The first thing Bishop noticed about the village of Jazareen was that it reminded him of home. Well, not precisely. It didn't remind him of the village of Barnslow where he was born, but it reminded him of his father's barn. The smell of animal blood running into the earth and staying there to rot, despite repeated attempts to rise it from the soil, pervaded the air. It smelled like any butcher's yard, really, but the whole village stank of it. He made his way to an inn and procured a room for the night. Dropping his pack in the foot locker by his bunk, he returned to the city center.
He had noticed the dress change as he'd moved further north along the river. The women of the cities in Thay tended to either shave their heads, or cover their hair with colorful scarves tucked under their chins. Here in Karkovr, further towards the city of Thaymount, they were a bit less modest, tying their scarves behind their ears, leaving their chins and necks bare and showing off large, flashy earrings. He looked like a stranger among them, a sunburned, pale-skinned stranger among the black-haired swarthy Thayans. There was no blending in.
Across from the inn was a bar – really just a table set up along the side of the street so that the workmen could drink their beer quickly and return to their trades. It was midafternoon, and so the workmen were all back in their shops or sleeping off their lunchtime ale, and the only person there was a grizzled old man, the part of his face not covered in snow-white beard was a web of wrinkles.
"Good afternoon, Uncle," he said. The Thayans called every old man uncle. It was considered impolite to call an elder by his name. These were things that Addie had taught him to notice, as he had taught her to notice broken branches and footprints.
"It's a son of a bitch of an afternoon!" the old man cried. Bishop recoiled as the scent of his breath – garlic on top of alcohol on top of more garlic – hit him full in the face.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Uncle," said Bishop, "What happened?" He signaled the bartender to bring him an ale, and another one for the old man.
"Don't call me Uncle. My name is Abu-Nisah. Uncle is a term of endearment, and there's none that are dear to me anymore," the old man said. He drank deeply, and looked back at Bishop through red-rimmed green eyes. " That rat bastard son of a dog Hayat has stolen my granddaughter," he said, taking a final pull on his ale, and taking the one that Bishop got from him, "My sweet Shiren."
"Forgive me, Abu-Nisah," Bishop said, "I am quite new in town. Who is Hayat?"
"Hayat Ensaan, the mayor's son. Not like being mayor of the Village of Butchers is any kind of great gods-damn honor," the old man said, "It just means you get to watch others get blood under their nails and cow shit on their feet and not have to do it yourself, but you still have to smell it!"
"Ah, I see," Bishop said, "This is the Village of Butchers?"
"Kiria Jazareen is its proper name," the Abu-Nisah said, "Or Jazareen, but it's the Village of Butchers. The herdsmen from the steppes around bring their horses and oxen for the slaughter. They pay us in gold to do their dirty work for them. Those barbarians think of their animals as one in the family, they cannot bear to lift a knife to them themselves. And so it falls to us. It is how my father made his living, and his father before him."
"My father was a butcher as well," Bishop said, truthfully.
"Ah, so you know something of us," Abu-Nisah said, "Not such a stranger, despite your complexion. Where are you from?"
"Kuldahar," he replied.
"And what is your name, son?"
"Keowan Kylassen," he said.
"I'm not going to begin to try to pronounce that," Abu-Nisah said, taking another drink, "But you seem like a nice boy. A real man, with hands calloused from work. Tell me, Keo- Keo-…. son, are you a butcher like your father?"
"I'm nothing like my father," Bishop said, "I'm a hunter."
"Same thing," Abu-Nisah said, hiccupping, "You end the life of gentle creatures to feast upon their flesh. But it is an honorable trade, that of the huntsman. I'm sure your father is proud of you."
Bishop gave a short, barking laugh that indicated he was not, indeed, terribly amused by this.
"I never had a son, only daughters," Abu-Nisah said, "And all of them dead and gone. Hawa died before her first birthday of the fever. Ashreen was run over by an oxcart when she was three. Leyla was killed by raiders from the river. Only Yasmin lived to adulthood. She gave me my sweet Shiren, and died in the process…"
"Your granddaughter."
"My granddaughter," Abu-Nisah said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"What happened?"
"You know how rich men are," the old man said, "They think they can have anything they want, just because they have the means to pay for it. Hayat offered me gold for Shiren's hand in marriage. Shiren refused. She did not love him."
"You would not be the first father to sell his daughter's hand in marriage," Bishop said, mildly.
"I have lost four daughters," Abu-Nisah said, "And my wife. Do you think I would sell my only granddaughter to be unhappy for the rest of her days?"
"No, sir."
"I had arranged a marriage for her that was agreeable to everyone involved. To Rafa, the boatman's son. They were fond of each other, and Rafa was willing to take over my business when my hands become too arthritic to skin a cow. And then Hayat came, all in the night, and stole her. His men held scimitars to my throat. I would have rather died than let Shiren go with them, but she begged and pleaded for my life, saying she would do anything he asked if they would spare me. And they stole her."
"You say that Hayat Ensaan is a rich man?" Bishop said, raising his eyebrows.
"He's bought a force of fifty herdsman to protect his manor, where he lives in luxury while the rest of us wade through rivers of animal blood in the street," Abu-Nisah said, "So you see my dilemma. I am cursed to spend the rest of my days alone, no great-grandchildren to lighten my step, the only person who has not left me for the land of the dead is locked behind walls of stone."
"And what would happen to the village if Hayat was brought down, say, hypothetically, if a gang of thieves were to assault his household?"
"With my sweet Shiren inside?" Abu-Nisah exclaimed.
"Let's pretend she's brought back, and is safe with you," Bishop said.
"His household is set off from the village, across the river," Abu-Nisah said, "I doubt that anybody would notice, until Hayat failed to come around to collect taxes. I suppose… I suppose the village elders would have to elect a new mayor."
Bishop smiled, "And what you do if I brought back your granddaughter this very night?"
"You wouldn't dare."
"And if I did?" Bishop asked.
"I have no money to pay you," Abu-Nisah said. He thought a moment, "Well, I suppose you could marry Shiren…"
"I'm promised to another," Bishop said, "I ask nothing but information, on how to get into the house of Hayat Ensaan."
Abu-Nisah looked at him a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low and gruff. "So, you are a hunter of men."
Bishop nodded.
"I see the gods have answered my prayers," the old man said, bowing his head, "Gods be praised. There is a way in. That arrogant prick has diverted the might river Lapendrar to flow around his household, protecting him. Supplies are brought by boat. There's a dock at the back of the house that is only guarded by one guard. You being a hunter of men, I imagine you can take care of that…"
"I'll need a boat," Bishop said, but a thought occurred to him, "What did you say her fiancé did for a living?"
Abu-Nisah nodded slowly, "Rafa is a good boy, but he does not have the stones to kill a man. I can see from your face that you have killed many men. Go seek him out down by the town dock. He's hard to miss. He's a bit younger than you, and the tallest man in the village."
The house of Hayat Ensaan is likely overflowing with riches, Bishop thought, A splendid prize for Mackrem Cullygan.
He made his way through the stinking streets of Kiria Jazareen to the river. The town dock was teeming with folk. Neatly wrapped packages of meat went into canoes tied up on the dock, while bleating goats and squawking chickens came up from the river. He scanned about for a moment, and then saw what he was looking for. The youth was, indeed, very tall, six and a half feet or more. He had the olive complexion of most Thayans, and his hair was curly and made a bushy halo around his had.
"Rafa!" he shouted. The youth turned.
"That's me," he said, "Rafa Markabi."
"Abu-Nisah told me to seek you out," Bishop said.
Rafa's eyes went wide, and he rushed up to Bishop, taking him by the elbow. The boatman dragged him up back onto shore, to a place where fewer people rushed about.
"What did he tell you?" Rafa asked.
"He told me of your predicament," Bishop said.
Rafa's face went red, "Yes. Shiren…"
"I'm going to rescue her," Bishop said.
"Why would you do a thing like that?" Rafa asked, "He'll only come out and steal her again."
"No he won't," Bishop said, "In two days time his house is going to be robbed and burned to the ground. That will scarcely give him time to realize she's gone."
"You're crazy," Rafa said, "Who are you, anyway? You've skin like a man who's never seen the sun."
"Nevermind who I am," he said, "And for the record, this is what I look like after two years in the sun. But right now I am doing you and your fiancée a favor, because it suits me and my purposes. If you like I can find my own way into Hayat Ensaan's house and I can leave Shiren there to burn with the rest of it when the raiders come."
"You're a river pirate," Rafa guessed again, "I should call the forces right now…"
" They're coming whether you like it or not," Bishop said in a hushed voice, "Now, either they can rob both the house of Hayat Ensaan and the village, and probably kill Shiren in the process, or they can rob Hayat, Shiren can be safe in your arms, and the village will be left untouched."
Rafa looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide whether or not this pale-skinned stranger was bluffing.
"You'll save her?"
"I will," Bishop said.
"Why?"
"I have a soft spot for star-crossed lovers," Bishop said.
"Where is yours?"
"Somewhere up north," Bishop said, "Have you seen a black-haired woman with a dark complexion come through here?"
"Stranger, that describes half the women in the village, you're going to have to be more specific than that."
"Never mind," Bishop sighed, "I need you to take me into the house of Hayat tonight, in the wee hours, after the moon has gone down. Don't tell a soul."
"You know this probably means I'm crazy," said Rafa, "But I'm going to trust you."
"Why?" asked Bishop.
"Because, this whole time you've been fiddling with that kerchief you have tied around your wrist," Rafa said, "That's a woman's kerchief, isn't it."
Bishop felt the heat rise in his face. It was one of Addie's scarves that she covered her head with to keep the sun from burning her scalp. He'd taken it with him when he left the ship. It smelled of her, and the feel of it around his wrist recalled the feel of it beneath his fingers when he ran his hand over her head. He nodded.
"Very well, stranger. Meet me here once the moon has gone down."
Bishop nodded, still embarrassed that he'd given away the secrets of his heart so easily. He returned to the inn to snatch a few hours of sleep before he went to case the mayor's house.