Vessel Read Free

partridge.
    “I may not look like much, but I’m a gifted performer.”
    “A performer?”
    “A teller of tales, singer of songs—”
    “Stealer of goods!” yelled Kinder. He obviously felt better. He had at least found his voice again.
    “What?” I asked, blowing gently on my fire to make it grow.
    “Recks has sticky fingers, which is what got us into the fix we presently find ourselves,” said Kinder.
    “I don’t hear you complaining when you’re enjoying the spoils, old man.”
    “What did you take?” I asked, skewering the bird and laying it over the flames.
    “Only a heel of bread,” Recks insisted. “We’re seldom paid for the service we provide.”
    “Is Kinder a performer too?”
    “In a manner of speaking. He is an academic, a man of studies.”
    “What does he study?”
    “I’m right here, you know,” Kinder grumbled from behind the door.
    “Be more polite to the woman who saved your life, fool. Don’t you know how close you are to death’s embrace?”
    “Better the devil you know than the one you don’t,” muttered Kinder.
    “What?” I approached the door again.
    “Never mind him,” said Recks. “He’s overly fond of proverbs.”
    “I’ve brought some things that will help with the chill,” I said, pulling out the blanket and the woolen socks. I’d have to find replacements for myself for next winter. Recks gasped in pleasure at the sight of the gifts.
    “What is it?” Kinder demanded, unable to see. I fed the blanket through the slot to Recks, who laughed as he pulled it through. As before, he rushed it over to Kinder, spreading it out over him.
    “You’ll have to hide it when Tow comes,” I said, stuffing the socks through the same hole.
    “Of course,” said Recks, pulling the socks onto his hands and admiring them. “What else have you got under there?”
    I flinched under the billa as if Recks saw right through it. He could never see me. No one could.
    “Nothing,” I said. “Is there something else you require?”
    “A key to the lock would be dandy.”
    “I’m sorry. I don’t know where Master Tow keeps it.”
    “Ah well, he’s not a stupid man, is he? He caught us. Not an easy thing to do.”
    I retreated back to tend the fire and the little roasting bird, which smelled delicious.
    “So my gift to you, Alana, is a tale,” said Recks. “It’s not much, but it’s all I have.”
    I sat down, making myself as comfortable as I could considering the rubble that littered the room. I’d seen street performers from time to time, but I’d never been so close or had the time to really listen. For a minute, the only sound was the popping of the dry sticks in the fire. Then Recks cleared his throat.
    “You’ll have to forgive me. This isn’t the best place for telling stories.”
    “Never stopped you before,” grumbled Kinder.
    “Shush,” Recks told him. “Your dinner’s coming. Do you have any favorites, Alana?”
    The few stories I knew were ones told by Dine’s first wife to her children. They were short and generally brutal, told to teach some lesson when they misbehaved. They weren’t the kind of tales I wanted to hear.
    “I don’t know any stories.”
    “That’s impossible. Did your mother never tell you ‘The Fox and the Hen’? And everyone knows ‘The Ruby Quiver.’”
    “No, no one’s ever told me any stories.”
    “Why not?”
    “Recks, you nitwit. Can’t you see the girl’s a slave?” barked Kinder.
    “How can that be? She walks freely.”
    “Ask her yourself. Not all are enslaved by chains. Who would wear that willingly?”
    “Is it true, Alana?”
    “Yes,” I said, turning the meat with my fingertips.
    “But why are you here? Why don’t you run?”
    “And go where? It’s all like here, isn’t it?”
    “No. The world is a wide, wondrous place. It’s not all like Roma.”
    “Thank Mother Sun for that!” exclaimed Kinder. “Is the meat done yet?”
    “Done enough, I suppose,” I said, pulling the stick of