“Lovely lass,” he drawled, leaning sharp elbows on her counter, “I hear you work wonders in wood.”
Now, Plain Kate had caught no fish for two days. Niki’s bread was gone and she was hungry. But she was required to turn down work, and she did: “There’s a wood guild shop—” she began.
He laughed elegantly.“Master Chuny? Boxwood for brains, dead twigs for fingers. No, no, Little Knife. I want someone with some feeling. You see”—he widened his eyes at her—“I’ve suffered a loss.” And he drew from his back, where it was slung like a sword, a length of wood. He set it down in front of her.
The thing was the size of a small branch, polished and curved. The back of the curve was splintery and broken, like a bone. A snapped string curled around it. Plain Kate picked it up.“What is it?”
“A courtier to the queen of all wooden things,” he said.
Plain Kate raised an eyebrow and waited for a more sensible answer.
“It’s a bow,” he said. “A bow for my fiddle.” And he half sang: “A walker, a wanderer, a trader in tin—a roamer with a violin. My name is Linay, and I grant wishes.”
Just then, Taggle sprang from nowhere and landed neatly in front of her. He stuck his long nose into Linay’s pack. Plain Kate picked him up. The cat squirmed, then relaxed into her arm and started to purr. She eased him onto one shoulder and he slunk around her neck, where he draped bonelessly, like a fur collar with glittering eyes.
“Why,” said Linay, “no silver mink could match that.” He reached out to chuckle the cat’s chin.
Taggle bit him.
Linay pulled his hand back and smiled with many teeth.“Sweet-tempered little beast.”
Plain Kate had recovered from the strangeness of Linay’s singing, and his eyes that shone like new tine. She ran a finger down the broken bow. “Yes, I think I could make you another. What can you pay me?”
“Mmmm.” Linay leaned close. “I could write a song about your eyes.”
Kate avoided snorting at a paying customer, but she answered shortly:“Something I can eat.”
Linay smiled, slow as a fern uncurling, and sang:“What do you wish for, Plain Kate?” As he sang he reached out and brushed the side of her face with bony fingers. His hands smelled of herbs, and something shot through her like ice on the neck. She leapt backward.
“Now that’s a wish,” he said, smiling at her distress. “But I wouldn’t. To raise the dead, it’s a tricky thing, goes wrong most often.”
Plain Kate was panting.“I don’t want you to raise my father!”
“Of course you do, orphan girl. All folk want their dead back, and I should know. I’ve spoken with the shadowless, and they come shambling, how they come hungry, how they come wrong as a bird in water—”
“Stop it!”
Linay laughed, merry but not kind.“Well, what do you want, then? Beauty? Luck? I sell them all.” He leaned in, smelling bitter as burnt spices. “Of course, the trinkets are nonsense, fodder for fools. But I have true power and a will to use it. It’s more than the work is worth, but we might trade.”
“What do you want?”
“Your shadow.” His own shadow fell across the table between them, and it seemed thin to Kate, swirling as if cast by smoke, not solid flesh. “If you give me your shadow, I’ll grant the secret wish of your heart.”
“But why? Why do you want it?”
“Ah.” He winked at her. “I know a lady who lacks one.” She must have been gaping at him, because he crooked a finger under her chin to close her mouth. Taggle swiped at him lazily. Linay jerked clear, his smile folding up. “I’ve been listening to talk in this town. They say your shadow is long and that no one loves you. You are luckless and defenseless. Do not doubt that I can twist things until you are glad enough to give me anything I like.”
Then suddenly his smile was back and the roiling edge of his shadow was gone.“But in the meantime, what about my bow? Would you like a beauty charm, perhaps, in payment, Plain Kate?” On his tongue her name suddenly sounded like the insult it had once been.
“I’ll take turnips,” she said sturdily. “Or fishhooks. Fine wood maybe. Coin on the off chance you have it. But I’ll have no deals with witches.”
“Won’t you now?” He was merry again. “I have no turnips or fishhooks or oxcarts or sailcloth. Two silver.”
“Five,” she said.
“Three.”
“Five,” she said again.
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Five.”
Plain Kate put the coin he gave her in advance in her pouch and pulled out her slate to sketch the bow. Taggle’s fur was soft against her neck, and that was the only part of her that felt warm. Linay was eyeing the part of her hair. Finally, as she kept working, he turned away, whistling.
three
the fish, the axe, and the bargain
For the next three days Plain Kate sketched and carved in scrap wood, trying to learn how the bow worked. She kept her head down even though it was a lively time: There were Roamers in the market.
Roamers were wanderers; they lived in tents and traveled from town to town, trading, singing for supper, telling fortunes. Begging, sometimes. Stealing, people said. They had skin like polished walnut, eyes like chestnuts, clothes like a carnival. They lived on the edges of things, and tended to be thin.
Most Roamers were not much welcome in Kate’s little town, which lived too close to hunger to take joy in jugglers, too close to fear to like fortune-tellers. This particular clan, though, came once a year and traded in horses, which was so sensible that even Niki the Baker did business with them. He bought a sturdy pony from the two young men, twins, who tended the little herd. “A dull life she’ll have, driving millstone,” he said, “but she’ll not be beaten.”
Linay, as if driven out by the other strangers, had melted away. Plain Kate put his bow down and worked on Niki’s objarka instead. She found her thoughts chasing one another. There had been a time, in that country, when the Maid of the Wheat was a real woman. When she was led into the last standing quarter of the ripe grain and tied there while the fields were set on fire. Her burning spirit kept the godsfed; her blood was plowed into the ground.
Now they had only one God, and the Wheat Maiden was just a talisman. But women still burned. Plain Kate worked to turn the ends of the objarka’s hair into bearded barley, to turn crosshatch cuts into a woven wheat crown that sat against the smooth forehead. She wished Niki had asked for a horse’s face—the horses in the market were full of life; their hooves clattered on the cobbles like good music. Better than Linay’s tambourine,much better. Kate was sad as evening fell, and the dark-skinned men in their bright colors led the horses away.
When it got too dark to work, Plain Kate went down to the docks to catch dinner. Taggle went ahead of her, with his tail curled in anticipation of fish. The fishing boats were just coming in, the great beacon fire was being lit, and the dock was busy. Plain Kate fished as the stars came out, throwing her line into the darkening water.
Plain Kate caught only one bony bitterling in the first hour, but as the fishermen came by with their barrows, things changed. Where her line went in, the river suddenly swarmed with fish, thick as waves in a whirlpool. Taggle dug in claws and leaned down until his nose almost touched the water. His golden eyes were huge; his teeth clicked with excitement.
The fishermen stopped to look.“Would you look at that,” said Big Jan. He loomed over her in the moonlight. “A body could stand on them.” He nudged Taggle’s twitching rear end with his boot.
The cat fell and twisted as he fell, sinking claws deep into the dock and kicking at the water. Plain Kate grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him out. Taggle dripped and yowled and hissed at Big Jan, who laughed.“Fierce beast you’ve got there, girl,” he said. “Don’t you want to see if he can walk on fish?”