They were set with a place to live, rooms, security, and each day, they made the building a little more like Home. Sara complained about throwing continually. Her arm was sore. She had other tasks to do. Throwing knives was not for women. She was not learning.
Prin retrieved the knives from Treeman again, but instead of handing Sara hers, she said, “Listen, I was a helpless little girl when they killed my father, and again when the killed Sir James and William. Helpless. I swore that would never happen again. I do not have the skills to fight, not yet, but I dare anybody wishing to do me harm to stand five and a half steps from me.
She let her knife fly. Sara silently reached for hers. Treeman died another hundred times before they rested.
Things were going well when a knock on their door found a member of the Order of the Iron Ring standing politely outside. It was the one they’d met on their first day in Indore. He held the leather satchel that had been stolen. “This is yours?”
Prin accepted the leather bag and found it empty, which was expected, but there had been nothing of real value inside. “Yes, thank you. Can I offer you water? Or Bread?”
He shook his head. “No, I must get back to work. My order is suddenly very busy. We are sworn to hunt for a girl, an eleven-year-old with yellow hair. Have you seen one that fits that description?” he raised his eyebrows in question.
They’re here. “No, I haven’t,” she said, heart pounding.
“You, as I recall are thirteen, and your hair is not yellow, even if you allowed it to grow out, I’m sure. Besides, you were here before the runaway girl departed from another land. Still, the rewards offered are substantial and it would not due to be mistaken for her.”
Her hand went to her head and felt the soft hair that had regrown to a blonde stubble. His face remained impassive, and she knew he’d remain silent about her, but he brought her bag, and with it, a warning. “What has this girl done? Only eleven and bounty hunters are after her?”
“I wouldn’t know, but it does sound like the girl has done nothing but exist. She has not had time in this life to do much to anyone, when you think about it. But it is not ours to question our benefactors.”
Sara had come silently up behind them and listened. She said, “There was a girl I heard about. Yellow hair, traveling alone, I think, as I remember the story. She was acting odd. Like she was in a big hurry.”
He tilted his head as if listening carefully.
“It was the same day we met you, I think. I heard about her in the bazaar. Because of her young age and because she was getting on a ship alone, a woman noticed and wondered where a little girl like that would be going.” Sara stopped talking and waited.
He said, “I wouldn’t expect you to remember the name of the ship, or other details. You would have no reason to, or I would question your information as being too much for the truth.”
“No,” Sara said. “I wouldn’t know any of those details. I’m surprised I remember that much. Really, it’s no more than a rumor told by a dark-haired woman of about twenty-five on the street in the bazaar. You may have seen her in the bazaar a few times, but I’d know nothing about.”
“I will report what that woman saw. It’s my duty to pass on all rumors of this girl.” He nodded once and turned away. He turned back, “It seems that everyone in Indore is searching for that girl. She must be careful, or she will be found. The rewards are great.”
Sara pushed the door closed and fell back against it as if she would collapse on weak knees.
Prin said, “My head needs to be shaved again. The blonde hair shows.”
Sara said, “Mine too. Then we need to go shopping.” She paused, drew the knife from her scabbard and in a single motion let it fly at Treeman. It struck handle first and clattered to the stone floor.
“Shopping for what?” Prin asked.
“Remember that big ugly dog you wanted?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
With their heads again shaved and pink, their pointed hats on, they left for the bazaar where it seemed anything, and everything, was for sale for a price. Sara looked worried and tense, which were both true if her fears paralleled Prin’s.
While they searched for information about trained guard dogs, they avoided suggestions of where to buy cuddly puppies. Twice, Sara stopped at stalls and purchased plants, spices, and once a bag of ground powder that was a familiar cooking spice. “Our food will taste so much better with this.”
“Well, you’ll also like what I see up ahead, too. Dogs,” Prin said.
At the edge of the bazaar sat a wagon with two dogs sprawled in the shade under it. Both wore heavy chains around their necks and eyed the girls as they drew closer. They rose and bared yellow teeth. Fierce growls warned the girls to stay away.
“I’d listen to them and wouldn’t get any closer,” a man called lazily from behind the wagon where he’d been napping in a chair tilted back against a wall. “Go on about your business.”
Sara backed off, but Prin took another step closer and knelt, just out of reach of the nearest. “Are they trained?”
“Not for little girls. Those two will rip your head from your body and tear your arms and legs from it.”
“But are they trained?” Prin demanded, her voice stern.
“Trained to attack, which is what I may have them do if you two don’t move on. Real buyers will take one look at you trying to play with them and think they’re pets. Then I’ll lose a sale because of you.”
Prin turned to look at him. He was dirty, his clothing little more than rags, and most women would have done as he said, but she remained, angered by his attitude. “Do you treat all your customers like this?”
“You ain’t a customer and those dogs ain’t puppies for you to play with.”
She stood. “My father sent us to locate a dog to guard his warehouse, not a pet.”
He settled the chair down on four legs and stood, slowly and with a small measure of respect. He said, “Either of those will attack you if you get closer. I warn you to stay away. Send your father to buy his own dog.”
Both dogs were still on their feet. Their lips were pulled back, teeth bared, and low warning growls came from deep within their massive chests. They were staked to the ground by heavy chains stretched to the limit. Saliva dripped from the mouth of the larger dog.
Prin said, “Just because they’re mean does not tell me they’re trained. Order them to allow me to walk to them.”
“What?”
“Tell them to stand down,” Prin said sweetly. “If they’re properly trained.”
“They’re damn watchdogs, not pussy-cats. Now, get away from them—and me.” He turned and went back to his chair.
Prin turned to Sara, who appeared terrified of the dogs, the angry man, or both. She said, “These are not the ones we want. I only have the one gold sliver to spend.”
The man leaped to his feet at her mention of gold, but Prin turned away and strode away, ignoring his calls to return. Before she went a dozen steps, a gray-haired woman standing at a stall across the aisle motioned for her to approach. She sold straw hats of all sorts. She held one up and said loudly, for the benefit of the dog seller, “I may copy the kind of hats you two are wearing so I can sell them here. They’re lovely. May I see one?”
Sara quickly agreed, probably since it took her a few steps further away from the vicious dogs. She handed her hat to the old woman, who examined it and commented on the beautiful construction, quality materials, and style. Then, in a softer voice intended for their ears only, “There is a man at the end of this row who has dogs you might wish to examine.”