Etzwane and Ifness continued toward the mud-and-wattle inn, leading the riderless beasts. Ifness said, "Six ounces of silver for two able individuals; it seems no great sum. Perhaps we were gulled. But no matter, in any event. Gulshe and Srenka will profit greatly by learning another facet of the slavery trade… I could almost wish that… but no! It is uncharitable to think of my colleague Dasconetta in this connection. Almost I regret the parting of ways with Gulshe and Srenka. They were picturesque companions."
Etzwane looked back over his shoulder to the slave pens. Except for Ifness' energy pack, he would now be peering forth from between the withes. Still-these were the risks he had weighed in Garwiy; he had elected to face them rather than pursue a life of security, music, and ease… Ifness was speaking, as much to himself as to Etzwane: "I regret only that we failed to learn more from Gulshe and Srenka… Well, here we are at the hostelry. In retrospect the inn at Shillinsk seems a haven of palatial luxury. We will represent ourselves not as wizards nor research students, nor even bone merchants. The most prestigious occupation at Shagfe is slavery, and slavery is our trade."
At the inn they paused to survey the settlement. The afternoon was warm and placid: infants crawled in the dirt; older children played at slave-taking among the tents, leaping forth with ropes to drag away their captives. At the trough under the windmill three squat dark-haired woman in leather pants and straw capes bickered with the ahulphs. The women carried sticks and struck at the ahulphs' long sensitive feet whenever they attempted to drink: the ahulphs in turn kicked dirt at the women and screamed abuse. Beside the road a dozen crones in shapeless straw cloaks huddled beside offerings of goods to be traded: mounds of dark-red meal, thongs of dried meat, blue-black finger grubs in boxes of wet moss, fat green beetles tethered to stakes, sugar pods, boiled birds, cardamoms, salt crusts. Above, the vast bright sky; to all sides, the hot flat plain; far in the east a band of riders, visible only as a vibration of black specks, with a thin plume of lavender dust above… Ifness and Etzwane approached the inn, and entered by a hole in the mud wall. The common room was dim and dank-smelling. A rack behind the counter supported three barrels; elsewhere were benches and stools where half a dozen men sat with earthenware bowls of sour seed wine or mugs of the famous Shagfe cellar brew. Conversation halted; the men stared at Ifness and Etzwane with a still intensity. The sole illumination was the purple glare of outdoors seeping through the door-hole. Ifness and Etzwane peered around the room while their eyes adjusted to the dimness.
A short, bare-chested man with long white hair ambled forward. He wore a leather apron and knee boots, and was apparently Baba the proprietor. He inquired their needs in a rough dialect which Etzwane understood more through divination than comprehension.
Ifness responded in a fair simulation of the dialect. "What sort of lodging are you able to provide us?"
"The best to be had in Shagfe," declared Baba the innkeeper. "Anyone will tell you as much. Is your question motivated by sheer curiosity?"
"No," replied Ifness. "You may show us the best you have to offer."
"That is simple enough," said Baba. "This way, if you please. " He led them down an ill-smelling corridor, past a rudimentary kitchen where a great kettle of porridge simmered over a fire, and into a bare courtyard, sheltered around the periphery by an overhanging roof. "Select whatever area you wish. The rain generally sweeps in from the south and the south bay is the driest."
Ifness nodded gravely. "The lodging is adequate. What of our pacers?"
"I will take them to my stable and feed them hay, provided that you make suitable recompense. How long is your stay?"
"A day or two, or even longer, depending upon the transaction of our business. We are slave traders with a commission to buy a dozen stout Red Devils to row the galley of an east coast potentate. We understand, however, that the Red Devils have all been killed, which is sad news to hear."
"Your misfortune is my great luck, for they were on the march toward Shagfe and might well have destroyed my hostelry."
"Perhaps the conquerors took captives?"
"I believe not, but in the common room sits Fabrache the Lucky Little Survivor. He claims to have witnessed the battle, and who is to doubt his word? If you were to provide a mug or two of cellar brew, his tongue would wag freely, I vouch for this."
"A happy thought. Now, as to the fee for shelter and food, for us and our pacers…"
The haggling proceeded, Ifness driving a hard bar- gain in order to avoid a reputation for openhandedness. After five minutes a value defined as two ounces of silver was placed upon high-quality food and lodging for a period of five days.
"Very good then," said Ifness, "though as usual I have allowed a skillful rhetorician to persuade me into foolish extravagance. Let us now confer with Fabrache the Lucky Little Survivor. How did he gain this unusual cognomen?"
"It is no more than a child's pet name. Three times as an infant his mother attempted to drown him, and each time he pushed up through the mud. She gave up her task in disgust, and even bestowed the diminutive upon him. He became a man without fear; he reasonably argues that if Gaspard the God desired his death, he would not have overlooked this early opportunity…"
Baba led the way back to the common room. He called "I introduce to the company the noble Ifness and Etzwane, who have come to Shagfe to buy slaves."
A man to the side gave a dispirited moan. "So now they compete with Hozman Sore-throat to drive prices still higher?"
"Hozman Sore-throat has bid for no Red Devils, which these traders require. " Baba the innkeeper turned to a tall, thin man with a long, dismal face and a beard hanging below his chin like an icicle of black hair. "Fabrache, what are the facts? How many Red Devils still survive?"
Fabrache responded with the deliberation of an obstinate man. "The Red Devils are extinct in the Mirkil district, which is to say, in the neighborhood of Shagfe. I spoke with men of the Tchark race from south of the Kuzi Kaza; they reported that the Red Devil bands had joined into a single horde, which then had marched north. Two days later I watched an army of magicians destroy this horde. Each Red Devil was killed and then rekilled: an astounding sight which I will never forget."
"The magic army took no captives? " asked Ifness.
"None. They destroyed the Red Devils and marched away into the east. I descended to the battlefield to salvage metal, but ahulphs had preceded me and every ounce was preempted. But this is not all my tale. As I turned toward Shagfe I saw a great ship lift into the air, light as fluff, and disappear behind the clouds."
"A miraculous vision! " declared Ifness. "Innkeeper, supply this man a mug of cellar brew."
Etzwane asked, "Was the ship round as a disk and the color of copper-bronze?"