Destiny's sun is a little smaller than Sol, and maybe two billion years older."
"Huh. And why would any of this crap make a fingernail's difference ~ to anyone?"
Jemmy Bloocher had asked that too. There were answers. "Earth took almost twice as long to go around Sol. We have eight months in a year, they had twelve, but theirs were longer. The clocks still measure Earth days and Earth years."
"Yeah, the Spiral Town clocks. Can't anyone make a clock for Destiny time?"
"Nobody I know. Hey, have you ever been sunburned?"
Haron considered. "Few times, I've stayed out all day surfing. Next day I'm bright red and everything hurts. Can't wear clothes. Can't go outside. Next day, itch. Two days after that I'm peeling like a snake in spring."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"On Earth you could do that in a hour," Tim said. "They had to wear hats and spread goo on their skins to thin the sunlight or they'd get cancer. Too much-" He'd never quite got this straight. "Too much of the light that's too blue to see."
Haron seemed to find that funny. "Too blue to see." He set down the board. Nearly naked to the wind, he didn't shiver. "All right. You know something. Not like these yutzes. What do you want?"
"Did you ever see Cavo rite?"
"No,"
"Did you ever find out where Cavorite went? Do the traders know?" Haron's eyes went distant. His lips moved, but nothing came out.
"The Neck," Tim prodded.
"We got to the Neck. The Road goes right across."
"Is that where the Otterfolk are?"
"Them. They're all along the shore of the big bay. They don't talk. They can't go anywhere."
"You went twice? You must like it."
"Not so much that."
Tim waited.
"They don't know anything here. Surf in summer, gather and eat in fall, huddle hungry in winter. Time of year tells them what they're doing, everything they're doing. It feels so cramped." Haron's voice was rising, but he caught himself. "Doesn't matter anyway. The merchants asked, I had to go."
"Why?"
"First time, they gave us two knives." Haron grinned. "Second time, I was trained already. Four knives."
Ah, he'd been bought.
"The Otterfolk, they can't go anywhere," Haron said. "There's only the bay. Anywhere else, they die. That's one reason. I'd go again, because the Otterfolk can't."
"What are they like?"
"We're not supposed to talk to them, but you can sneak away. They draw pictures in the sand. You try to tell them things that way, but it's-" Haron frowned. "It's not enough."
"For what?"
Haron shook his head. He picked up his board and ran into the water.
Merchants and Twerdahls mingled on the sand. Tim Bednacourt worked anonymous in their midst.
For a long moment Quicksilver burned at the edge of the sea, just below the cloud deck. Then it winked out. An hour of sunlight left.
Merchants watched Tim Bednacourt cutting onions, carrots, bell peppers, mushrooms picked in the cypress swamp. "That looks good," the older woman said. Tim smiled.
Four merchants came, all a few inches shorter than Tim, all exotic and elegant, dressed in many colors, many layers. I noticed the younger man first. Dark, with a thin mustache: Tim had seen him before. An older man with brown hair and a forked beard turning gray. A blackhaired woman his own age; another very like her but no older than Tim. Skins browner than Tim's, all four. Their eyes were dark and a bit tilted. Parents, son, daughter?
He could be wrong about that, or their ages, or almost anything. Any fool might pretend to know all about merchants. Nobody really knew.
The young man said, "I remember you. We were talking about Otterfolk. I noticed you trying to listen and cook-"
"I remember. You're Joker?"
He nodded. The older woman asked, "Would you like to see them for yourself?"
Caught by surprise, Tim laughed. "Sure. It's not likely, is it?"
"I'm Senka," she said. "These are Damon and Rian, my husband and daughter."
"I'm Tim Bednacourt."
She was examining him. It made him uncomfortable. "How long have you lived in this place?"
"Twenty
"Huh. And why would any of this crap make a fingernail's difference ~ to anyone?"
Jemmy Bloocher had asked that too. There were answers. "Earth took almost twice as long to go around Sol. We have eight months in a year, they had twelve, but theirs were longer. The clocks still measure Earth days and Earth years."
"Yeah, the Spiral Town clocks. Can't anyone make a clock for Destiny time?"
"Nobody I know. Hey, have you ever been sunburned?"
Haron considered. "Few times, I've stayed out all day surfing. Next day I'm bright red and everything hurts. Can't wear clothes. Can't go outside. Next day, itch. Two days after that I'm peeling like a snake in spring."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"On Earth you could do that in a hour," Tim said. "They had to wear hats and spread goo on their skins to thin the sunlight or they'd get cancer. Too much-" He'd never quite got this straight. "Too much of the light that's too blue to see."
Haron seemed to find that funny. "Too blue to see." He set down the board. Nearly naked to the wind, he didn't shiver. "All right. You know something. Not like these yutzes. What do you want?"
"Did you ever see Cavo rite?"
"No,"
"Did you ever find out where Cavorite went? Do the traders know?" Haron's eyes went distant. His lips moved, but nothing came out.
"The Neck," Tim prodded.
"We got to the Neck. The Road goes right across."
"Is that where the Otterfolk are?"
"Them. They're all along the shore of the big bay. They don't talk. They can't go anywhere."
"You went twice? You must like it."
"Not so much that."
Tim waited.
"They don't know anything here. Surf in summer, gather and eat in fall, huddle hungry in winter. Time of year tells them what they're doing, everything they're doing. It feels so cramped." Haron's voice was rising, but he caught himself. "Doesn't matter anyway. The merchants asked, I had to go."
"Why?"
"First time, they gave us two knives." Haron grinned. "Second time, I was trained already. Four knives."
Ah, he'd been bought.
"The Otterfolk, they can't go anywhere," Haron said. "There's only the bay. Anywhere else, they die. That's one reason. I'd go again, because the Otterfolk can't."
"What are they like?"
"We're not supposed to talk to them, but you can sneak away. They draw pictures in the sand. You try to tell them things that way, but it's-" Haron frowned. "It's not enough."
"For what?"
Haron shook his head. He picked up his board and ran into the water.
Merchants and Twerdahls mingled on the sand. Tim Bednacourt worked anonymous in their midst.
For a long moment Quicksilver burned at the edge of the sea, just below the cloud deck. Then it winked out. An hour of sunlight left.
Merchants watched Tim Bednacourt cutting onions, carrots, bell peppers, mushrooms picked in the cypress swamp. "That looks good," the older woman said. Tim smiled.
Four merchants came, all a few inches shorter than Tim, all exotic and elegant, dressed in many colors, many layers. I noticed the younger man first. Dark, with a thin mustache: Tim had seen him before. An older man with brown hair and a forked beard turning gray. A blackhaired woman his own age; another very like her but no older than Tim. Skins browner than Tim's, all four. Their eyes were dark and a bit tilted. Parents, son, daughter?
He could be wrong about that, or their ages, or almost anything. Any fool might pretend to know all about merchants. Nobody really knew.
The young man said, "I remember you. We were talking about Otterfolk. I noticed you trying to listen and cook-"
"I remember. You're Joker?"
He nodded. The older woman asked, "Would you like to see them for yourself?"
Caught by surprise, Tim laughed. "Sure. It's not likely, is it?"
"I'm Senka," she said. "These are Damon and Rian, my husband and daughter."
"I'm Tim Bednacourt."
She was examining him. It made him uncomfortable. "How long have you lived in this place?"
"Twenty
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