years. Born here," making himself a year older than Jemmy Bloocher.
The man asked, "Do you ever wonder what the rest of the world looks like?"
"Well, sure, sometimes I look off down the Road and-"
"Tim."
He jumped. Loria! She said, "You can't cook in the dark. You need help?"
It wasn't dark yet, but... "Yes, love, I got a little behind. You cut, I'll start these." An hour of light left. Tim added oil to the wok-already hot-then vegetables. The action became brisk. The merchant trio watched, then wandered off.
Loria asked, "What did they want?"
"They didn't say."
"But something?"
"Oh, yeah. Sounds like they need a labor yutz or two."
The big vegetable omelets had become almost reflex. Tim finished one and shouted for the nearest older child whose name he could remember.
"Did you talk to Haron?"
"Tried. What happened to him?"
"This batch is finished," Loria said, and went briskly away.
Food wandered toward him from other cookfires. Tim ate as he cooked: sausage, roasted ear of corn, half of a passerby's chunk of bread, a slice of his own omelet. When it was too dark to see he settled himself on the sand.
Heaven's fire still burned where sky met sea.
His arms and shoulders hurt. He didn't usually push himself this hard. Where was Loria? Why?
Hadn't she expected him to talk to Haron? It was her own suggestion! Someone was at his side. He turned hoping to see Loria, or any Bednacourt who could explain what Loria was angry about.
It was a young merchant woman, her clothes still a patchwork of color in the dying light. She handed him the edge of a half melon. They broke it together; he kept half, the juice running down his fingers.
"Rian," she said. "You're Tim?"
"Hello, Rian."
Senka's daughter. She sat beside him. In the dark her face was all planes and angles, a lovely but abstracted shape. Eyes a bit tilted, like almonds. "This is my first trip," she said.
"From where?" he asked.
"We don't talk about that. We don't take labor yutzes past the Neck." Too bad, he thought. Then he stared. Past the Neck? She'd been born on the mainland!
Rian leaned close enough that he could feel her breath on his cheek. "One of our cooks has died," she said. "We need another."
"Uh-huh?"
"Want to come with us?"
"As a labor yutz?"
"Yes."
Tim smiled politely. "Rian, why don't you tell me how your cook died?"
She hesitated. "Well. We were too far from the other wagons. Petey was a cowboy-"
"Say?"
"Cowboy. He liked to be right there on the sand shooting when the sharks came at us. Made us shoot around him. Few days ago the sharks got ahead of us a bit. They got Petey."
Tim said what he should have said first. "I've only been married two months."
"Yes, to Loria Bed... Bednacourt. She carrying a guest yet?"
This question seemed excessively personal, but Tim supposed it might matter to merchants interested in hiring a woman's husband. He said, "Not yet."
"So come."
Tim shook his head.
She was trying to study his face in the dark. "Nobody has to be down there on the sand with the sharks, Tim. Not a labor yutz, anyway. They never reach the wagon roofs."
She thought he was afraid?
"You know," she said, "the Otterfolk must have been the first unhuman tool users anyone ever saw. Cavorite wouldn't have just sailed past."
She was right, he thought. And- "They can draw pictures of Cavorite," he said.
He couldn't say, Loria doesn't even want me talking to you, let alone- Rian would wonder why, and Tim didn't know, but that left only a killing in Spiral Town as his excuse, and what would he tell her instead? He said, "I wasn't the only cook-"
"You have four. Van Barstowe limps. A caravan yutz has to walk, you know. Drew Bednacourt drops things, and he's surly. You and Van, you're the best. Do you like my company, Tim?"
At dinnertime there were knives everywhere you looked, and where was Loria right now? "No, look, Rian, we all grow up knowing about hybrid vigor, but Loria doesn't think like that. My life wouldn't be worth
The man asked, "Do you ever wonder what the rest of the world looks like?"
"Well, sure, sometimes I look off down the Road and-"
"Tim."
He jumped. Loria! She said, "You can't cook in the dark. You need help?"
It wasn't dark yet, but... "Yes, love, I got a little behind. You cut, I'll start these." An hour of light left. Tim added oil to the wok-already hot-then vegetables. The action became brisk. The merchant trio watched, then wandered off.
Loria asked, "What did they want?"
"They didn't say."
"But something?"
"Oh, yeah. Sounds like they need a labor yutz or two."
The big vegetable omelets had become almost reflex. Tim finished one and shouted for the nearest older child whose name he could remember.
"Did you talk to Haron?"
"Tried. What happened to him?"
"This batch is finished," Loria said, and went briskly away.
Food wandered toward him from other cookfires. Tim ate as he cooked: sausage, roasted ear of corn, half of a passerby's chunk of bread, a slice of his own omelet. When it was too dark to see he settled himself on the sand.
Heaven's fire still burned where sky met sea.
His arms and shoulders hurt. He didn't usually push himself this hard. Where was Loria? Why?
Hadn't she expected him to talk to Haron? It was her own suggestion! Someone was at his side. He turned hoping to see Loria, or any Bednacourt who could explain what Loria was angry about.
It was a young merchant woman, her clothes still a patchwork of color in the dying light. She handed him the edge of a half melon. They broke it together; he kept half, the juice running down his fingers.
"Rian," she said. "You're Tim?"
"Hello, Rian."
Senka's daughter. She sat beside him. In the dark her face was all planes and angles, a lovely but abstracted shape. Eyes a bit tilted, like almonds. "This is my first trip," she said.
"From where?" he asked.
"We don't talk about that. We don't take labor yutzes past the Neck." Too bad, he thought. Then he stared. Past the Neck? She'd been born on the mainland!
Rian leaned close enough that he could feel her breath on his cheek. "One of our cooks has died," she said. "We need another."
"Uh-huh?"
"Want to come with us?"
"As a labor yutz?"
"Yes."
Tim smiled politely. "Rian, why don't you tell me how your cook died?"
She hesitated. "Well. We were too far from the other wagons. Petey was a cowboy-"
"Say?"
"Cowboy. He liked to be right there on the sand shooting when the sharks came at us. Made us shoot around him. Few days ago the sharks got ahead of us a bit. They got Petey."
Tim said what he should have said first. "I've only been married two months."
"Yes, to Loria Bed... Bednacourt. She carrying a guest yet?"
This question seemed excessively personal, but Tim supposed it might matter to merchants interested in hiring a woman's husband. He said, "Not yet."
"So come."
Tim shook his head.
She was trying to study his face in the dark. "Nobody has to be down there on the sand with the sharks, Tim. Not a labor yutz, anyway. They never reach the wagon roofs."
She thought he was afraid?
"You know," she said, "the Otterfolk must have been the first unhuman tool users anyone ever saw. Cavorite wouldn't have just sailed past."
She was right, he thought. And- "They can draw pictures of Cavorite," he said.
He couldn't say, Loria doesn't even want me talking to you, let alone- Rian would wonder why, and Tim didn't know, but that left only a killing in Spiral Town as his excuse, and what would he tell her instead? He said, "I wasn't the only cook-"
"You have four. Van Barstowe limps. A caravan yutz has to walk, you know. Drew Bednacourt drops things, and he's surly. You and Van, you're the best. Do you like my company, Tim?"
At dinnertime there were knives everywhere you looked, and where was Loria right now? "No, look, Rian, we all grow up knowing about hybrid vigor, but Loria doesn't think like that. My life wouldn't be worth
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