What Goes Around
As he had done the past four days in a row, the object of Bialar Crais' scrutiny arrived two arns before sunset, his cart laden with bushels of tangeleros. Two children, a girl of perhaps twelve cycles and a boy slightly younger, followed dutifully behind. After bartering the fruit for credits, he went directly to the hostelry where he would stay until nightfall while the children waited outside with the cart.
Any uncertainty Crais harbored vanished with the fleeting daylight. He crossed the street and came to one knee in front of the children. The girl instinctively raised an arm to keep her younger brother safely behind her. Strangers were uncommon here and always suspect.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Li'leeah."
"Named for your mother."
The child, uncertain if he intended it as a question or statement, nodded.
"Have you anything to eat or drink?" he asked.
Without breaking eye contact, she patted a canteen tied around her waist by a length of twine.
The sash of his turban concealed a mirthless smile. He removed a biscuit from his pocket and offered it to her. Her wide dark eyes surveyed the stranger, the biscuit and the door to the hostelry in quick succession. The boy hastily reached across her arm to take it.
"You there! What the hezmana do you think you're doing?"
The voice was exactly as he remembered it. The features were withered and shrunken with age, but recognizable.
"I have a business proposition. Is there a place we can speak privately?" Crais pulled back his long coat to reveal a plump money pouch attached to his belt.
The elder Sebacean's brow peaked with interest. He motioned with his head toward the alleyway.
Crais followed him between buildings to the rear exit of the hostelry. A single illumination rod above the porch shed light on things best left unseen as countless creatures scurried or slithered from view at the men's footsteps. The stench of urine and garbage made him thankful for the band of cloth stretched across his nose.
"What's your business here?" the old man asked without introduction.
No unnecessary words or pleasantries. He had not changed at all. "My wife is barren and it is our desire to have a family. I was told that twice in the past you accepted compensation..."
Eyes narrowed, his head listed to one side in thought. "It's true...a man can have too many mouths to feed in lean years."
Crais reached for the money pouch and waggled it, allowing the coins to seduce him with their music.
"These are the last two. That old woman of mine will raise hezmana with me if I come home without either of them. That there're no Peacekeepers in these parts now to explain their disappearance complicates matters. Besides, I'm not getting any younger...I've got fields to sow."
"There's enough here that working the fields should no longer be an issue." Crais tossed the bag over and waited while the old man hastily opened and examined the contents. He nodded.
"These are the conditions. They don't come back...ever. If you have a problem with either one of them, you handle it somewhere else, not here. Is that understood?"
"How do I know they will not try to return to you on their own?"
"'Cause I'll tell 'em, that's why. You want the deal or don't you?"
Crais extended his hand. "Agreed."
"Done."
The old man grinned and shook on it, but his joy and prosperity were short lived. Instead of releasing his hand, Crais tightened his grip and yanked him forward, his free hand pulling aside the sash to reveal his face.
"Who are you?" he growled, powerless against the younger, stronger man.
Crais gripped his chin and forced him to take a closer look. "You don't recognize me, do you...Father?"
The word coincided with the snap of his neck.
* * *
The stranger told me that there had been an accident and Father would not be coming home. He concealed the money pouch in the back of our cart, covering it with straw and an empty bushel, saying we should give it to Mother.
Neither of us asked what happened, but Chulo did inquire whether he had another biscuit in his pocket.
I assured him that we could find our way home safely in the dark and smacked the pony into a trot. When I turned back to glimpse him he had already gone.
As he had done the past four days in a row, the object of Bialar Crais' scrutiny arrived two arns before sunset, his cart laden with bushels of tangeleros. Two children, a girl of perhaps twelve cycles and a boy slightly younger, followed dutifully behind. After bartering the fruit for credits, he went directly to the hostelry where he would stay until nightfall while the children waited outside with the cart.
Any uncertainty Crais harbored vanished with the fleeting daylight. He crossed the street and came to one knee in front of the children. The girl instinctively raised an arm to keep her younger brother safely behind her. Strangers were uncommon here and always suspect.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Li'leeah."
"Named for your mother."
The child, uncertain if he intended it as a question or statement, nodded.
"Have you anything to eat or drink?" he asked.
Without breaking eye contact, she patted a canteen tied around her waist by a length of twine.
The sash of his turban concealed a mirthless smile. He removed a biscuit from his pocket and offered it to her. Her wide dark eyes surveyed the stranger, the biscuit and the door to the hostelry in quick succession. The boy hastily reached across her arm to take it.
"You there! What the hezmana do you think you're doing?"
The voice was exactly as he remembered it. The features were withered and shrunken with age, but recognizable.
"I have a business proposition. Is there a place we can speak privately?" Crais pulled back his long coat to reveal a plump money pouch attached to his belt.
The elder Sebacean's brow peaked with interest. He motioned with his head toward the alleyway.
Crais followed him between buildings to the rear exit of the hostelry. A single illumination rod above the porch shed light on things best left unseen as countless creatures scurried or slithered from view at the men's footsteps. The stench of urine and garbage made him thankful for the band of cloth stretched across his nose.
"What's your business here?" the old man asked without introduction.
No unnecessary words or pleasantries. He had not changed at all. "My wife is barren and it is our desire to have a family. I was told that twice in the past you accepted compensation..."
Eyes narrowed, his head listed to one side in thought. "It's true...a man can have too many mouths to feed in lean years."
Crais reached for the money pouch and waggled it, allowing the coins to seduce him with their music.
"These are the last two. That old woman of mine will raise hezmana with me if I come home without either of them. That there're no Peacekeepers in these parts now to explain their disappearance complicates matters. Besides, I'm not getting any younger...I've got fields to sow."
"There's enough here that working the fields should no longer be an issue." Crais tossed the bag over and waited while the old man hastily opened and examined the contents. He nodded.
"These are the conditions. They don't come back...ever. If you have a problem with either one of them, you handle it somewhere else, not here. Is that understood?"
"How do I know they will not try to return to you on their own?"
"'Cause I'll tell 'em, that's why. You want the deal or don't you?"
Crais extended his hand. "Agreed."
"Done."
The old man grinned and shook on it, but his joy and prosperity were short lived. Instead of releasing his hand, Crais tightened his grip and yanked him forward, his free hand pulling aside the sash to reveal his face.
"Who are you?" he growled, powerless against the younger, stronger man.
Crais gripped his chin and forced him to take a closer look. "You don't recognize me, do you...Father?"
The word coincided with the snap of his neck.
* * *
The stranger told me that there had been an accident and Father would not be coming home. He concealed the money pouch in the back of our cart, covering it with straw and an empty bushel, saying we should give it to Mother.
Neither of us asked what happened, but Chulo did inquire whether he had another biscuit in his pocket.
I assured him that we could find our way home safely in the dark and smacked the pony into a trot. When I turned back to glimpse him he had already gone.