She pointed to three knives set to one side on a tray. “Are those all you have?”
“Throwing knives? Little Miss, those are dangerous weapons, not made for your everyday use, and not for children.”
She moved a step closer, bending to examine them better, but without touching. The seller again tried to urge her to look at knives suitable for use in a kitchen, but she noticed a small target hanging at the rear of the stall, the marks of blades clear in the soft wood. Four and a half steps away. She moved a full step closer as she examined the knives, the same distance she had learned to throw at Treeman.
She had thrown her blade more than a thousand times at the tree in the forest. No, that was far too few times, it must have been three times that number, maybe more. She said, “I want to examine Your throwing knives, if you please.”
“As I said, they are dangerous weapons. I will not forgive myself if you hurt yourself with one.”
Prin’s hand flicked to the back of her neck. Her fingers gripped the knife hidden there, and her arm shot forward in one motion. She released the blade and watched it spin and strike the target near the center, sticking into the target perfectly parallel to the ground.
His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. He hadn’t known she wore a throwing knife, let alone that she knew how to use it. But he recovered quickly and said, “I would love for you to look at my knives and give me your expert opinion, young miss.”
He lifted the small tray so she could better examine them. He held it in front of her as if serving sweets to hungry royals. She selected the closest, examined it, and set it back down. It was handle-heavy and unbalanced, the workmanship gaudy but crude. The second was far too pretty, the maker’s time spent on engraving scrolls, loops, and setting colored beads, but not on producing quality. However, the third knife was flat, lacking ornamentation, and the workmanship beautiful. She lifted it, felt the balance and admired the matte gray finish that made the blade almost black. That would prevent a stray shaft of sunlight from revealing it.
The shop owner motioned to the hanging target, almost as a challenge. She had learned to throw from three and a half steps before realizing that distance was too short for most circumstances. She had moved back to practice at five and a half, just under six paces. She’d thrown from there over and over, but not nearly as many times as the shorter distance.
Still, she was at the right distance, and if she missed, she could blame it on an unfamiliar knife. Without thinking, she flipped it end to end, then back again, several times until she held the throwing end of the knife near her right ear. In a forward motion using her shoulders and arm to propel the knife, she took a step forward and used her legs and back to help provide power, as if throwing a rock for distance.
The knife spun and struck the target two fingers away from the first knife, but with the additional speed, it went through the wooden target, and the point protruded from the back. Prin smiled sweetly and said in her most innocent little-girl voice, “But will it cut the carrots in my kitchen?”
The owner of the stall equaled her smile. “Perhaps if you stand the carrots in a row and throw the knife at them? Please, allow me to retrieve both of your knives, but only if you will accept the one I showed as a gift. I owe it to you for teaching a well-learned lesson to an old man about prejudging his customers.”
Prin saw the surprised expression Sara wore and ignored it as he returned the knives to her. Sara was not familiar with barter and trades in her small village. The man had apologized for his assumptions, and that took a brave, intelligent person. She said, “I will accept your generous gift if you allow me to overpay for a good scabbard to fit between the shoulders of my sister.”
“May I see yours?” he asked.
Prin turned and lowered her head so he could see down the back of her neck. His fingers traced the straps that held it in place.
“I know of this kind. An excellent leatherworker in the central bazaar makes them similar, but with thinner leather. I could have one here in two, perhaps three days.”
Prin said, “If you were to sell me another knife of the same quality, what would I pay?”
“Three large coppers. One more copper for the scabbard.”
She handed him a small silver coin and accepted seven large copper coins in change, along with her old throwing knife. She agreed to return in three days for the new knife and scabbard.
They left the stall, and Sara said, “I have never seen anyone wear two knives, let alone three.”
“Didn’t you hear me? That one is for you.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I’d love to learn to throw like you, but I thought, you wanted a third to wear. By the way, did you notice his strange hat?” Sara said.
“Of course. I don’t think he’s from around here. His speech was stilted and odd.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too. The hat gave him a foreign appearance. I’m wearing my green pants and shirt, and you your dress, plus the wraps on our heads. We don’t look like strangers to Indore. We need to find a place to buy different clothes.”
Prin glanced at her bare feet. “And shoes.”
“Yes, and the clothing should be odd, or foreign, to make us look like new arrivals, like the knife seller’s hat. You could tell right away he was from across the sea, or somewhere far away.”
“Easy enough,” Prin laughed, turning and walking back to his stall. She returned a few moments later and pointed. “That way. We’re looking for a green tent with a beautiful fat woman who is his wife. She sells hats.”
They found her, perhaps ten stalls away. She also wore a similar hat as the blade seller, not as tall, but the flat sloping brim effectively shed water, and would shield their eyes from the sun if it ever came back out, and protect their scalps from sunburn. They purchased four similar hats, in four colors. They exchanged them for the wraps of material around their heads, wraps that now looked like more like bandages than foreign dress. Prin wore a green, and Sara a blue hat. The hat seller said nothing about their white, bald heads, but had reacted with a wince when she saw them.
The fat woman with the huge smile then told them where to buy good shoes from a friend of hers. Soon they both wore soft, sturdy boots as they went looking for more clothing. Prin had worn simple shifts her entire life, which was two flat pieces of crude material sewn together with wide straps over each shoulder. As they strolled among the stalls, getting used to their new boots, a display of dresses caught Prin’s eye.
The dresses were simple shifts made of a durable material in various shades of brown and tan. They were longer than the knee-length she was used to, these hanging well below the knee, but with a skirt that made a slight flair so the legs could easily move. Many of the local women wore them. Some added a splash of color with a colorful belt, embroidered design, or flowers pinned to them.
The neckline was almost square, allowing for easy reach to the throwing knife while hiding it at the same time. They were perfect, and the stall had a changing room. When they left, the satchel Prin carried held two more shifts and the spare hats.
The rain had stopped. Now they only had to find a place to spend the day, and to sleep, avoiding inns if possible. They bought two hard rolls stuffed with soft cheese and stood at a short counter to eat them.
Sara said between mouthfuls, “Have you noticed him?”
“Who?”
“The man following us. Don’t turn to look yet, he’s moving to my left and just coming into your line of sight. The one with the bare sword.”