Story by Rook (seven.sky @ eudoramail.com)




Breakfast was even bigger, better, and more exotic than dinner. The landlord blinked in amazement when she refiller her plate for the third time. "Do all from your land eat so heartily?" he rumbled, and she could imagine the stories he would tell his friends over the bar that night.

"Not usually," she said. "But usually we eat six meals a day, and I don't expect to have time for more than two here, if I'm to look around the city today." Home in the Shire she would not have flinched at a breakfast this size, although she might not have finished her third plate, even if she knew she would get all six. But she had found, absurdly, that the longer she walked, the less she ate, the less hungry she was. In her youth she had skipped meals on occasion, when she and her sister could find no place to stay. Then it had seemed strange and painful to curl up under a tree with a stale loaf for supper, knowing the root that was now a seat would have to serve as a pillow. Now, soft beds were the rarity; her time on the ship had been one of unnacustomed luxury.

"There's a bazaar today," he informed her, and tilted his head. "Merchants come here from far to the east, and sell their wares. Fine silks, jewelry, pottery - there are plenty of food-sellers as well, if you wish."

"I'll have to go, then, if only to get presents for Crow," she chuckled as she dug into another helping of the strange food that he had called tabouleh. "Good thing it's today. Captain Agnar said he was leaving in two days. I can send it back with him."

The proprieter handed her another sweetroll. "You are going there, then? Might I ask a favor of you?"

"Depends on what it is."

"My daughter has begged me mightily that she might visit the bazaar, to get a new dress. But I am busy in the inn, and my wife is visiting her sister in Rudymesto. Might you sheperd her? The bazaar is large, and she is young. It is not a place for a child alone. There are strange men about. But I see you carry a knife." He smiled awkwardly. "I would not ask such a favour of a guest, but I have found no other to do it, and I adore my daughter and wish to indulge her in this."

She smiled and bit into the roll. "Of course. It's no great thing, and I wouldn't mind a native guide to point out the sights to me." Her face took on a broad grin. "As long as you have a few more of these excellent sweetrolls for me!"

The proprieter bowed slightly. "Anything for my honoured guest."

The daughter turned out to be named Poli. She had large brown eyes, dark curly hair, and a cleft in her chin. Despite her dark skin the resemblence to Sammie was almost uncanny, and caused a small lump to rise in Del's throat. "My name's Buzzard," she told the girl.

Poli tilted her head to one side. "That's Westron for Kanye," she said. "It's a bird."

"Yep." Poli was about eight, she estimated. "You know, I'd love to learn more of your language. Why don't you tell me more names for things?"

"Sure." Poli flashed Del a smile. "If you'll tell me all about the place you come from. How old are you? You don't look tall enough to be old, but you must be old or Daddy wouldn't say I could take you to the bazaar."

"I'm twenty-eight," she said. "Not quite grown up, where I come from."

"It must be nice not having to be grown up," Poli said wistfully. "My sister just got married, you know. She's twenty. I don't ever want to get married. Being a kid is more fun, don't you think?"

Del sighed. "Married has it good points. But I don't think I ever shall."



"This is a good knife," chuckled Poli critically, waving it through the air and causing the shopkeeper to lean backward. She had already gone through several, having decided on the way that if Buzzard could have a knife, she wanted one too, because there were dangerous things out there.

Del lenaed over and took it from her, hefting it. "The balance is a little off."

"Mmm." Poli picked up another. "How about this?" She took another wild swing, causing the shopkeeper to murmur something about how a knife really wasn't the best thing for a little girl to have, perhaps she'd be happier at the jewelry shop next door? before she ripped a hole in his tent? Poli laughed. "Yes. This one is better."

After a few test swings, Del agreed. It was nicely done, with a design of stars inscribed on the blade, and the hilt was small enough for Poli's hand but not so small she wouldn't be able to use it when she was full-grown. The shopkeeper was glad to accept Del's money and gladder to see them out of the tent before they broke something.

"Don't tell your father I got you this," Del said. "I have a feeling he wouldn't approve."

Poli grinned. "I'm not that stupid. He's slow like that. He doesn't like to think about robbers. He doesn't even own a sword."

"Perhaps he trusts the soldiers and the guards to keep him safe."

"That's stupid," Poli muttered. "There aren't guards everywhere. You have to do things yourself if you want them done right. That's what my mother says."

"She's right," said Del, and watched Poli swing her new dagger one last time before she stuck it firmly in its sheath and tucked it in her pack, under the kerchief of sweet rolls. Del found herself grinning.

Poli began to stride firmly away, letting the pack of customers part in front of her, but then she paused. "Buzzard?" she said almost shyly. "Can you show me how to fight with a sword?"

~

Pretty Good Year