“He claims these Jokonan girls are his nieces,” the pirate captain put in.
The Corva sisters, who for a change could understand most of what was being said despite the local accents, both nodded tremulously and gripped Pen’s hands as if rescuing them.
“Seems unlikely,” said Falun. “Weren’t they from two different ships? What does he hope to gain by the tale?”
“Good question, since as far as I know they first met yesterday at dawn, when we slung him into their hold. Future concubines?”
“Or present ones, given some men’s tastes. I suppose they’d be grateful.” He eyed Pen in new speculation.
Later, Pen schooled himself. I will take him apart in ways he cannot even imagine.
Oh come, said Des. It’s a logical speculation from his point of view. Surely you’ve learned that much about the world by now.
Bloody-minded demon. Though Des, through some of her less fortunate riders’ earlier lives, not only knew the worst of the world but had experienced a nasty share of it. He chose wisdom and let the point rest.
The sisters, insulted on Pen’s behalf, were looking mulishly at the Rathnattan trader. Which meant they, too, knew more about the world than was comfortable. He gripped their hands back, silently urging silence.
A call in trade Adriac of “All right,” from Marle interrupted this. “I’m ready.”
Falun stepped back, and Marle stepped up and joined him, looking unenthusiastically over the captives. Although he blinked when he came to Pen, and pursed his lips in speculation at the sisters.
Falun swept a hand down the row, and said to his colleague, or rival, “You can have that lot, for all of me. I’ll take those three.” He tapped a finger toward Pen and the sisters.
“Not so fast,” said Captain Valbyn. “You’ll need to outbid Master Marle.”
“What have you calculated for them?” Falun asked, and Marle obligingly extracted the relevant paper from his scribe and showed his arithmetic. Falun frowned. “I’d like a closer look at the blond lad.”
Valbyn’s lips stretched in a piratical smile. “Very well. Let’s take him into a better light.”
At truncheon-prod, Pen let himself be marched back out to the little water-court. There, Valbyn shoved him into the full sunlight and made him turn around. Slight gasps from both flesh-merchants made Pen realize the pirate hadn’t been easing his captive’s discomfiture by setting the examination in private, but rather, was trying to boost his price.
“Make him take off his tunic,” said Falun, an order which Valbyn translated. Pen complied. Falun walked around him making muted noises like a man inspecting a horse. A palm to Pen’s jaw did not quite result in a perusal of his teeth. Instead, Falun said in Roknari, “He’s not cut, is he? He’s so smooth!”
One of Des’s little tricks made shaving as trivial a task as wiping a cloth over his face; maybe he shouldn’t have slipped it past during the recent wash-up…
Valbyn, switching back to Falun’s tongue, offered, “No, look at his build.”
Eunuchs emasculated at a very young age did grow differently, though the one cut man Pen knew as a friend, of sorts, had met his fate well after puberty, and was indistinguishable in outline from any other slim, fit assassin of forty. Except, yes, for his beardlessness.
Falun yanked Pen’s trousers down to briefly check, nearly losing his, well, not life, but perhaps permanent use of that arm. The Rathnattan grinned at Pen’s angry hiss. Stepping back, he let Pen put himself to rights without further molestation.
“He’s been quite docile, so far,” Valbyn pointed out.
“Maybe.” Falun’s bright eyes narrowed at Pen. “If not, it wouldn’t be my problem. How many languages do you say he writes?”
“Adriac, Cedonian, whatever benighted tongue they speak beyond the great mountains where he came from, and he even has a start on Roknari.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve seen him whispering to those Jokonan girls. They seem to understand him.”
“Quintarian, I suppose.”
“Must be.”
Falun smirked at Pen and switched back to trade Adriac. “So you think the demon-god will answer your prayers, Sea-eyes?”
Sadly, no. I think the demon-god employs me to answer them for Him. Lazy Bastard.
Des snickered unhelpfully.
Pen managed a shrug in reply to Falun. Some Quintarians with a deep religious calling might risk martyrdom, proclaiming their faith in the teeth of such mockery. Pen thought if his god wanted him martyred, He could bloody do it without Pen’s help.
Good, murmured Des. Keep that view.
Marle had looked annoyed at being walled off from this dickering by the language barrier, but Pen thought he had followed the play well enough.
They all shuffled back to the main room. The Corva girls looked up anxiously. Pen rejoined them on their bench.
Falun wheeled to study Pen one more time, pursing his lips, then said to Valbyn in trade Adriac, “I’ll take him.” He named a price in Rathnatta silver ryols that caused the pirate to break into a broad smile, and Marle to frown.
“Master Marle…?” said Valbyn in a leading tone. “Do you care to bid again?”
Marle groused, “The curia of Orbas won’t match that for a scribe, no matter how dainty his hands.”
Pen cleared his throat. “They might go up a little,” he offered. “For the three of us.”
“I already calculated for that.” Marle eyed the trio on the bench. “And what price are those girls without him? I misdoubt Orbas will ransom them. I daresay his curia has never even heard of them. Subtract the scribe, and the girls become near-worthless.”
“Not so,” said Falun equably. “One can always sell girls somewhere. Though if you don’t want them, as a matter of piety I’ll take them along and spare them a Quintarian fate.”
The two bidders regarded each other, Marle scowling, Falun smiling faintly.
Valbyn gritted his teeth at the impasse, clearly not wishing to displease either customer, then brightened. “A compromise, then. Why don’t you each take one. At a slave-girl’s price.”
Falun’s brows flicked up. “That suits me well enough.”
“Mm…” said Marle at this lesser consolation. “Not ideal, but it will do.”
Valbyn nodded in satisfaction. “Done.”
Pen shot to his feet. “No! We have to stay together!” I promised…
Totch advanced, truncheon brandished. Valbyn, still in a pleased mood, waved him back. “Now, don’t damage Captain Falun’s merchandise.” While Pen stood fuming, trying to think, he added, “So which of you wants which?”
“The elder,” both men said together.
Valbyn vented a long-suffering sigh, and drew a coin from his pocket. He motioned the port clerk over, saying, “Toss it.”
The port clerk, who looked like a man who wanted to get home to his dinner, took it without comment, flipped it in the air and caught it, and slapped his other hand down over it.
“Call it,” Valbyn said, gesturing to Marle.
After a slight hesitation, Marle said, “Heads.”
The port clerk lifted his hand, revealing the reverse of the coin. Marle grimaced.
“Very good, hearty sirs,” said Valbyn, retrieving his coin before the port clerk could pocket it. “Shall we settle up?”
Pen stood stiff and fuming. Des murmured uneasily, Now, don’t start a scene here that we can’t finish. We aren’t leaving harbor on that galley anyway, are we?