I almost laughed at him. I’d been the target of such discussions many a time.
He was clearly uncomfortable, trying to figure out how in hoolies to say the right thing. “I—well…I didn’t really pay attention growing up. I just know, compared to what I’ve seen since, she wasn’t so circumscribed. She was free to speak, and she won her share of arguments.”
“And you have a sister. How is she being raised?”
Neesha’s smile came quickly. “My sister knows her own mind. I don’t think any Southroner could convince her otherwise, and that includes our father.”
Del grunted. “That’s something.”
“We used to spar,” he continued, “Rashida and I. We’d draw a circle and batter away at one another with dead tree limbs we fashioned into so-called swords.”
Del rolled back onto her spine, collapsing loosely with limbs sprawled out. “Maybe she should go to the North. Be a sword-singer. That is, if your father would allow it.”
Neesha grinned up into the sky, finding a way through the thicket. “Well, we’ll see him the day after tomorrow. Why don’t you ask the man himself?”
And that put paid to the topic. Del announced she was going to take a nap and rolled onto her side facing away from us. Neesha and I exchanged grins, and then I settled into a more comfortable position and drifted off.
Chapter 11
AT A LARGE OASIS SUCH AS THIS ONE, it is always possible to buy food from someone if one is tired of travel rations. All three of us decided fresh meat, bread, dates, and cheese would taste much better than what we’d tucked away in our saddle pouches. I cleared dead coals out of the fire ring and built a modest pyramid of sticks, Neesha went looking for food, and Del took our empty coal pot and went to a near neighbor to beg for fresh chunks burning hot. Once she returned I carefully spilled the coals into the fire ring and used a stick to arrange them amidst the kindling. The fire burned warmly by the time Neesha came back with our dinner. In one hand he carried chunks of meat speared on three slender sharpened stakes, two loaves of fresh bread, a hunk of goat cheese to go with the mutton, and a handful of dates. A feast.
As we ate, the sun slid down the sky, dousing itself in a panoply of red, gold, and orange. Bluish twilight settled. The air was redolent with roasting meat, heavily spiced. Around glowing fire rings, people laughed and talked; others sang, played wooden flutes; and some just ate, like the three of us. Neesha and I washed the meal down with aqivi while Del kept to water, after reminding us the aqivi wasn’t meant to be drunk, but to aid in disinfecting wounds. Her protest was unconvincing, and Neesha and I merely smiled at her cheerfully as we passed the bota back and forth.
It was as we finished dinner that the man arrived. He wore a burnous of superior silk dyed deep green with copper-colored embroidery along the sleeve hems, a wide, copper-studded leather belt. Matching cuff bracelets glowed in our firelight. Under a green turban with a glinting amber brooch pinned to it, his features and coloring were Southron, but when he glanced at Del he did not assume the pained or outraged expression of a man who wished not to speak in a woman’s company. Neither was there curiosity or disbelief; he simply glanced at her briefly, took a deep breath as if to convince himself he should make no comment, then looked down at me where I sat on my blankets.
He spoke Desert with a liquid flexibility. “I am Mahmood. I am a merchant. Others told me how to recognize you because of the scars on your face, and the Northern woman who rides with you. You’re the Sandtiger.”
I raised my brows to ask a mute question as I finished chewing the last bite of mutton and tossed the bota to Neesha.
He appeared to understand what I meant, and answered me. “They said you hire on to protect caravans.”
I swallowed the chunk of meat. “Who’s ‘they’?”
Mahmood waved a hand apparently intended to encompass the world. “They. People. Just—people.”
I nodded at him as I drank a squirt of aqivi. “Yes, we’ve guarded caravans.”
“We’re going to the North with spices and silk,” he explained. “Saffron and cinnamon, both very costly, and silk threaded with silver. They would be most interested in my goods.”
Borjuni—raiders—would be interested in his goods. Del was nodding.
“I hired two men as outriders. I lost one to a viper,” he continued, “and another refused to finish the journey when he met a woman in a small village. I am left with no guards. If you and the woman come with us, I would pay you well.”
At least he understood that if he hired me, he would also have to hire Del. That was a nice change.
“What about me?” Neesha asked, aggrieved. “We’d be three. Better odds, don’t you think?”
Mahmood stared at him, sizing him up, then looked back at me as if asking if Neesha was worth the coin. I smiled at him. “Yes, we are three, and the odds indeed would be better.”
He bobbed his head and offered a small, soft leather bag. “In advance,” he said, leaning down to put it into my hand. “More when we reach our destination.”
“Where in the North are you going?” Del asked.
“Istamir. Not far across the border.”
She nodded. “Those folk will pay well for your goods.”
“Provided we can get them there,” he said somewhat gloomily. “I’m told the borjuni are bad this season.”
Borjuni were bad any season along the border. The problem was, you never knew exactly where they’d be on any given day. There might be none in your vicinity. There might be many. Mahmood was wise to replace his missing outriders. Mahmood was wise to hire all three of us.
“Four wagons,” he said. “Not so many. One driver each, all experienced.”
“Do you drive?” I asked.
A nod of the turban. “Lead wagon. I know the way.”
Del observed, “So do I.” She smiled faintly at Mahmood. “So if raiders kill you, we could still get your goods to Istamir.”
He was not exactly sure how he should react to that, coming from a woman. It suggested the possibility of an attack, which would be very bad fortune, and he wasn’t certain what Del could offer as an outrider.
“Istamir is a day’s ride to my family’s place,” Neesha said. “We’d just have to drop back down a bit.”
“And from here to Istamir, three days.” Del nodded at Mahmood. “We will get you there safely.”
Faintly, Mahmood thanked her, then looked at me. He was more comfortable looking at me. While he accorded Del more acceptance than he would other women—she was a Northerner, and the Sandtiger’s partner—he just didn’t know how to treat her. But I gave him credit for trying.
“First things first,” I said. “Change out of that expensive burnous and put on your plainest. Leave off the wrist cuffs. Wear a belt with no ornamentation. Take that brooch off your turban.”
He was plainly shocked. “But I am successful! No one will know it if I dress like a peasant. They will believe they can haggle me down from my prices!”
Dryly, I said, “Do you want raiders to know you’re so successful? And they won’t haggle anyway. They’ll just kill you and ride away with your costly spices and fabric.”
He struggled with it. I was willing to bet it had taken a lot of years and as much effort to reach his current affluence.
After a moment he looked at me worriedly. “I can leave off the ornaments, but I have no plain burnouses.”
I shrugged. “Not difficult to fix. Just bring me one. I’ll get it wet, then drag it in the dirt.”
He wasn’t sure if I was joking or not. His voice was weak. “In the dirt?”