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I knew the next step was to find a day market where I could sell my marriage dress. I couldn't go back to the one where I stole the camel, of course, but fortunately for me there are day markets scattered all over the city. Of course, Lisirra is a sprawling crawling tricky place, like all civilized places, full of so many happenings and people and strange little buildings that it's easy to get lost. I only knew my way around certain districts – those close to the water and those known to shelter crooks and others of my ilk. That is to say, the places where my parents and the Hariri clan would be first to look. And I had no idea where the closest day market was.
I strolled along the street for a while, long enough that my throat started to ache from thirst. It was hotter here than it had been in the garden district, I guess cause it was later in the day, and everyone seemed to have retreated into the cool shade of the houses. I walked close to the buildings, trying to stay beneath the thin line of their cast shadows. Didn't do me much good.
After a while I slouched down in another shady alley to rest, sticking the marriage dress behind my head like a pillow. The heat made me drowsy, and I could barely keep my eyes open…
Voices.
It was a couple of women, speaking the Lisirran dialect of the Empire tongue. I peeked around the edge of the building. Both a little older than me, both with water pitchers tucked against the outward swell of their hips. One of the women laughed and a bit of water splashed out of her pitcher and sank into the sand.
"Excuse me!" My throat scratched when I talked, spitting out perfect Empire. The two women fell silent and stared at me. "Excuse me, is there a market nearby? I have a dress to sell."
"A market?" The taller of the women frowned. "No, the closest is in the garden district." I must have looked crestfallen, cause she added, "There's another near the desert wall. Biggest in the city. You can sell anything there."
The other woman glanced at the sky. "It'll close before you get there, though," she said. She was right; I must have fallen asleep in the alley after all, cause the light had changed, turned gilded and thick. I was supposed to have been married by now.
"Do you need water?" the taller woman asked me.
I nodded, making my eyes big. Figured the kohl had probably spread over half my face by now, which could only help.
The taller woman smiled. She had a kind-looking face, soft and unlined, and I figured her for a mother who hadn't had more than one kid yet. The other scowled at her, probably hating the idea of showing kindness to a beggar.
"There's a public fountain nearby," she said. "Cut through the alleys, two streets over to the west." She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a piece of pressed copper and tossed it to me. Enough to buy a skein plus water to fill it. I bowed to thank her, rattling off some temple blessing Mama had taught me back when I was learning proper thieving. Begging ain't thieving, of course, but I ain't so proud I'm go
The two women shuffled away, and I followed their directions to the fountain, which sparkled clean and fresh in the light of the setting sun. Took every ounce of willpower not to race forward and shove my whole face into it.
I reined myself in, though, and I got the skein and the water no problem. The sun had disappeared behind the line of buildings, and magic-cast lamps were twinkling on one by one, bathing the streets in a soft hazy glow. I could smell food drifting out of the open windows and my stomach grumbled something fierce. I managed to snatch a couple of meat-and-mint pies cooling on a windowsill, and I ate them in an out-of-the-way public courtyard, tucking myself under a fig tree. They were the best pies I'd ever tasted, the crust flaky and golden, the meat tender. I licked the grease off my fingers and took a couple of swigs of water.
I didn't much want to sleep outside – it's tough to get any real sleep, cause you wake up at the littlest noise, thinking it's an attack – but I also figured I didn't have much choice in the matter. I curled up next to the fig tree and used the marriage dress as a pillow again, although this time I yanked my knife out of my boot and kept it tucked in my hand while I slept. It helps.
I had trouble falling asleep. Not so much cause of being outside, though, but cause I kept thinking about the Tanarau and my traitorous parents: Mama smoking her pipe up on deck, shouting insults at the crew, Papa teaching me how to swing a sword all proper. It's fu
Figures that when I finally fell asleep, I dreamt I was in the desert. Only it wasn't the Empire desert. In my dream, all the sand had melted into black glass like it had been scorched, and lightning ripped the sky into pieces. I was lost, and I wanted somebody to find me, cause I knew I was go
I woke up with a pounding heart. It was still night out, the shadows cold without the heat of the sun, and I could feel 'em on my skin, this prickling crawling up my arm like a bug.
My dress was damp with sweat, but the knife was a reassuring weight in the palm of my hand. I pushed myself up to standing. Ain't nobody out, just the shadows and the stars, and for a few minutes I stood there breathing and wishing the last remnants of the dream would fade. But that weird feeling of wanting to be found and not wanting to be found stuck with me.
Maybe the dream was the gods telling me I wasn't sure about leaving home. Well, I wasn't go
I took a couple more drinks from the skein then tucked my knife in the sash of my dress and headed toward the desert wall. I was still shaky from the dream and figured I wasn't going to be sleeping much more tonight, so I might as well take advantage of the night's coolness and get to the day market right as it opened.
CHAPTER TWO
The woman from yesterday hadn't lied; the day market was the biggest I ever saw, merchant carts and permanent shops twisting together to create this labyrinth that jutted up against the desert wall. I wandered through the market with my dress tucked under my arm, the early morning light gray and pink. The food vendors were already out, thrusting bouquets of meat skewers at me as I walked by. My stomach growled, and after ten minutes of passing through the fragrant wood-smoke of the food carts, I sidled up to a particularly busy vendor and grabbed two of his goat-meat skewers, even though I do feel bad about thieving from the food vendors, who ain't proper rich like the merchants we pirate from. I ate it as I walked down to the garment division, licking the grease from my fingers. Tender and fatty and perfect. You get sick of fish and dried salted meats when you're out on the ocean.