The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [162]
“That would be splendid, truly.”
They stopped just below the entrance to the councilman’s compound to catch their breaths. Emla brought a bone comb out of her pouch, pushed back her hood, and combed her hair, then handed it to Niffa to do the same.
“A tidy appearance never hurts, either,” Emla said.
They found Verrarc’s front door ajar, and when they stepped inside, they heard old Korla scolding someone at the top of her lungs while the someone snivelled and tried to make excuses. All at once Magpie came barrelling down the corridor and nearly ran into them. She looked at Niffa and Emla, burst into fresh tears, and went racing outside. Shuffling along in her floppy shoes, Korla came muttering after.
“There be a need on me to apologize, Mistress Emla,” Korla said. “I do lack the patience to deal with that lass. Too old I be, and the cold does ache my bones something fierce, too.”
“What be wrong?” Emla said.
“Ah, she did disturb somewhat of the master’s, and the woman did rebuke me.” Korla paused for a sneer. “Such a fine lady she be. But here, you’ve come to see the master, no doubt, not listen to me.”
Verrarc was waiting for them in his chair before the fire in his hall. He jumped up, sat Emla down in the other chair, then pulled over a bench so that Niffa could sit in the warmth.
“Well, Niffa,” he said, “nah nah nah, I mean Mistress Niffa now! And how do you fare?”
“Well, Councilman, and you?”
“Very well, thank you.” Yet Verrarc was looking this way and that, as if he saw trouble crouching in a corner. “Learning the wool trade, are you?”
“Mother Emla be good enough to let me watch and learn, truly.”
“Splendid, splendid! We’d best plan now for a good trading run in the spring.”
For a long while Emla and Verrarc discussed cloth while Niffa did her best to listen. Some weaves sold well to the Gel da’Thae, others to the Dwarven folk, but when it came to colors, everyone wanted a bright red that would neither run nor fade.
“No doubt!” Emla said. “Had I that secret I’d be as rich as you, Councilman. None that I know of lasts beyond a summer’s sun and a few good poundings at the riverbank.”
“And a true pity it is, then. Ah well. How goes your work? How many bales will you have for me come the snow melt?”
During the long conference that followed Niffa was hard-put to stay awake. The room was warm, the voices soothing, and she and her new husband had been sleeping little these nights. Once she did nod off, but she managed to jerk herself awake before Emla noticed. She was just wondering how soon they could go home when the door opened and Raena slipped into the room. Niffa went on guard, her sleepiness forgotten, as Raena walked in with nods to the others and sat down near Niffa on the bench. She was wearing a pair of loose grey dresses, kirtled at the waist like a proper married woman’s, and her hair was neatly done up under a scarf.
“I do hope I don’t intrude,” Raena said brightly.
“Not at all,” Verrarc said. “We’ve told each other what we need to.”
Her lips pressed tight, Emla nodded.
“I did wish to greet our guests.” Raena turned to Niffa and smiled. “Always it is pleasant to see you.”
“Ah well, my thanks.”
Raena was looking her full in the face. Her dark eyes seemed pools of shadow in the firelight, suddenly deep, suddenly dangerous, as if they would turn to pools of black ink that would drown her. Niffa felt as if Raena had reached out with both hands to grab her and force her to stare into those pools. With a wrench of will she broke away and stood up.
“Oh, my apologies,” Niffa said. “But my back, it does seem cramped, what with the drafts and all.”
“That bench, it be not the best we have,” Verrarc said. “It were better of me to have brought a chair from the other room,”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, Councilman.” Emla rose with a nod his way. “I’d best be getting back. We do have a dinner to prepare and all.”
“Of course.” Raena forced out a smile. “But truly, Niffa, if you have leisure for it, these winter days, do come visit us. We might chat about things now and again.”
“My