Luck of the Wheels. Megan Lindholm

caravan and the rest left open for freight. Some might say due to a lack of faith in the luck of the wheels.’

      ‘And some might say due to a streak of sanity. I’ve lived by the luck of the wheels, Vandien. You notice they don’t call it the good luck of the wheels. Sometimes it’s very bad. Especially in places like this, where they want a piece of paper sealed and stamped for every breath you take. I’ve seen Romni with a wagon full of children, in the middle of a hostile town, without a bite of food to eat and only the family gold to their names. Gold they’d sooner die for than spend.’

      ‘And no doubt they all starved to death?’ he asked shrewdly.

      ‘Well, no,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘There are ways of getting by. Ways that can get your hand cut off if you’re caught. I’d rather have an open-backed wagon, and a load of freight to haul.’

      He tried a new tack. ‘Well, we could pick up a load of trade goods,’ he offered speculatively. ‘You’ve still enough left of Rebeke’s gold to do that. We could get scarves and pans and bells and earrings and lace …’

      ‘And live in the middle of it all, and open up our home to every customer’s prying eyes. No. I’ve gotten used to the cuddy being private. And I won’t use up the rest of the Windsinger’s gold. It was too hard come by to part with for bells and buttons. No, it’s going to buy me a new, decent wagon, built to my specifications. And that means the wainwright in Firbanks.’

      ‘It means any wainwright who can build a square corner,’ Vandien contradicted her irritably. He dipped his finger in the wine, idly drew on the tabletop with it. ‘Don’t get so stubborn and set in your ways. Just because he built the last one doesn’t mean he has to build the next one. I don’t think we should go back north. Even if this Duke’s iron hand bothers you. It’s just another set of rules to get used to. We can manage.’

      A tired smile broke on Ki’s face. ‘Listen to us. What’s happened to your impulsiveness, that devil-may-care attitude?’

      ‘A Windsinger scared it right out of me. And you’re a fine one to talk. What’s happened to all your cautions and planning? You’re talking about walking back into the lion’s den.’

      Ki refilled both their glasses from Vandien’s bottle. ‘My caution isn’t gone,’ she revealed after a sip. ‘I’m just regaining it. We’ve worked too far south, Vandien. It’s been obvious since we crossed the border into Loveran. I don’t have any contacts here, I don’t understand the coins, I detest the regulations, and I don’t know where the roads go, let alone how safe they are or where the short-cuts are. How can I make a living down here? We’ve been in sunny, dreary Keddi for a week now, with no offer of work. What happens if we don’t get work?’

      ‘We’d survive.’ He sipped the wine, grimaced.

      ‘How?’

      ‘By the luck of the wheels, Ki! Just as all the other Romni survive.’ He paused and looked at her shrewdly. Ki narrowed her eyes warily, but he opened his wide, declaring the innocence of his intentions. ‘Look. Let’s compromise. For a month, let’s live by our wits. Seeing new places, no delivery dates, no pushy customers, no spoiling cargoes. For a month.’

      ‘In a month, we could starve.’

      He gave a snort of disdain. ‘I never starved in all the years before I met you. Lost a bit of weight, learned to be charming to strangers, and not particular about what I ate or where I slept, but I never starved.’

      ‘We can’t all be stray cats.’

      ‘No? Let me teach you how.’ He made the offer with his most persuasive smile. His dark eyes, brown half a shade short of black, were inches from her green ones.

      ‘And at the end of that month?’ Ki asked coolly.

      He leaned back with a sigh. ‘If we aren’t successful, then we’ll go back to the wainwright in Firbanks and get a new wagon.’

      ‘And take up my old trade routes,’ Ki bartered.

      Vandien emptied his glass, winced at the taste, and then shook his head. ‘No. The first Windsinger who heard of us would report it to Rebeke. She wouldn’t let us go again.’

      ‘If we were careful,’ Ki began, leaning forward and speaking quietly but intensely. ‘If we were cautious …’

      ‘Are you the teamsters for hire?’

      Their heads turned in unison. The speaker was an old man. No. With a start, Ki realized that the man standing by their table was only a few years older than she was. It was his eyes that were old, and his voice. He looked as if some task had so wearied him that he had already spent the years of his mind if not his body. Like the child-mystic she and Vandien had seen in Adjutan, who could recite all six thousand of the sacred verses of Krinth. Ancient, weary eyes.

      ‘We are,’ said Ki. ‘Not any more,’ Vandien chimed at the same instant. The man looked confused. Ki kicked Vandien’s booted ankle under the table.

      ‘We may be. It depends on the cargo, the distance, the road, and of course, the coin involved. Please, share our table and wine,’ Ki invited him graciously.

      Trelira had seen him enter, and was setting an extra glass at the table before he was seated. ‘Brin!’ she greeted him, smiling pleasantly and kissing his cheek. But her eyes darted past his shoulder anxiously. ‘You didn’t bring Gotheris?’

      ‘No. I left him at home this time, with Channry.’

      ‘Oh.’ Trelira paused overlong, and Ki wondered what she wasn’t saying. ‘Well. Do you have enough? Something to eat? Well. Good to see you, Brin.’

      After each shake of their heads, Trelira had paused, but when at last she could find no excuse to hover by their table, she departed. Ki noticed that almost immediately she was back, raking smooth the sand floor by the next table. Old gossip, Ki thought to herself, and ignored her.

      ‘I am Brin, as Trelira has let you know,’ the old man began. Vandien had filled his glass for him, but Brin made no move to touch it. ‘Your names are not known to me.’

      ‘Ki. And my partner, Vandien. You were asking if we were for hire. We are. What cargo?’

      ‘Well. Not cargo, exactly. Tell me, have you any children?’

      Vandien glanced up, startled, but Ki answered succinctly for both of them. ‘No.’

      ‘Aah. I see. Well, then, that might affect how you might feel about … you see … I have a son. Gotheris. He is come of an age to be put to a useful trade. Years ago, when he was but a tiny child, he showed certain instincts and skills that made my brother, Dellin, most anxious to have him as an apprentice. Dellin is a Jore-healer, you see, a skill that has been long in my family, though not one I chose to follow. So we agreed that when the time came, Gotheris would be apprenticed to him. At that time, Dellin lived in Dinmaera, and we saw him more often. But since then, he has moved to Villena, and so it has been several years since we have seen him.’

      Ki and Vandien exchanged puzzled glances. What had all this to do with a freight haul?

      ‘We’ve had word from him over the years. And I recently sent a message to him that the boy was ready to learn now, and that idleness could only teach him mischief. So he has sent back to me that he is ready to receive the boy at any time.’

      ‘You want us to take your boy to Villena?’ Vandien guessed.

      ‘Yes. Exactly. I am willing to pay you three georns now, and at his arrival Dellin would pay you another full orn.’

      ‘No passengers,’ Vandien said flatly. The cuddy was simply too small a space to share. But Ki raised a hand in a ‘wait a moment’ gesture, and asked quickly, ‘What can you tell me of the roads to Villena this time of year? I won’t pretend that I’m familiar with them.’

      Brin looked unshaken by her admission of ignorance. ‘The roads are well marked, but they are caravan