They had arrived at a good time; people were coming in from the fields. They turned to the travelers with cries of welcome.
“Hail, strangers!”
“Peddlers! Have you ribbons?”
“Good evening to you! What news of the wide world?”
Thus they came into town in the center of an overgrowing crowd, none of whom seemed put off in the slightest by Gar’s disguise. Alea was a little dazed by all the fuss, especially since she hadn’t worked much at screening out others’ thoughts yet—on a ship between stars, there hadn’t been the need. Now, though, she was finding that having learned to open her mind to hear others’ thoughts didn’t necessarily mean she could close it again at will.
Gar could, though. With the ease of long experience he looked up at the people with a loose-lipped grin, waving and chirping, “Lo! Hi! Goo’ morn!”
“Hey, it’s an idiot!” one teenage boy called to his friends. “This could be fun! ”They started toward Gar. Alea stiffened with alarm—but a middle-aged man interposed himself smoothly between Gar and the boys and said, “Now, lads, that’s not kind. Would you want someone to make a mock of you?”
The boys glowered at the rebuke. One said, “I’d like to see them try!”
“I wouldn’t,” the man said and nodded at Gar.
“Look at the size of those shoulders, the thickness of those arms! Feeble his mind may be, but not his body. He seems gentle enough, mind you, but I wouldn’t want him angry with me.”
The boys turned thoughtful at that and held back, letting others move near the couple first and when they did speak to Gar later, Alea noticed they were almost kind in their talk.
She pulled herself together and imitated Gar’s greetings, though with rather better speech, calling replies to as many as she could. The welcomes died down as they came into the common, the circle of grass between the cottages, and one woman thrust her way to the fore, calling, “What have you in your packs, goodfolk?”
“Aye!” cried a middle-aged man. “What have you to trade?”
Gar swung his pack off his back, and his voice spoke in Alea’s mind. “ ‘Trade,’ not ‘sell.’ Interesting. We’d better not use coins. Alea was unnerved by the contrast between his half-witted grin and his analytical thoughts.
Perhaps one, just to see if they know what coins are. Alea didn’t answer, only swung her pack down, then loosened the buckles and opened the flap. The people crowded round with cries of delight.
Not much to do in this town, Gar thought wryly. Alea’s lips pressed tight to hold back laughter, and he knew she had “heard.” It also seemed to relax her, as he’d hoped it would. After all, if they were the most exciting thing to happen all week, life must be very … placid.
“The poor lad!” said one kindly-looking grandmotherly woman. “Well, we’ve seen enough of his kind to know he’s no danger.”
Inbreeding! Gar thought, then chirped, “Poor Gar’s a-cold! Poor Gar’s a-cold! ”
“As surely he must be,” a younger woman said sympathetically. “Have you no clothes for him, lass?”
“I have, though sometimes he can’t stand the feel of them and tears them off,” Alea ad-libbed, and was amazed at her own glibness. “Have you a blanket? I could trade you, say…” She let the sentence trail off, and the younger woman picked up the hint, eyes gleaming. “A small pot, perhaps?”
Alea reached into her pack. “Iron or copper?”
“What would you take a blanket for a copper pot?” the woman asked, her eyes round.
Alea realized she’d named too low a price. “It’s very thin copper,” she said apologetically, “easily dented.”
“Oh! Well, a blanket of my thickest weave would be worth an iron pot.” The woman eyed her warily, though.
Still too high a price. “Throw in dinner and a night’s lodging, and you shall have it.”
“Done!” the woman cried. “I’ll fetch the blanket.” She turned and hurried off to her cottage.
“I’ll have a pot, too!” The middle-aged woman held out a necklace.
It seemed only a string of polished quartz pebbles to Alea, but Gar caught his breath and Alea heard his thought: Diamonds!
The kindly woman mistook his fascination and smiled, twisting the string this way and that so that the light twinkled off the surfaces. “Aye, ‘tis a pretty thing, is it not? Buy it, my dear, if only to please your friend.”
“Not only my friend, but my brother, too,” Alea corrected.
“Brother? Aye, you’re both quite tall, aren’t you? Well, it’s a good woman you are to take care of a sib so afflicted.” The woman held out the necklace. “Here, take it and a blessing on you both. I can find many more.”
“No, no!” Alea protested, and pulled a copper pot out of her pack. “Here, take it! If the metal’s not too thin for you, that is.”
The woman handed her the necklace and took the pot. She pursed her lips, weighing it in her hand and rubbing the metal between her fingers. “Not so thin as all that. I doubt not it will make a good kettle for boiling water.”
“Oh, well, if you want a real kettle, I’ve that too.” Alea pulled a small copper teakettle from Gar’s pack. Several people gasped at the brightness of it, then started bidding.
Alea did brisk business, exchanging trade goods for rough gems and exquisite pottery that would sell well in the next village. In some cases, she had nothing that the people wanted, but there were little wedges of copper and silver in her pack, and the villagers were quite happy to take those for their porcelains.
In the middle of it, a teenage girl pushed through to her, holding out a wide and beautifully embroidered belt. “What will you give me for this? I want sweet-smelling perfume and pretty things to wear!”
Alea stared at the belt. “I’ve nothing as pretty as that.”
“Aye, Renga, that took me weeks to fashion for you.” The older woman who came up beside her looked troubled.
“You gave it to me!” Renga snapped. “It’s mine to do with as I wish!”
“It is,” her mother said, “but it has my love and care stitched into it with the pattern. The day will come when you’ll treasure that.”
“You can’t make me keep it!”
“No, I can’t and I won’t.” Her mother sighed. “But it does hurt me that you could think of trading it for a bit of shiny brass. Precious things should be saved, or you’ll have nothing when you’re old.”
Renga hesitated, startled at the thought of the future, and Alea took the chance to reinforce what her mother had said. “A girdle like that takes a great deal of time and skill in the making, lass. My mother made me several such ornaments, and I treasured them even then—but much, much more when they were taken from me.” The memory brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them away angrily. “She’s gone now, and I dearly wish I had something of hers to make me feel close to her still.”
Renga stared, shocked, then held out her girdle in sympathy. “Oh, take mine, then! I still have a mother, thank the Goddess! If this will help your heart, take it!”
Her mother looked startled, then slowly smiled and gazed at her with pride.
“I thank you, lass, and it’s good of you to offer,” Alea said gently, “and a treasure it is—but it was made by your mother, not mine, and would only remind me of my loss, not be a part of my mother to comfort me.” She smiled and pressed the girl’s hand. “But your care cheers me more than you can know. Here, take this of me for thanks.” She pressed a small ring into the girl’s hand.