Tiaan’s own feet were in worse condition, though at least she had been wearing socks. She put them near the warmth, then dipped a mug of stew each. Haani’s hand came out of the coat and took her mug. The child did not look at her as she sipped. Tiaan did not know if she was angry or afraid. She did not care. Haani was safe. Nothing else mattered.
Soon the child began to droop. Tiaan put her in the sleeping pouch and got in with her. Haani lay rigidly in her arms. Finally she slept and, to Tiaan’s relief, snuggled up and her cold hand took Tiaan’s.
It was not the best night’s sleep Tiaan had ever had. Dreams of lyrinx, nightmares about the nylatl, a reproachful, let-down Minis, all were mixed in with Haani’s own fitful nightmares. Once more Haani woke screaming and thrashing, but with Tiaan’s arms around her there was nowhere to go. Soon the child slept soundly.
In the morning Haani was better, though she still would not speak. There was nothing to be done about that but wait it out.
Tiaan’s shin was little worse than before, though her muscles were very stiff. They ate a quick breakfast, got back on the river and skied all day, just going steadily. Haani seemed to need the activity – she was always first on her feet and last to sit down. It was all Tiaan could do to keep up with her.
Thinking about what had happened last night, Tiaan realised that the amplimet had been dull because she was too far from the node of Kalissin and there was no other node nearby. That was why she had been unable to contact Minis. He could still be alive.
The day passed and two more. It was the easiest skiing Tiaan had ever done – smooth ice covered with a thin layer of snow. They were making excellent progress, as much as seven leagues one day, by her estimate. They often passed villages but did not stop. Haani had no more interest in meeting strangers than Tiaan did. Maybe Haani was shy too. Probably was, living up there all alone.
Midway through the seventh day, the villages on the shore became more numerous and larger. They began to pass orchards and snow-covered market gardens. Late in the afternoon they reached the outskirts of a sizeable town.
Suddenly there were people everywhere. Hundreds of children played on the ice. Lines of porters skied to and from the smaller settlement on the other side, carrying huge loads on their backs, or sometimes their heads. Shabby little delivery boys mixed with well-dressed ladies and gentlemen gliding along the foreshores. The ice was their highway, a more convenient one than the frozen, rutted roads.
They continued until they reached a waterfront that appeared to be the centre of Ghysmel. After diligent enquiry Tiaan located the shipping offices. Going into the first, she asked about passage west down the sea. A tall, blond-haired woman came to the counter.
‘You’re in luck. We’ve had a thaw these last few weeks. The Norwhal is leaving tomorrow, and sailing all the way down the Milmillamel to Thryss and Flaha.’
‘I don’t know those places,’ Tiaan said. Catching sight of a faded chart on the wall, she picked the name of a destination, since she would undoubtedly be asked. The war had not come this far south so she presumed there would be no restrictions on travel.
‘I would like to purchase two tickets to Flaha.’ It was a town on the north side of Milmillamel, a good two hundred leagues away.
‘Cabin, hammock or steerage?’ the blond woman asked.
‘That would depend on the tariff,’ Tiaan replied carefully.
The cabins turned out to be reasonably priced, one gold coin and two silver. Tiaan had more than enough, having not yet touched the contents of Joeyn’s belt. The idea of living in a hammock for weeks, in a room with dozens of other people, probably dirty and smelly and prying into her business, could not be countenanced. She’d not shared a room since she became an artisan.
‘Cabin, please.’
The clerk checked the gold and silver with her teeth, weighed it on a small pair of scales, then wrote out a ticket in beautiful handwriting full of swirls and flourishes. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked casually as she worked.
‘What? Oh, Tatusti.’ She named a town upstream from Flaha, unwilling to divulge her true destination.
‘Tatusti?’ The clerk sounded incredulous.
‘The man I am betrothed to is there.’ Tiaan flushed at the sound of those words, often thought about but never before uttered.
The clerk melted green wax onto the paper and stamped it with a seal.
‘Thank you!’ Tiaan took the ticket. ‘What time is the tide tomorrow?’
‘No tides in Tallallamel. Where is your home town? You must have come a long way.’
A common enough question. Tiaan had said ‘Tiksi, over the mountains,’ before she realised.
The clerk nodded. ‘I thought so, from your speech, We see many travellers here, though few from that land. The Norwhal leaves at nine in the morning. Or ten. Or even eleven if the captain gets drunk again, which she usually does. Best be here at eight, to be certain.’
Tiaan thanked her, then turned back. ‘Can you name a good inn, not too far away?’
‘Go to The Mussel Gatherer, a few hundred steps back toward the town, that way. Ask for Pwym the porter. He’s my little brother and he’ll fix you up nicely.’
A most courteous young man, he did just that. In under an hour Tiaan and Haani were set up in a small but pleasant room on the third floor, overlooking the waterfront. A metal bath was brought up and filled with buckets of hot water. They scrubbed away the grime of weeks.
In the evening they went to the markets, purchasing clothes for the journey. Haani looked like a hillbilly child in her dirty furs. Tiaan bought a needle, strong thread and various other things she might need on the journey, then spent an entirely unnatural amount of silver on a special outfit, the one she planned to wear when she met Minis.
In the morning they arrived early and were shown to their cabin. It was tiny, airless but clean and neat. The captain had stayed sober, evidently, for the boat unfurled her sails and left on the gong of nine.
The trip to Flaha took fifteen days. They did not stop for the first week, but after that visited one port after another, sometimes only sailing for half a day before docking again.
Tiaan and Haani kept to themselves, occasionally walking on the cramped deck, which was cold and windy. Haani was clinging now – she was shy in crowds and would not answer when people spoke to her. Tiaan understood that, though she found it confining.
On the third day, through a gap in the clouds, she glimpsed a familiar flying shape, just for a second. Was the lyrinx hunting her or was it just a coincidence? She could not think so. After that she kept to their cabin, busying herself in making a new pair of boots to replace Haani’s worn-out ones. Tiaan enjoyed the work, using her artisan’s skills for the first time in ages. It was helping to prepare her fingers for another job, one she planned to begin as soon as the boots were complete.
Whenever she needed a hand, Haani was there and seemed to know instinctively what to do. Tiaan appreciated that, though she would as soon have done it herself. She was so used to working alone that having to share a room made her feel uncomfortable. Besides, Haani was being helpful because she had been brought up that way. It did not mean the child liked her. Tiaan was sure she did not.
Haani never asked for anything. She hardly spoke apart from please, thank you, yes and no, and gave the briefest possible response to Tiaan’s increasingly infrequent overtures. Tiaan felt guilty, but more and more she found the child a burden. Perhaps Haani realised that. When the boots were ready she said ‘Thank you!’ but continued wearing the old ones.