Free Off Center (The Lament) by P.S. Power Page B

seemed to be pretty good
at that, being disgruntled.
    "We
should stop for a meal, I suppose. What are you going to do about the Butcher's
place? He holds most of the meat for the village, salted and sugar packed for the
cold times. We have food, but nothing like that, unless we can use it?" Her
sharp words seemed out of place, even after Pran remembered that the Butcher was
accused of touching her granddaughter.
    Mara
however, didn't seem to think anything of it at all.
    "We
can wait a few days, for the trial. If he's not guilty, well, then we'll see what
he says. If he is, his goods will be distributed to his closest family. They can
do with it what they will, but there's no reason for them not to work with you.
Especially if they're not from this area. You normally trade with each other, rather
than use coins or script?" She said the words lightly, but the older couple
both frowned.
    The
old man looked suspicious and sort of glared at Mara.
    "Aye.
That's so."
    That
earned him a shrug at least.
    "Again,
the Guardians don't collect taxes. Even we occasionally trade goods and services
to avoid the tax man. I was just thinking about what kinds of things might be needed
if you have to ship goods out a long ways. That costs, since room on an airship
isn't free, especially this time of year. Wagons run about the same price, unless
you can take things on your own."
    That
wouldn't help them with meat soon enough though.
    Pran
watched the older woman closely. There was something about her that seemed off.
Not "Techno-cult spy" out of place, maybe, but something was wrong. She'd
been way too concerned about the stored meat, rather than about the men that would
be taken away for abusing a prisoner in their care. That couldn't be right, could
it?
     
    Chapter five
     
     
     
     
     
     
    "We
really should do something with that meat. Mayhaps we could buy it, then hold the
coin for Will, for when he gets out of prison?" The old woman was staring so
hard at Mara, as they sat at the wooden table in her daughter's kitchen, that the
Guardian didn't dare look away.
    It
was the fourth time she'd come back to the topic. Pran didn't even bother looking
at her this time, focusing on Lyse, the woman's daughter, who was across the warm
room, standing at the stove, near where a loaf of fresh bread sat. Her back was
turned and she was stirring some soup in a pot, which was the standard mid-day meal
here, they'd been told. It smelled better than decent, but what got her attention
was how the woman stiffened, as the topic was brought up again.
    The
little girl was helping to set the table, and didn't seem beaten down or abused,
like the kids at the Grange always had. Pran knew that she'd been the same way,
and had learned to fake being normal at school in her first weeks.
    She
seemed perky and lively, to be honest about it all. She also had dark hair. Kevin,
who was the girl's father sat across from them. He was lighter in color. An ash
blond. Lyse had a nice long head of strawberry colored tresses in a single braid.
    But
little Hadis? She could have passed for having black hair, in the right light. Like
Will the butcher? It was hard to tell by the set of the eyes, but it was clear to
Pran that Kevin wasn't her father. She didn't mention it however, since it
wasn't her part in things. She was there to sing, play some songs and, apparently,
be called a boy.
    Kevin
did the honors this time, trying to change the subject. He was smart enough to get
that harping about looting someone's storerooms might not be the best way of doing
things. Especially since he was, apparently, going to be going to a work camp himself,
for his abuse of power.
    "I
hear that you and your Master are going to be playing for us tonight, boy. Are you
any good?" The man winced and took a sip of the warmed cider from the clay
mug that was in front of him. It was over spiced, but not that horrible. Pran was
halfway through her own. The gesture wasn't over his calling her a boy even,