slid down the pile of sweating whale meat to land in a tangle of chains and rope and greasy, rotting fish flesh on the splintery boards of the pier.
“Kus! Is this what you have brought me, you godcursed whale-man? Look at them!” The man spoke in the common trading tongue of nations.
He was bending down, a robe of shimmering green weave drifting free and cool about him. His hand grasped the net and shook it free as men hurried to unhook the loading chains. Then he caught my upper arm and hauled me to my feet.
I stumbled, my ankle chains snagging amid the rope and fish.
The man breathed in sharply, then he helped my father to his feet.
“Strike these chains from their ankles. Now!” And men hurried to do his bidding.
I wept as those hateful metal bars and links fell free.
Our rescuer was a man of middle age, dark-haired and ebony-eyed, with swarthy skin stretched tight over a strong-boned face. His robe was of good linen, loose-fitting and hanging unbelted to his sandalled feet. He looked clean and cool and very sure of himself. I had been none of those things for a long time.
He inspected my hands carefully, then those of my father.
“Well, at least your hands are undamaged, and that is all that counts.” He caught my chin with his fingers. “And you have a pleasing face under that grime and stinking oil.” Now his fingers lifted one of the lank strands of my hair. “Blond, I’ll wager, to go with your blue eyes.”
His voice was softer now, thoughtful, and I could see him sifting the possibilities in his mind. “Skarp-Hedin sent word that you work glass. Is that true?”
“I have been a master craftsman for over twenty years,” my father said, “and my daughter has more talent than I.” He hesitated. “None can mix the colours as I, nor carve the moulds or blow the glass. And my daughter cages as though blessed by the gods.”
The man’s eyes were very sharp now, and they swung back my way. “You are too young,” he said.
“I have been working at my father’s side since I was five,” I replied. How much longer would he keep us standing in this frightful sun? “And caging since I was ten.”
“Well,” he said, “you have come from Skarp-Hedin, and I have never received anything but the best from him previously. I will trust him on this as well. See that cart?” He inclined his head to the side. “Then get in.”
He turned and left us to clamber in.
As his driver slapped the mules into action, the man told us his name was Hadone, and he worked in occasional partnership with the Vilander slaver who’d sent us south. They would share the proceeds of our sale, but Hadone had no intention of presenting us to the market in our current state. From the wharf, we drove to quarters deep in the town – Adab, Hadone informed me as I peered over the rim of the cart, too unnerved to sit upright.
“And this is the realm of En-Dor.” Again he ran his eyes over my face and hair as he twisted about on the seat next to the driver. “Although glassworkers sell well here, I wonder if I might get yet a better price for you in Ashdod.”
My father noticed Hadone’s tone and the direction of his eyes. “Skarp-Hedin said we’d be sold together. That’s how we work. A team.”
“Of course,” Hadone said, swinging back to face the street before him. “That’s how I intend to sell you. As a team.”
My father and I exchanged a glance, then turned our eyes back to the strange sights around us.
The dirt-packed streets were crowded with men and women dressed much as Hadone was – in brightly coloured robes that swung loose to their feet. Many had lengths of fine white cloth wrapped about their heads, the tasselled ends drifting lazily about their shoulders.
We were surrounded by blocks of mud-brick shops and houses, plastered either in white or pale pink, with flat roofs and canvas awnings that hung out into the street and shaded those passing by.
Among all the people wound donkeys bearing loads on their backs or pulling carts like ours. An occasional rider on a finely boned horse, always grey, pushed through the crowds; both horse and rider were invariably richly draped with silks and ropes of jewels.
About all hung the dust of thousands of scuffling feet, and a rich, heady odour of spices and fragrance