Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [58]
“That’s you. See, there’s your nose.”
The bewildered creature merely sighed and hunkered down on the grass next to her.
“If it was bigger maybe you’d understand. Da said he’d buy me a proper mirror for my birthday, but I don’t want one. Stupid town lasses primp all the time, but I’m a silver dagger’s daughter.”
The gnome nodded agreement and scratched his armpit.
When Cullyn returned, they set out riding for Dun Mannanan, a coastal town on the eastern border of Deverry province. It turned out to be a collection of wooden houses that straggled along a river, where decrepit, aging fishing boats were docked. Rather than having town walls, it merely faded into the surrounding farmlands, and the smell of drying fish was everywhere. On a muddy street that curved up to the river’s edge, they found a shabby wooden inn, where the innkeep took Cullyn’s coin without even a glance at his silver dagger. Since it was market day, the tavern room was crowded with men, a sullen lot, by and large, and Jill noticed that a remarkably large number of them wore swords. As soon as they were alone, she asked Cullyn if Dun Mannanan were a pirate haven.
“Nah, nah, nah, they’re all smugglers. Those stinking boats out in the river are faster than they look. They carry in many a pretty thing under the mackerel.”
“Doesn’t the local lord stop it?”
“The local lord’s in it up to his neck. Now, don’t you say one word about this out in public, mind.”
Once the horses were tended, they went down to the market fair. Down by the river, people had set up wooden booths, but many simply displayed their goods on brown cloths thrown onto the ground. There was food of all sorts—cabbages and greens, cheeses and eggs, live chickens tied upside down onto poles, suckling pigs, and rabbits. Cullyn brought them each a chunk of roast pork on a stick to eat as they looked at the booths with cloth, pottery, and metal work.
“I don’t see any fancy lace. Pity. I wanted to buy you some for your birthday.”
“Oh, Da, I don’t want that sort of thing.”
“Indeed? Then what about a pretty dress?”
“Da!”
“A new doll? Jewelry?”
“Da, you’d best be jesting.”
“Naught of the sort. Here, I know a jeweler in this town, and I’ll wager he’s not even at the fair. Come along.”
Down near the edge of town, where the green commons met the last houses, they came to a little shop with a wooden sign painted with a silver brooch. When Cullyn pushed open the door, silver bells jingled melodiously above. The chamber was just a thin slice of the round house cut off by an intricate wickerwork partition. The doorway in the wickerwork was covered by an old green blanket.
“Otho?” Cullyn called. “Are you here?”
“I am,” a deep voice said from within. “Would I be leaving the door unlocked if I weren’t?”
The owner of the voice shoved aside the blanket and came out. He was the shortest man Jill had ever seen, just about five feet tall, but broad-shouldered and heavily muscled, like a miniature blacksmith. He had a thick shock of gray hair, a tidy gray beard, and piercing black eyes.
“Cullyn of Cerrmor, by the gods! Who’s this with you? Your son, from the look of him.”
“My daughter, in truth. And I want to buy her a trinket for her birthday.”
“A lass, are you?” Otho looked Jill over carefully. “Well, so you are, and one old enough to be thinking about her dowry at that. We’d best turn some of your Da’s coin into jewels, then, before he drinks the lot away.”
Otho led them into the workshop, a thick slice of the house. In the center, just under the smoke hole in the roof, were a hearth and a small forge. Off to one side stood a long low workbench, scattered with tools, wooden boxes, and a half-eaten meal of bread and smoked meat. Lying in the clutter were a handful of small rubies. Cullyn picked one up and held it so that it caught the light.
“Nice stones.”
“They are. But I’ll trouble you to not ask where I got them.”
With a grin Cullyn rolled the ruby back onto the bench. Otho perched on the stool and had a thoughtful bite of bread.
“Brooches, rings, bracelets?” he said with his mouth