Peter Brett – The Daylight War (страница 2)

Soli grimaced. ‘At least in the Maze I am surrounded by strong, sweating men. And who knows? Perhaps one of the push’ting dama will fancy me. The powerful ones like Baden make their favourite Sharum into personal guards who only have to fight on Waning! Imagine, only three nights a month in the Maze!’

‘Still three nights too many,’ Manvah muttered.

Inevera was confused. ‘Is the Maze not a holy place? An honour?’

Manvah grunted and went back to her weaving. Soli looked at her a long time, his eyes distant. The easy smile melted from his face.

‘The Maze is holy death,’ her brother said at last. ‘A man who dies there is guaranteed Heaven, but I am not so eager to meet Everam just yet.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Inevera said.

Soli shook himself, and the smile returned in an instant. ‘Best not concern yourself with such things, little sister. The Maze is not a burden for you to bear.’

‘Every woman in Krasia bears that burden, my son,’ Manvah said, ‘whether we fight beside you or not.’

Just then there was a groan and a rustling behind the curtain in the back of the kiosk. A moment later Kasaad emerged. Inevera’s father didn’t even look at Manvah as he nudged her out of the shade with his boot to take the coveted spot for himself. He threw a pair of pillows to the ground and lounged upon them, already tipping back a tiny cup of couzi. Immediately he poured another, squinting in the light. As always, his eyes passed over Inevera as if she didn’t exist, settling quickly on her brother.

‘Soli! Put that basket down! You are Sharum now, and should not be working your hands like a khaffit!’

‘Father, we have an order due shortly,’ Soli said. ‘Cashiv …’

‘Pfagh!’ Kasaad said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘I don’t care what that oiled and scented push’ting wants! Put that basket down and get up before someone sees you sullying your new blacks. Bad enough we must waste our day in the filthy bazaar.’

‘It’s like he has no idea where money comes from,’ Soli grumbled, too low for Kasaad to hear. He didn’t stop weaving.

‘Or the food on his table.’ Manvah rolled her eyes. She sighed. ‘Best do as he says.’

‘If I am Sharum now, I can do what I want. Who is he to tell me I cannot weave palm, if that gives me peace?’ As Soli spoke, his hands moved even faster, fingers a blur as he wove the fronds. He was close to the end of a basket, and he meant to finish it. Inevera looked on in wonder. Soli could weave almost as fast as Manvah.

‘He is your father,’ Manvah said, ‘and if you don’t do as he says, we’ll all regret it.’

She turned to Kasaad, her voice sweetening. ‘You and Soli need only stay till the dama call the gloaming, husband.’

Kasaad’s face soured, and he threw back another cup. ‘How did I so offend Everam, that I, the great Kasaad asu Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji, who has sent alagai beyond count to the abyss, should be lowered to guarding a pile of baskets?’ He swept a hand towards the stacks of their work with a look of disgust. ‘I should be mustering for alagai’sharak and the night’s glory!’

‘Drinking with the other Sharum, he means,’ Soli murmured to Inevera. ‘The units that muster early go to the centre of the Maze, where the fighting is fierce. The longer he lounges, the less his chance of actually having to face an alagai while he’s drunk as camel piss on couzi.’

Couzi. Inevera hated the drink. Fermented grain flavoured with cinnamon, it was sold in tiny clay bottles and sipped from even tinier cups. Just sniffing an emptied bottle burned Inevera’s nostrils and left her dizzy. There was no hint of cinnamon in the scent. It was said the taste only became clear after three cups, but after three cups of couzi, whose word could be trusted? It was known to lend itself to exaggeration and delusions of grandeur.

‘Soli!’ Kasaad snapped. ‘Leave the work to the women and come drink with me! We will toast the deaths of the four alagai you slew last night!’

‘You would think I did the whole unit’s work myself,’ Soli grumbled. His fingers moved even faster. ‘I do not drink couzi, Father,’ he called. ‘The Evejah forbids it.’

Kasaad snorted, tipping back another cup. ‘Manvah! Prepare your sharik son some tea, then!’ He tipped the couzi bottle to his cup again, but this time only a few drops fell. ‘And bring me another couzi.’

‘Everam give me patience,’ Manvah muttered. ‘That was the last bottle, husband,’ she called.

‘Then go and buy more,’ Kasaad snapped.

Inevera could hear her mother’s teeth grind. ‘Half the tents in the bazaar are already closed, husband, and we must finish these baskets before Cashiv arrives.’

Kasaad waved a hand in disgust. ‘Who cares if that worthless push’ting has to wait?’

Soli drew a sharp breath, and Inevera saw a smear of blood on his hand, cut from the sharp edge of a palm frond. He gritted his teeth and wove on.

‘Forgive me, honoured husband, but Dama Baden’s factor will not wait,’ Manvah said, continuing her own weave. ‘If Cashiv arrives and the order isn’t ready, he will go down the lane and buy his baskets from Krisha again. Without this order, we won’t have money to pay our war tax, much less buy more couzi.’

‘What?!’ Kasaad shouted. ‘What have you been doing with my money? I bring home a hundred draki a week!’

‘Half of which goes right back to the dama in war tax,’ Manvah said, ‘and you always take twenty more for your pockets. The rest goes to keep you in couzi and couscous, and it isn’t enough by far, especially when you bring home half a dozen thirsty Sharum every Sabbath. Couzi is expensive, husband. The dama cut the thumbs from khaffit caught selling it, and they add the risk to the price.’

Kasaad spat. ‘Khaffit would sell the sun if they could pull it from the sky. Now run and buy some to help ease my wait for that half-man.’

Soli finished his basket, rising and slamming it down atop his pile. ‘I’ll go, Mother. Chabin will have some, and he never closes before gloaming is sung.’

Manvah’s eyes tightened, but she did not take them from her weaving. She, too, had begun weaving faster, and now her hands were a blur. ‘I don’t like you leaving when we have a month’s work sitting out in the open.’

‘No one will rob us with Father right there,’ Soli said, but as he looked to his father, trying to lick a last drop from the couzi bottle, he sighed. ‘I will be so swift you won’t even know I’ve gone.’

‘Back to work, Inevera,’ Manvah snapped as Soli ran off. Inevera looked down, realizing only then that she had stopped weaving as she watched the events unfold. Quickly she resumed.

Inevera would not dare look right at him, but she could not help watching her father out of the corner of her eye. He was eyeing Manvah as she turned the basket with her nimble feet. Her black robes had risen as she worked, exposing her bare ankles and calves.

Kasaad put one hand to his crotch, rubbing. ‘Come here, wife, I would …’

‘I. Am. Working!’ Manvah took a palm branch from the pile, breaking fronds from it with sharp snaps.

Kasaad seemed genuinely confused at her reaction. ‘Why would you refuse your husband, barely an hour before he goes into the night?’

‘Because I’ve been breaking my back over these baskets for weeks,’ Manvah said. ‘Because it’s late and the lane’s gone quiet. And because we’ve got a full stock out with no one to guard it but a horny drunk!’

Kasaad barked a laugh. ‘Guard it from who?’

‘Who, indeed?’ a voice asked, and all turned to see Krisha stepping around the counter and into the kiosk.

Krisha was a big woman. Not fat – few in the Desert Spear enjoyed that luxury – but a warrior’s daughter, thickly set with a heavy stride and callused hands. Like all dal’ting, she wore the same head-to-toe black cloth as Manvah. She was a weaver as well, one of Manvah’s principal rivals in the Kaji tribe – less skilled, but more ambitious.

She was followed into the tent by four other women in dal’ting black. Two were her sister-wives, their faces covered in black. The others were her daughters, unmarried, their faces bare. From the looks of them, this drove away more potential husbands than it invited. None of the women was small, and they spread like jackals stalking a hare.

‘You’re working late,’ Krisha noted. ‘Most of the pavilions have tied their flaps.’

Manvah shrugged, not taking her eyes off her weaving. ‘The call to curfew isn’t for the better of an hour.’

‘Cashiv always comes at the end of the day before Dama Baden’s Waxing Party, does he not?’ Krisha said.

Manvah did not look up. ‘My clients do not concern you, Krisha.’

‘They do when you use your push’ting son to steal them from me,’ Krisha said, her voice low and dangerous. Her daughters moved to Inevera, separating her from her mother. Her sister-wives moved deeper into the kiosk towards Kasaad.

Manvah looked up at this. ‘I stole nothing. Cashiv came to me, saying your baskets fell apart when filled. Blame your weavers and not me for the loss of business.’

Krisha nodded, picking up the basket Inevera had just added to the pile. ‘You and your daughter do fine work,’ she noted, tracing a finger along the weave. Then she threw the basket to the ground, stomping down hard on it with her sandalled foot.