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Of Intanta she learned nothing, for the old woman kept silent save for a polite comment or two. But as the conversation echoed events she’d never seen and faces she’d never known, she began to doze.
She awoke to a rattle before her. Someone had rolled a coin down the table so that it dropped off the edge before her nose.
“Yes?” Wistala asked, as wide awake as she’d been deep asleep a moment before.
“A coin for a good story, green daughter of the skies and the earth’s deepest flame,” Ragwrist said. “I want to hear how you disposed of the troll!”
“I hardly did it alone,” Wistala said. “And I’ll tell without asking for payment. I might as well ask for money to look at me.”
Ragwrist laughed, and Wistala liked the easy sound of it. “Ho! Our ears are quite closed to that line of argument. Rainfall says coin aids your digestion or somesuch. There’ll be another if I’m well entertained.”
Wistala told it again, imitating the noises as she had with the courier dwarves. She found she took less pleasure from remembering the events and more from her audience’s reaction. She was rewarded with a coin from Ragwrist and another from Brok, and they soon joined the others within, leaving Wistala in a contented mood.
“I have a suggestion, Wistala,” Rainfall said. “Will you hear it?”
“I’ll hear anything from you,” Wistala said.
Rainfall looked around the table and got nods from everyone save Intanta, who dozed. “I’m of the opinion you should travel for a while with Ragwrist’s circus.”
She didn’t have to think about it. “I can neither ride nor clown. I can’t imagine what use I’d be.”
“Will you hear my reasons?” Rainfall said.
She tired of having her head raised above table edge—she became light-headed if she went nose-up too long—and approached the party and wound herself into a circle next to the table. “Of course.”
Rainfall brought two fingers together under his chin. “First: Hammar now has a grudge against you. Your life is all that stands between him and possession of Mossbell, its lands, and the bridge. He’s not above hiring even the Dragonblade. He fears no murder charge.”
Two more fingers came together. “Second: in happier days it was the custom, as part of a High Hypatian’s education, to tour the cities of the Empire, the Inland Ocean, and such lands on the borders as are of interest. I’ve begun your education with the few poor volumes left in my library, but I want you to become worldly in the best sense of the word, and love the greater Order as I do. You cannot travel in the normal manner—once I’d thought of taking you on a few brief journeys myself, but since—well, I won’t repeat the obvious.”
He brought the rest of his fingertips together. “Lastly: our rate of sheep and goat, lamb and kid consumption is alarming, and will only grow with you. A prosperous circus should be able to afford your upkeep.”
“Prosperous?” Ragwrist objected. “You haven’t seen my accounting recently. Bled by—”
Rainfall ignored the interruption. “And consider this: You will eventually sprout your wings, perhaps wish to find a mate. You’ll have more knowledge of the lands, though I should like you to return now and again—in fact, the law will require it.”
“Why is that?” Wistala asked.
“The thane will have you declared legally dead if you do not show yourself at least every five years. Of course, there are provisions, were you to be serving in the Hypatian forces, for your existence to be verified, but I mention it more in hopes of receiving visits from you than as a legal matter.”
“We come up the Old North Road every two or three years, in any case,” Ragwrist said.
“What would I do? Stand like an exhibited animal?”
“That would hardly pay for your food,” Ragwrist said. “Wistala, I will offer you the same terms all my other entertainers get. You pay me each new moon for your food and sheltering—”
“He only adds the smallest of surcharges,” Dsossa said.
“Ho!” Ragwrist said. “I take great trouble managing the supplies; I’ve yet to receive thanks for procuring palatable wine among the Vang Barbarians or those Pellatrian ascetics! But back to the deal: I receive a tenth-part of such coin as you acquire in your displays—”
“Fair warning,” Brok said. “If you keep three coins in ten out of his clutches after upkeep and surcharges, you’re doing very well!”
“If I’m such a scoundrel, I wonder why you’ve been with me these threescore years, my good dwarf?” Ragwrist asked.
“There are skimmers in all walks of life, but few do it with such pleasant smiles and compliments,” Brok replied.
“And I’ve a soft heart and softer head for honeyed words,” Dsossa added. “Being cheated by Ragwrist is painless.”
Ragwrist extended his arm and pointed to a patch at the elbow of his shirt. “Cheated! Do I look like a rich man? My teeth are worn down from biting off the ends of pencils to keep accurate track of expenses, and my voice grows hoarse haggling over quality of flour, all so my beautiful riders may keep flesh on breast and hip.”
