggars -' He turned on his heel and walked away, with Mollo beside him.
'Now what the devil -?' began Mollo. He broke off. 'Whatever's the matter, Elleroth? You're surely not – not weeping, are you?'
'My dear Mollo, if you can't observe a knife vanishing from its sheath on your own hip, how can you possibly expect to observe accurately the expression on a face as foolish as mine? Let us turn in and have a drink – I feel I could do with one, and the sun's become rather warmer now. It will be pleasant to sit down.'
25 The Green Grove
The nearest tavern in the colonnade, whose sign proclaimed it to be 'The Green Grove', was out of the wind but warmed nevertheless, at this early time of the year, by a charcoal brazier, low enough to keep floor draughts from chilling the feet. The tables were still damp from their morning scrubbing and the settle, facing towards the square, was spread with brightly-coloured rugs which, though somewhat worn, were clean and well-brushed. The place appeared to be frequented chiefly by the better kind of men having work or business in the market – buyers, household stewards, caravan officers, merchants and one or two market officials, with their uniform green cloaks and round leather hats; There were pumpkins and dried tendrionas hanging in nets against the walls and pickled aubergines, cheeses, nuts and raisins set out in dishes. Through a door at the back could be caught a glimpse of the courtyard, with white doves and a fountain. Elleroth and Mollo sat down at one end of the settle, and waited without impatience.
'Well, Death, don't come along just yet,' cried a long-haired young caravaneer, flinging back his cloak to free his arm as he drank and looking over the top of his leather can as though half-expecting that unwelcome personage to make a sudden appearance round the corner. 'I've got a bit more profit to make down south and a few more jars to empty here – haven't I, Tarys?' he added to a pretty girl with a long black plait and a necklace of silver coins, who set down before him a plate of hard-boiled eggs in sour cream.
'Ay, likely,' she answered, 'without you get yourself killed int' south one trip. Profit, profit – happen you'd go to Zeray for profit.'
'Ay – happen!' he mimicked, teasing her and spreading out a row of foreign coins, one under each finger, for her to take whatever was due in payment. 'Help yourself. Why don't you take me now, instead of the money?'