Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [157]
“You come by the shop.” She wept. “There’s always candles for you and little Pendy.”
He couldn’t tell her that Pendy was dead, too, or that nothing would lure him to the chandlery where Jess had seemed so froggin’ happy, right up to the day he killed himself. Jess’s mother must have guessed. She stretched an arm’s length between them and gave Cauvin a strange look. Then she hid the lower half of her face behind her scarf and took off running.
Froggin’ gods all be damned, Cauvin swore, but he made his way toward the Shambles more carefully after that, not drawing attention and keeping an eye out for Soldt’s black cape, which didn’t reappear.
What Cauvin did see were words. Words painted on open shutters, above doorways, on barrels and crates, even fluttering on banners hung from upper-story windows. Most of them added nothing to his understanding. (What use was the written word for bakery in Wrigglie or Imperial—rarely both—when a man’s nose could find the shop faster than his eyes?) But a few unmasked mysteries Cauvin had never suspected.
A banner above one fish stall proclaimed that the owner sold only today’s catch while his nearest competitor claimed only his fish were good enough for Land’s End. Given a choice, Cauvin would prefer today’s catch over what was left after the Enders took theirs—assuming both sellers were completely honest, which sellers almost never were. They lied easily enough to a customer’s face; froggin’ sure, they’d lie even more easily with a pen.
Someone had chalked ENDOSH CHEATS AT DICE on the wall of an abandoned warehouse and, as if to challenge that claim, a different hand had written MANAKIM OWES ENDOSH 5 SHABOOZH right below it. ERLIBURT’S SCRIPTORIUM had work for anyone who could read and write Ilsigi, Rankene, or two other languages employing letters Cauvin still couldn’t make sense of. The SISTERS OF SHIPRI ALL-MOTHER would offer prayers of thanksgiving at the goddess’s fane beneath the full moon of Esharia, which was one month away.
A message so fresh that its white paint glistened in the morning light advised that the bodies pulled from the ruins of PELCHER’S TAVERN had been taken to the charnel house on Shambles Cross, where, for a fine of five padpols, they could be claimed until sundown by relatives.
Cauvin’s path of discovery took him past the Broken Mast, where a good-sized signboard he hadn’t noticed during his first visit hung between two upper-story windows. Its words were arranged in two columns, the first of which was ships’ names and the second was dates, some in red, others in white. The red dates were past and gone; those ships, he realized, were overdue. The EMPEROR OF THE SEAS was nearly a year overdue, but the KABEEBER was due the same day the Sisters of Shipri would be offering their prayers.
The comings and goings of ships was of no froggin’ concern to a stone-smasher, unless he were waiting for a load of fancy marble to arrive from Mrsevada. Cauvin wondered if such a ship would be listed on the Broken Mast’s signboard. It might be useful to know when their ship was due; more useful to have read it off the Broken Mast’s roof rather than depend on Captain Sinjon’s honesty, and most useful of all if the captain never suspected a stone-smasher could read.
No wonder that Mina spent so much time teaching Bec how to read and write. No froggin’ wonder, either, that she’d never offered the same lessons to Cauvin: a lettered man had the same advantage day in and out that Cauvin had when he weighted his fist before a fight.
Cauvin found himself glad that he hadn’t mentioned his sudden mastery to Bee—froggin’ glad and froggin’ ashamed, too. But the boy would eventually tell his mother, and Cauvin felt no shame about keeping secrets from Mina.
Beyond the Broken Mast, Cauvin followed his nose up Stinking Street and into the Shambles. Written words were rare in a quarter that was, on the whole, less prosperous than Pyrtanis Street. The words Cauvin did see were etched rather than painted or chalked onto the walls.