“Told you I could get a fair deal out of Pergamol!”
“You did?” Menolly was confused.
“Sure did. Three and a half for the tambourine? And three for the pipe? That’s top mark!” The boys crowded round him, and Piemur recounted his success with many winks and chuckles. For his efforts, he got a quarter of a mark from each of the boys, telling Menolly that that was an improvement, for them, on the full half-mark the Harpercraft charged for selling.
“C’mon, Menolly, let’s gad about,” Piemur said, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her back into the stream of slowly moving people. “I can smell the pies from here,” he said when he had eluded the others. All we have to do is follow our noses…”
“Pies?” Master Robinton had mentioned bubbling pies.
“I don’t mind treating you, since today is your first gather…here…” he added hastily, looking to see if he’d offended her, “but I’m not buying for those bottomless pits.”
“We just finished dinner—”
“Bargaining’s hungry work.” He licked his lips in anticipation. And I feel like something sweet, bubbling hot with berry juice. Just you wait. We’ll duck through here.”
He maneuvered her through the crowd, going across the moving traffic in an oblique line until they reached a wide break in the square. There they could see down to the river and the meadow where the traders’ beasts were grazing, hobbled. People were moving up all the roads, arriving from the outlying plain and mountain holds. Their dress tunics and shirts made bright accents to the fresh green of the spring fields. The sun shone brilliantly over all. It was a glorious day, thought Menolly, a marvelous day for a gather. Piemur grabbed her hand, pulling her faster.
“They can’t have sold all the pies,” she said, laughing.
“No, but they’ll get cold, and I like ’em hot, bubbling!”
And so the confections were, carried from an oven in the baker’s hold on a thick, long-handled tray: the berry juices spilling darkly over the sides of the delicately browned crusts that glistened with crystallized sweet.
“Ho, you’re out early, are you, Piemur? Let me see your marks first.” Piemur, with a show of great reluctance, dragged out a thirty-second bit and showed it to the skeptic.
“That’ll buy you six pies.”
“Six? Is that all?” Piemur’s face reflected utter despair. “This is all me and my dorm mates could raise.” His voice went up in a piteous note.
“Don’t give me that old wheeze, Piemur,” said the baker with a derisive snort. “You know you eat ’em all yourself. You wouldn’t treat your mates to as much as a sniff.”
“Master Palim…”
“Master me nothing, Piemur. You know my rank same as I know yours. It’s six pies for the thirty-second or stop wasting my time.” The journeyman, for that was the badge on his tunic, was slipping six pies off the tray as he spoke. “Who’s your long friend here? That dorm mate you’re always talking about?”
“She’s Menolly…”
“Menolly?” the baker looked up in surprise. “The girl who wrote the song about the fire lizards?” A seventh pie was set beside the others.
Menolly fumbled in her pocket for her two-mark piece, “Have a pie for welcome, Menolly, and any time you have a spare egg that needs a warm home…” He let the sentence peter out and gave her a broad wink, and a broader smile so she’d know he was joking.
“Menolly!” Piemur grabbed her wrist, staring at the two-marker, his eyes round with surprise. “Where’d you get that?”
“Master Robinton gave it to me this morning. He said I’m to buy a belt and some bubbly pies. So please, Journeyman, I’d like to pay for them.”
“No way!” Piemur was flatly indignant, knocking her extended hand away. “I said it was my treat ’cause this is your first gather. And I know that’s the first mark piece you’ve ever had. Don’t you go wasting it on me.” He had half turned from the baker and was giving Menolly a one-eyed wink.
“Piemur, I don’t know what I’d’ve done without you these past few days,” she said, trying to move him out of her way so she could give Palim the marker. “I insist.”
“Not a chance, Menolly. I keep my word!’
“Then put your money where your mouth is, Piemur,” said Palim, “you’re blocking my counter,” and he indicated the hulking figure of Camo bearing down on them.
“Camo! Where’ve you been, Camo?” cried Piemur. “We looked all over for you before we started for the pies. Here’s yours, Camo.”
“Pies?” And Camo came forward, huge hands outstretched, his thick lips moist. He wore a fresh tunic, his face was shining clean, and his straggling crop of hair had been brushed flat. He had evidently homed in on the sweet aroma of the pies as easily as Piemur.
“Yes, bubbly pies, just like I promised you, Camo.” Piemur passed him two pies.
“Well, now, you wasn’t having me on, was you, about feeding your mates. Although how come Menolly and Camo…”
“Here’s your money,” said Piemur with some haughtiness, thrusting the thirty-second piece into Palim’s hand. “I trust your pies will live up to standard!” Menolly gaped, because there were now nine small bubbly pies on the counter front.
“Three for you, Camo.” Piemur handed him a third. “Now don’t burn your mouth. Three for you, Menolly,” and the pastry was warm enough to sting Menolly’s scarred palm, “and three for me. Thank you, Palim. It’s good of you to be generous. I’ll make sure everyone knows your pies…” and despite the heat of the crust, Piemur bit deeply into the pastry, the dark purple juices dribbling down his chin, “…are just as good as ever,” and he said that last on a sigh of contentment. Then more briskly, “C’mon you two.” He waved to the baker who stared after them before he uttered a bark of laughter. “See you later, Palim!”
“We got nine pies for the price of six!” she said when they’d got far enough away from the stall.
“Sure, and I’ll get nine again when I go back, because he’ll think I’m sharing with you and Camo again. That’s the best deal I’ve pulled on him yet.”
“You mean…”
“Pretty smart of you to flash that two-marker about. He wouldn’t have been able to change it this early in the afternoon. I’ll have to try that angle again, next gather. The large marker, I mean.”
“Piemur!” Menolly was appalled at his duplicity.
“Hmmmm?” His expression over the rim of the pie was unperturbed, “Good, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but you’re outrageous. The way you bargain…”
“What’s wrong with it? Everyone has fun. ’Specially this early in the season. Later on they get bored, and even being small and looking sorrowful doesn’t help me. Ah, Camo,” and Piemur looked disgusted. “Can’t you even eat clean?”
“Pies good!” Camo had stuffed all three pies into his mouth. His tunic was now stained with berry juices, his face was flecked with pastry and berry skins, and his fist had smeared a purple streak across one cheek.
“Menolly, will you look at him! He’ll disgrace the Hall. You can’t take your eyes off him a moment. C’mere!”
Piemur dragged Camo to the back of the line of stalls until he found a water skin dangling from a thong on a stall frame. He made Camo cup his hands and wash his face. Menolly found a scrap of cloth, not too dirty, and they managed to remove the worst of the pie stains from Camo’s face and front.
“Oh, blast the shell and sear the skin!” said Piemur in a round oath as he took up his third pie. “It’s cold. Camo, you’re more trouble than you’re worth sometimes.”
“Camo trouble?” The man’s face fell into deep sorrowful lines. “Camo cold?”