CHAPTER NINE
The Road
As hard as it was to say goodbye, not saying it would be worse.
They left through the back gate of the Residence grounds. This was driving, but it didn’t feel like it, because the vehicle felt like an entire room. It was luxurious—it had silk carpeting, a padded couch that faced forward, another padded couch that faced sideways, a narrow desk, a small door into a bathroom, and curtains along the upper sections of the side walls. If Della hadn’t been this way so many hundreds of times, she wouldn’t have recognized the road to her own house.
Then the floater stopped, and the door opened.
The familiar arched entry, with its iron gate, was directly in front of her. Her house wasn’t unusual for this neighborhood—it was large, multi-story, with all its windows facing inward on a central courtyard. When she and Tagaret got out, members of the Household greeted them and ushered them into the entry hall, which was as large as the dining room at home.
Her family was waiting. Liadis rarely ever left the path between her bedroom and her music room, but today she stood with Mother and Father, holding Father’s hand. She had two caretakers with her; the younger one supported her elbow to help her walk. Liadis had always been more comfortable sitting on a bench, fingers and feet flying over the stone keys of her yojosmei, bathing in music.
Mother ran forward and embraced Della so tightly their hairpins got caught, and Yoral had to help extricate them. By the time they had gotten separated, Father and Liadis had caught up, and they all held one another.
“I can’t believe Nekantor,” Mother exclaimed. “We were just planning to spend time with you, and then he sends you off with no warning at all?”
“I’m really sorry, Mother,” said Della.
“I’m sorry, too,” said Tagaret, who had taken a step backward when they all converged.
“Your brother is not your fault, Tagaret,” said Mother, firmly. “Eyn bless you.”
“Thanks.”
“Please be safe,” added Father. “Send us a radiogram when you arrive, all right? When will you be back?”
Della glanced at Tagaret. “I’m not sure.”
“Where are you going?” Liadis asked, with a broad smile that showed her small teeth. “Why are you wearing trousers?”
They’d probably told her—but if she’d been concentrating on her music at the time, she wouldn’t have heard. Della stroked her sister’s short coppery hair back from her face. “We’re going to Selimna, Lili,” she said. “These are my traveling trousers. I’m going to see the surface, and Father Varin, and when we get there there will be lots of music. I wish you could come.”
Liadis made a face. “I want to come play music but I don’t want to see Father Varin. Not at all.”
“Well, you don’t have to. I’ll write you letters, and Mother can read them to you while you play. And I’ll send you some new music, all right?”
Liadis grinned. “Yes! Send me music. Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Della,” said Mother, “I don’t imagine Nekantor had the decency to arrange a doctor for you in Selimna, did he?”
She gulped. “Honestly, Mother, I wouldn’t want him to. I have my Yoral.”
Mother could have started scolding, but thank Heile, she only pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Please, love, let one of our caretakers check you before you go. Just to ease my mind.”
Della didn’t roll her eyes. The suggestion was infuriating, but it was sensible. She didn’t have a doctor she really trusted in Pelismara; who knew how long it would take to find a decent one in Selimna? She sighed.
“All right. Mother, come sit with me, at least.” Together, they went to one of the brass benches by the wall, padded in malachite-striped velvet. The older caretaker, Imbati Bestao, followed them. Mother sat beside her, stroking the side of her arm; Bestao produced a device from one pocket that he attached to her finger, and pressed another briefly to her forehead.
“Looking good, Mistress Pazeu,” he said as he removed them. “I’ll just check her blood pressure.”
He wrapped a cuff around Della’s arm. It tightened; her breath tightened with it. Della tried not to think about it. “Mother, I have a favor to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“Please reach out to Lady Tamelera while we’re gone. She would really like your help with the inoculant program.” Her fingers tingled, and then the cuff began its slow release.
Mother had never really connected with Tamelera, mostly because of the gap in reputation between the Sixth Family and the First. She blushed, and glanced at Tagaret. “She does? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” said Tagaret.
Della nodded. “I’ve told her about Liadis, and she knows plenty of ladies with unconfirmed children, so that’s not an issue. The two of you could reach out to people in the neighborhood. Think if everyone could be as safe as you and Father, and keep their children as safe as Liadis.”
“Well . . .”
“Please, Mother, do it as a favor to me.” Finally, the cuff released completely.
Mother gave a small smile. “All right.”
“Everything checks as normal, Lady,” said Bestao. “That’s as much as I can do here.”
“Thank you, but I don’t have time to stay for more,” Della replied firmly. “I’m afraid our drivers are on a schedule.” It was an exaggeration, but not a lie.
“Oh,” said Mother. “Oh, mercy, Della, love, be safe!”
Della kissed her mother’s soft cheek. “Of course, I will. I love you.” She stood and hugged Father, then Liadis. Then she took Tagaret’s hand.
Tears welled in her eyes as they returned to the floater.
Don’t think about it. Think about the future. Think about what you’re going to do.
I’m going to leave everything behind.
Della pressed her tears away, and tried not to breathe too fast. She stepped up into the compartment and went to her seat.
Tagaret focused immediately on the curtains. “I don’t like this. We have this opportunity to go up to see the surface, and they’re trying to hide it?”
She smiled at him, though something fluttered disconcertingly, low in her stomach. “Some people are frightened, love.”
His face shifted from disapproval to concern. “Darling, are you frightened?”
“Yes.” She managed to shrug. “I think you should still open the curtains, though.”
Tagaret leaned one eye to the crack between curtains for a second, then pushed them wide open. The arch of her own front entry was visible through her reflection on the glass.
Yoral came and bent over Della to fasten her seatbelt. When it was done she felt quite normal except for the reminder of the strap constricting her across the thighs. Tagaret joined her a moment later. The two Imbati took seats on the side couch. The floater started to move, left her house behind, and soon left the neighborhood entirely, entering a major circumference. A minute later, the floor tilted.
“Oh!”
Tagaret took her hand.
“Let’s take our gloves off.” She felt so much better with his hand touching hers. She inhaled deeply, and breathed out slowly. Long minutes passed while the floater tilted and leveled, tilted again and leveled again up the city rampways.
Then, they left the world.
The reflection of her face on the window peeled back, replaced by luminous green. Della held tighter to Tagaret’s hand while her eyes tried to make sense of it. Some of it moved so fast it was incomprehensible, but if she looked farther out, there were rooms—halls—caverns of green!
A space opened. Far off in the center of it was a glowing white column her mind recognized instantly as a shinca tree. This one was an absolute giant, wider than their whole vehicle. It split as it rose higher, then split again, and—it vanished behind them, swallowed by green that whipped past them in a chaos of speed.
The green was a whole universe. It shivered with gold light that sometimes landed in speckles and sometimes pierced like needles. It was full of weird movements, shudderings, a sudden diagonal burst upward and outward that her eyes could scarcely grasp before it had passed by. She sat, with no awareness of time, trying to make sense of it, but there was always more, another shade, another color, another whir of close movement, another flash of light. There would be no grasping this, or comprehending it.
“Wow,” she breathed at last.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Tagaret.
She nodded, though she would have chosen a different word. Overwhelming.
“Was this what it was like for you?” she asked. “When you went up?”
Tagaret chuckled. “Not at all. I was on a skimmer, in a Venorai field. I think it’s easier when you’re not moving quite so fast. Scarier, being outside in it, but easier.”
She looked out again just as a new green room opened up, and at the far edge of it, she saw something that looked exactly like Mother’s tree dress. Her heart leapt with the unexpected spark of recognition.
“Oh!” The entire room fled past in less than a second, but some mystery had come unlocked, because suddenly she saw them everywhere. “Tagaret,” she said. “Look, trees!”
“I love you.” Tagaret patted her hand, and she realized she’d been gripping his other hand so tightly his fingertips were turning purple. She let go and shook her fingers out.
“Sorry,” she said. The green outside the windows sucked her attention back.
“I know exactly how you feel.” His warm arm curved around her shoulders, and he sighed. “Look at us, Della.”
“We’re on the Road.”
“More than that. You got us here. We’re together, we’re free.”
“We can do what we’ve always dreamed,” she sighed. “With no one watching.”
“I’m sorry we’re having to leave Mother and Pyaras and Adon, and your family, but—” Tagaret flicked his fingers. “Gnash the whole rest of the Pelismara Society. And the Selimna Society, for that matter. Maybe it’s even Sirin’s blessing that I don’t have to be Alixi. There won’t be a cramped space full of people I have to fear or please. No rules I’ll have to follow. No eyes. No expectations.”
“That’s wonderful,” she sighed.
“No expectations for you, either, darling heart.” Something in his voice had changed.
Della pulled back and looked up at him. “What are you saying?”
Tagaret glanced down, nervously, but then looked into her eyes again. “No one has children in the provinces.”
Everything inside her clenched. She breathed shallowly, staring at the seatbelt that held her down.
“Della, please, listen. Since no one has children, no one will be looking for them. The two of us will be enough. We can think about our project. What we create together—will be our vision.”
“But you said—” She shook her head. “What if no one cares about our vision? What if they hate us?”
“They won’t. We’ll find a way; that’s what you said.”
Abruptly, the floater slid downward.
Della turned to the window. Outside, now, was distance: a gray-brown dimpled surface that moved constantly, extending on and on until it ended in an eerily straight line. Above that was pale blue, and gray, and white, that looked flat as a painting.
“What is it?” Della asked.
“Are we on water? Kuarmei?”
“We’re crossing a river, sir,” said Kuarmei. “The Ordala, which constitutes the official border of Yrindonna forest. One of its sources is in the mountains ahead.”
“If I may remark, sir,” said Yoral, “it’s much broader than I thought it would be, based on maps and books.”
“It’s huge,” Della agreed. It was its own whole world, and thinking about a river so large was airily delightful. Much better than what they’d just been talking about.
“Master Tagaret,” said Kuarmei, “we should probably offer you a drink before we leave the flats and serving becomes more difficult.”
“I would appreciate that,” said Tagaret. “Della?”
“If you feel comfortable enough to move around.” She most certainly would not have, though she’d have to use the bathroom soon. It was right next to her, fortunately, behind a small door where the bench ended.
Something big and reddish flashed by the window. The surface outside had changed again. It was still quite flat, but closer to window level than it had been before. It moved differently, in speckled billows. Also, it was punctuated with house-sized stones. Those, aside from being in a place without a roof, were quite easy to comprehend.
Out in the middle of that space was another shinca. This one wasn’t like the giant from the forest, but slender, comprehensible. And so much like a tree! When she could see the whole of it, the splitting pattern looked like branches, as if one of the forest trees had had its flesh stripped off and its hidden soul revealed. Instead of leaves, it carried a thousand thousand globes of light at the tips of its branches.
Yoral recalled her to the inside of the floater by appearing in front of her, holding a glass of ilma juice. It was amazing that he could stand so steady while they moved so fast. She took the glass anxiously. “I shouldn’t have asked you to get up, but thank you.”
“It’s not that difficult, Mistress,” Yoral replied. “Are you hungry?”
“Not—” A weird flutter like fear hit her in the stomach, and she gasped and nearly dropped her glass. Juice sloshed and dripped over her fingers; she grasped the glass with both hands, panting and dizzy, her heart pounding. “Tagaret,” she gasped. Bestao was wrong; something bad is happening. The decline has caught up with me. Oh, holy Elinda, I’ll never reach Selimna; I’m going to die . . . “Tagaret . . .”
Tagaret took her shoulders and squeezed tightly; her Yoral swooped the juice glass out of her hand. She didn’t see what happened to it after that. Her lips tingled. The edges of her vision paled.
Yoral came, holding a damp cloth, wrapping it around her hands. “Hold this over your nose and mouth, Mistress,” he said.
He was her nurse; she did as she was told. The damp cloth was cold and had an odd smell, maybe from the ilma juice on her fingers.
Oh, so gradually, something changed. Not that she could explain it, but the tingling in her lips stopped, and she could see again. Her heart still raced. She lowered the towel.
“I don’t know what happened . . .”
“The towel, Mistress,” said Yoral. “Just a little longer, please.”
She raised it again, and mumbled into it. “All right.”
The servant’s warm fingers touched her wrist. “You had a minor panic. Remember when I explained that to you? If you breathe slowly, it should subside.”
She lowered the cloth again. This time, though, she focused on not breathing too fast. Her heart gradually slowed. “But I don’t understand; why should I panic?”
“Is it the surface?” Tagaret asked. “Should we close the curtains?”
“No, please don’t. I love this.” Her body was being fickle, just when she didn’t need it to be.
“Is it . . .” He put his hand on her knee. “What I said?”
She didn’t want to answer that. “Let’s do something different. Let’s talk about Selimna. Tell me something you’re looking forward to.”
Tagaret rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “I’m looking forward to . . . being so cold in the city that I have to wear hats like a Selimnai. I would say I’m looking forward to talking with Alixi Unger of the Fifth Family, but I’m really not. I’d prefer to talk to Melumalai.”
Surely he was saying such things just to make her laugh. “Darling, seriously?”
“Absolutely,” said Tagaret. “Kuarmei, are you looking forward to anything?”
“Sir,” his Imbati replied, “I’m looking forward to Selimnar bread.”
Della couldn’t help but smile. “Bread, really? Are you looking forward to anything, Yoral?”
Yoral unwound the towel gently from her hands. “I’m looking forward to you being safe underground, where I can care for you properly,” he said. “But, I suppose, also bread. They say it has a tangy flavor.”
“I brought a few things with us,” Della said. “I mean, I know we brought all sorts of things with us, but I brought things to help us talk to people.”
“Oh?” Tagaret’s brow wrinkled. “You did? I mean, we can always just talk to people . . .”
“Things to talk about,” she explained. “Sort of like tangy bread, only things from Pelismara. A stone from the Residence gardens. A miniature pen-and-ink portrait of the Eminence Herin. That silk-paper card Arbiter Lorman gave you. It helps if people have questions.”
“What? Who gave you a portrait of the Eminence Herin?”
“He did. Over a year ago.”
Tagaret made a face. “Why does that not surprise me?”
Della sighed. “This is going to be hard,” she said. “Maybe Lowers won’t care about any of those things. Maybe we’ll talk about tangy bread. I’ll think of something.”
Tagaret squeezed her, and leaned his head against hers. “I know you will, darling. You always do.”
She hadn’t expected to see the gate of Daronvel Crossroads. After their departure from Pelismara, she’d imagined it would just be wild semi-comprehensible surface and then suddenly darkness, her own face reappearing on the window glass as they returned to safety underground.
But, in the mountains, the Road wasn’t straight. It weaved back and forth as if it had drunk too much chatinet. Sometimes she felt vaguely ill, like she’d drunk too much. She’d seen faces of rock, dark green forests, shinca trees on otherwise barren slopes, fields covered with white as if hidden under bedsheets. More and more as they went on, there were mysterious fields of broad black metallic stripes that reflected orange sunlight. Some of these last had helmeted Kartunnen standing far off in the middle of them. But whatever she saw in one window, the other window always held a shivering sight: a beautiful light-filled painting of a mountain on the far side of the most terrifying crevasse imaginable. She couldn’t bear to look at it, but couldn’t stop stealing glances. And on one look, suddenly, she saw it.
Far below where they drove, closer to the bottom of the crevasse, was a shiny black structure: a dome with arched openings on four sides, like a protective hand. It sat atop a sort of hill, and four pale lines of Road draped from between its fingers, wriggling in among the green and brown humps of the surrounding valley.
Safety. Once she’d seen it, she couldn’t stop looking, though many minutes passed in the descent, and it would disappear for long periods and then reappear again on a curve, only to vanish again seconds later.
At last they came down far enough that the mountains were too tall to see. She counted five shinca as they wriggled among the humps, and then the floater hit the final rise, and the blessed black hand of the Daronvel Gate reached protectively over them.
The floaters drew to a stop.
Sounds came from beyond the floater walls, and then the outer door opened. Freezing air invaded their compartment. Della got out of her seatbelt and stepped out first, with her Yoral behind her.
Under her feet was a wide, curving walkway of concrete. In spite of the Gate’s protection, there was wind here. Gusts of ice! Sunlight in shades of orange and blue poured through the openings on the Gate’s far side. She hugged herself.
One of their drivers approached, her pale curly hair ecstatically gyrating in the wind. The weird sunlight cast the shadows of her legs in stripes that matched the fabric of her blue-and-white trousers.
“I’m Odri, Lady,” she said. “Welcome to Daronvel, or as the Daronveli say, ‘A-greeting the time.’” Della had to pluck her words out of the rush of the wind. “Daronvel is famous for its hospitality, but also for its power generation facilities and its battery industry. We’ve arrived four minutes ahead of schedule.”
“Thank you for delivering us safely, Kartunnen.” The cold air tasted strange when she spoke. A strand of her hair, caught in the wind, tickled across her face.
“We’ll resume our journey tomorrow morning at eight forenoon.”
“Yes, thank you.”
She only noticed Tagaret arriving behind her when the chill against her back turned to warmth. She reached back for his arms and wrapped them around her. “Oof, it’s cold.”
“I’m sorry,” Tagaret said, above her ear. “It will be warmer in the Crossroads Suites. I wonder where our transport is.”
Della rubbed one hand back and forth along his forearm. “We’re a little early, I think. In spite of our delayed departure.”
“Sir? Excuse me, sir.” The Kartunnen was back; or, since she wore no stripes or overalls, this had to be the third sister. “Sorry for the trouble, but the dockmaster is refusing us a spot to park the floater overnight.”
“Refusing?” Tagaret asked. “Why?”
“Sir.” The Kartunnen rubbed her nose on her sleeve. “I’ve been told the space is being taken up with a cargo delivery, but we’ll be fined if we remain on the dock overnight.”
Della frowned. “That’s not nice. If they require you off the dock, they should have a spot prepared.”
Tagaret squeezed her. “Let me take care of it. I’ll be right back.”
The wind was even colder with him gone. She started to shiver. Yoral opened one of their overnight cases and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.
“We need to get you indoors, Mistress.”
“We do,” Della agreed. “The Daronvel Alixi is sending a skimmer.” The inner side of the walkway’s curve was a city road circle that sloped downward into a smooth bore where shinca light shone. Down there was warmth, and dinner, and a place to sleep—but even though they were here, somehow, they hadn’t entirely arrived. “They’re supposed to. But Tagaret’s busy anyway, for the moment.”
“Mistress,” Yoral said, “the Daronvel Alixi is Seventh Family.” When she blinked at him he added, “And we’re First Family, and our parking spot is mysteriously unavailable, and our skimmer is late.”
“You’re saying it’s Family pettiness?” She sighed. “But this is travel.”
“I don’t know, Mistress. Travel is more normal at the Crossroads than it is for us.” Dryly, he added, “And antagonizing Master Tagaret might be more fun than the Alixi usually gets in this remote location.”
Sirin’s luck appeared to solve the problem for them. Only moments after Tagaret returned from arranging the parking, their skimmer arrived.
“A-greeting the time, Sir, Lady,” said the Imbati woman at the controls, in a cute Crossroads accent. “I’ll be a-driving you in.”
Della felt so much more comfortable bundled into a seat beside Tagaret, with Yoral and Kuarmei behind them. Their driver wore the mark of the Household, and drove at a sedate pace compared to Pelismar drivers. Shinca light increased as they entered the tunnel, but instead of the freestanding trunk Della might have expected, silvery light poured from what looked like a window. The tunnel leveled in front of it and made a sharp turn to the right, into an even steeper bore.
No more wind, or strange light, or noise. Thank Eyn. Della exhaled more completely than she had in hours.
A faint sound grew on the air, like a raucous crowd, far off but getting closer. Ahead was another shinca window, another sharp turn. They’d reach the source of the noise, soon.
Suddenly, the walls and ceiling flared open into a cave pocket that glittered white with miniature tiles on every surface. The magnificent face of Eyn the Wanderer, patron of travelers, gazed down at them. Her wild hair covered the walls and ceiling, and the tunnel passed between her welcoming arms.
“Blessed Eyn,” Della whispered. “This is gorgeous! How have I never heard of it?”
Tagaret only shook his head. “Mother never mentioned it. Maybe we’ve been so busy asking about Selimna, we forgot Daronvel. But I’m glad I’ve seen it.”
Through the arms of Eyn they entered a tunnel-crossing. Here was the source of the noise: talking, yelling, something that sounded like singing, and a cacophony of competing musics, all of it echoing off a roof so low she could have sworn they were indoors. The space straight ahead was either a broad hall or a two-lane street, lit by a line of slender shinca trunks down its center, where Lowers of many castes walked among tables full of merchandise. There was a mouth-watering smell of food. Even if there had been enough room in the crowd to drive forward, however, a row of waist-high poles prevented the skimmer from entering. Their driver turned right instead, then followed a sharp curve to the left into a long narrow tunnel with numbered steel doors on both sides. The skimmer stopped.
“Through door five here are your pockets where you’ll be a-staying, Sir, Lady,” the Imbati said. “I’ll help with a-bringing in your bags.”
Behind the numbered door was a long, straight hall, its stone walls corrugated with excavation marks. A steel door at the far end of it was painted with the word ‘Marketplace.’ Their rooms—the local word pockets made her smile—were accessed through three carved openings in the right-hand wall. The one nearest the entrance was for Yoral and Kuarmei, the one in the middle was a small common room with a bathroom beyond, and the one on the Marketplace side was for her and Tagaret. They were snug, cozy, lit by golden lamplight that reflected on bright flecks in the stone. They were also a disgraceful mess. The beds were unmade; garbage sat in cans in the corners, on the small common room table, and even here and there on the fringed rug in her bedroom. It smelled appalling.
Sickened and dismayed, Della picked up a glove from the floor at the foot of her rumpled bed and brought it out just as their driver and Tagaret’s Kuarmei came in carrying bags.
“Imbati,” she said to the driver, holding up the glove apologetically, “I think there may have been some mistake. I hope we’re not invading a room that’s already occupied.”
The Imbati’s eyes widened, and she bowed. “Lady, I’m a-grieving. I believe the glove must belong to Alixi Satenya of the Seventh Family; I drove him and his party up to the Gate early this morning.”
“I’m afraid we can’t return it to him,” Della admitted. “We won’t be returning to Pelismara any time soon.”
“I’ll take care of it, Lady,” the Imbati replied, blushing. “If you don’t mind a-stepping out for a few minutes, I’ll get the situation remedied here, and then be a-bringing you your dinner. I believe I can mail the glove on to Alixi Satenya at his new assignment in Peak.”
Tagaret ducked in through the low doorway, shaking his head. “I’m starting to think the Alixi of Daronvel dislikes us.”
“Let’s go out for now, Tagaret,” Della said. “Our kind Household has offered to fix it.”
“I’d love to. Imbati, I’m so sorry that you’ll be put to extra trouble.”
“No tears a-falling, sir.”
Tagaret pressed Della’s hand warmly between his palms, concern on his face. “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough?”
“I’m fine. And I’m tired of sitting, after being strapped down all day.” She pulled him by the hand out into the corrugated hallway.
“Master,” said Kuarmei, “take us with you, please, in case of pickpockets.”
“Really? All right, then,” said Tagaret.
“Besides,” Della added, “I can’t wait until dinner. Aren’t you all hungry?”
Her Yoral took the key from the door and slid it aside for them, and they walked out into the Marketplace. The noise, echoing inside this contained space, was overwhelming.
“Pauura!” “Roast kelo, roast kelo!” “Come see our jewels!”
Everyone around them seemed to be talking at once, either buying or selling something. Some kind of unfamiliar spice drifted on the air. Della’s mouth instantly started watering. Melumalai tables on either side of their pocket door sheltered them from the movement of the crowd, which had a sort of current from left to right.
“Can you smell that?” Della asked.
“I smell lots of things,” said Tagaret.
“I want to find where that smell is coming from.” She took him by the elbow, and with Kuarmei and Yoral following, they joined the flow. Tables were either near the wall, or at the center near the row of shinca.
A golden-skinned boy of about eight, with a glittering Melumalai necklace, waved to her. “A-greeting the time, Lady, come try our hot soup!”
She nodded, and walked nearer to the table he indicated, but a deep sniff told her this wasn’t what she’d smelled before, so she moved on. A table by the corner sold strong liquor in tiny metal cups, which smelled so bad she literally had to run away. There were cheeses, dried fruit, and candies. It wasn’t just food, though. There was also jewelry, and tableware, and cloth, and clothing. One table had nothing but tiny city scenes carved out of dark wood.
As the flow started to double back, an even smaller hawker crossed their path, crying, “Pies an’ pepper! Pies an’ pepper!” over and over. She might have been two or three. She had a tiny chrysolite that gleamed against her pale, chubby neck.
“What’s pepper?” Della asked. “Is that what I smell?”
The Melumalai girl fearlessly took her hand. “Pepper!” she said. “Secrets a-keeping. Pies an’ pepper!”
“Show me?”
The girl led her by the hand to a table near the center of the hall, where a woman who had to be her mother had two basket-trays laid out. One had fruit and cheese; the other had rows of pastries, and in one corner, a row of small stoppered containers full of grayish powder. The look of the powder was worrisome, but this was definitely the source of the smell.
“Good girl,” said the Melumalai mother. “A-greeting the time, Sir, Lady, may I tempt you with dinner? Tastiest pies and pockets in the Marketplace.”
“What’s pepper?” Della asked. “Is that what I’m smelling?”
“Cling-pepper, Lady,” the Melumalai answered. “You’ll only find it a-growing in secret locations in the Daronvel tunnels. Gives dimension to any dish. Nothing better.” Her daughter, who had been poking around between the tables, found a coin and gave a cry of delight. “Ameyan, no, that belongs to our neighbor, give it back.” At her reluctant cry, the mother insisted, “Generous means a-giving.” She shoved the girl toward the Melumalai at the neighboring table, then looked up and smiled. “Lady?”
“I’ll try one of the pockets,” Della said. She waited, stomach growling, while the Melumalai heated the pastry inside a machine. Finally, she had it in hand and took a bite. Underneath the pastry was a warm, meaty filling with a flavor that flared and expanded up into her nose. “Mm!” The second bite was even more intense than the first, almost painful on the tongue, but absolutely incredible. “Tagaret, this is—you have to try it.”
In the end, they bought out all the woman’s pastry pockets, and purchased two bottles of cling-pepper powder.
“Generous Lady,” said the Melumalai mother. “I’m a-wishing you good evening.”
It really was a good evening, at last. Della took Tagaret’s arm again, and grinned. “Now that we’re not starving, let’s go see what we can see before dinner.”