“I think it will fade eventually, but it will take years as long as you keep the color out of the sun,” she told both the merchant and her sister. “Dyeing with distilled spirits will be tricky, maybe dangerous, what with the fumes being flammable - worse for someone doing large batches of thread and yarn than for you, Shandi - but this is probably the best red I’ve ever seen.” She turned her attention to the “pod,” and picked it up to peer at it. “Just what is this thing?”
“A snail,” the merchant said gleefully. “And no one would ever have noticed what secret this little creature held if Terthorn hadn’t tried to cook them in white wine. I’m the only one he told, and I got him to promise me an exclusive market.”
Shandi had to laugh at that. “So Terthorn’s famous palate and cooking experiments finally have some use! I suppose we should just be glad he didn’t try to cook them in red wine!”
The dye-merchant laughed, “Oh, now he’d never have done that! Haven’t we heard him say a thousand times that no one with any real taste would cook snails in red wine?”
Keisha’s thoughts were more practical. “So exactly how much are you going to part us from for this wonder?” she asked dubiously. She knew it wasn’t going to be cheap; not as strong a red as this, nor one as colorfast. She also knew Shandi would take it at any price, and was just fervently glad that it was this merchant who had the supply, not one of the other two.
“For you, Shandi, I’ll trade it weight-for-weight in silver.” Keisha tried not to wince, but the price was fair. If he had any sense, when he got the stuff into civilized lands, he’d trade it weight-for-weight in gold.
Shandi grimaced, but didn’t argue when Keisha didn’t. “Fair enough,” she said bravely, and dug out four silver coins, placing them on one side of his scales. He crumbled dye into the pan on the other side until they leveled off equal, then winked again, and crumbled a bit more into the pan. He pocketed the coins, then tilted the pan of dye into a paper cone, tapping it to get every crumb into the container. With a little bow, he handed the precious packet to Shandi, who twisted the open end of the cone tight and put it carefully into her pouch.
“I’ll tell you something else, young ladies,” he said, as they were about to move on, “I haven’t looked any further than to get the scarlet. If you can tell me how to get a deep, fast purple as good as the red out of that, I’ll halve the price if you give me an exclusive from here on.”
Keisha’s eyebrows both went up. “Really,” was all she replied, but her mind was already on changing the mordant, adding other possible ingredients, experimenting with double-dyeing with indigo.
Barlen’s look told her that he’d all but seen her thoughts written on her forehead. “If anyone can do it,” he continued with a wave, “you two can. Oh, and Keisha, you ought to go talk to Steelmind; he came to market by himself, and I think he’s got some seeds you might be interested in.”
“Really!” she exclaimed, as Shandi headed straight for the Fellowship booth, one hand protectively cupped over her pouch. “Thanks, Harlen!”
“No problem.” Another villager approached the booth, and Barlen turned his attention to the potential new customer. Keisha moved along to the shaded arbor next to the new Temple that the Hawkbrothers used as a booth when they came to Errold’s Grove.
Normally Hawkbrothers only appeared for the quarterly Faire market days, and when they came, they came in force, with a half-dozen bead-and-feather-bedecked traders and their fierce-looking birds of prey. They took over the arbor and put up a pavilion as well, and traders buzzed around them like bees at a honey pot, for the things they brought, though (aside from a few items) never predictable, were always fantastic. Sometimes it was lengths of silk fabric in impossible colors and patterns, sometimes it was trims and ribbons made of the same silks and silk embroidery thread that girls saved for their wedding dresses. They had been known to bring jewelry, glassware, odd spices and incense, vials of scent and massage oils, rugs sometimes, and, once, simpler variations on their own tunics and robes. Those items that were predictable were always welcome: ropes and cording much stronger than anyone else could make and much lighter, too; hammocks made from that same cord; amazing feathers; furs unlike anyone else brought; leather tanned so that it was as supple and soft as their silks; rare woods; and carvings in stone, ivory, and wood.
But sometimes, one called Steelmind came by himself, bringing strange ornamental or useful plants, herbs, and seeds. Keisha liked him, for all that he never said one word more than he absolutely had to; she also liked his bird, a slow and sleepy buzzard who was perfectly happy to accept a head scratch from her.
Sure enough, Steelmind had tucked himself and his bird into the depths of the arbor, with bare-root plants (roots carefully wrapped in damp moss) and an assortment of well-grown seedlings in small plugs of earth arranged beside him. His blue eyes brightened when he saw Keisha, and he waved - a welcome and an invitation to sit, all in the same gesture.
“Barlen says you have some seeds?” she said, giving the bird his scratch before settling on the turf beneath the arbor, her tunic puddling around her. She bent over to look at the plants he’d brought, and recognized the bare-root ones to be young rose vines.
Roses! She tried to imagine what Hawkbrother-bred rose vines would be like, and failed. She resolved to take at least one of them home with her - maybe more. Mum - would love a climbing rose going over a trellis at the front door - and it would be nice to have one plant in the herb garden that isn ‘t useful for anything!
She felt the same avariciousness that Shandi must have felt over the dye - if there was one weakness she had, it was for her garden. . . .
“It is spring, so mostly I have flower seeds and seedlings and these - ” he gestured at the rose vines, but she sensed he was teasing her.
“Mostly?” she replied.
“Our Healer suggested a few others before I left,” Steelmind said and smiled, an expression that transformed his face and made it obvious that he wasn’t much older than she was. He laughed a little. “Actually, it was stronger than merely suggestion.” He rummaged in a basket at his side and brought out fat little packets of tough silk, sewn at the top to resemble tiny sacks of grain. Each one had a symbol painted on it in a different color. “This stops pain, this stops cough, this is a balm, this stops itching from insect bites and rashes. There are instructions in each packet on growing and use.”
“They work better than what I use now?” she asked skeptically.
He shrugged, and the beads woven into his hair clicked together. “Different, that’s all I know. Better? I don’t know, I’m not a Healer, and we do not know what you have to work with. No worse, certainly. And I have been given orders that if you want them, your price is - nothing. Healer to Healer, is what I was told.”
Nothing? They do trust me to know, what I’m doing! And that these herbs were different from those she had been using - she knew from her own experience that a medication that one person responded well to might not work on another - and might make a third sicker. That was the peril of working with herbs. “I’ll take them, and thank your Healer very sincerely for me,” she replied. “And how much for the rose vines? It will be nice to have something in my garden that isn’t for healing people.”