In short, she considered her husband a boor. Glinnes, though far more gracious and easy than his father, reminded her of Jut. There could never be real warmth between them. Good enough, thought Glinnes; he wasn’t especially fond of Marucha either.
Glinnes turned the boat into Zeur Water, which bounded the Prefecture Commons on the northeast. On impulse he slowed and turned into the shore. Nosing his boat through the reeds, he made it fast to the crook of a casammon tree, and clambered up the bank to where he could look across the island. Three hundred yards away, beside a copse of black candlenuts, the Drossets had pitched their three tents — the same rectangles of orange, dirty maroon and black that had offended Glinnes’ eyes on Rabendary. On a bench Vang Drosset sat hunched over a fruit of some kind — a melon, or perhaps a cazaldo . Tingo, wearing a lavender headkerchief, squatted beside the fire, chopping up tubers and throwing them into the caldron. The sons Ashmor and Harving were not in evidence, nor was Duissane.
Glinnes watched for five minutes. Vang Drosset finished the cazaldo and flung the husk at the fire. Then, hands on knees, he turned and spoke to Tingo, who continued her work. Glinnes jumped down the bank to his boat and drove home at full speed. An hour later he returned. During Glay’s sojourning with the Trevanyi he had used their costume; these garments Glinnes now wore, as well as a Trevanyi turban. A young cavout lay on the floor of the boat, head muffled and legs tied. The boat also carried three empty cartons, several good iron pots, and a shovel.
Glinnes took the boat to where he had previously run it ashore. He climbed up the bank and observed the Drosset camp through binoculars. The caldron simmered over the fire. Tingo was nowhere to be seen. Vang Drosset sat on the bench carving a dako burl. Glinnes stared intently. Would Vang Drosset be using his knife? Chips and shavings effortlessly departed the dako, and Vang Drosset approvingly examined the knife from time to time. Glinnes brought the cavout up from the boat and removing the muffle, tethered the creature by one hind leg so that it might wander a few yards out upon the common.
Glinnes concealed himself behind a clump of hushberry, where he muffled the lower part of his face in the loose tail of the turban.
Vang Drossett carved the dako. He paused, stretching his arms, and noted the cavout. He watched it a moment, then rising to his feet, scrutinized the entire common. No one in sight. He wiped the knife and tucked it into his boot.Tingo Drosset put her head from the tent; Vang Drosset had a word with her. She came forth and looked dubiously at the cabout. Vang Drosset set off across the common, walking with an air of furtive purpose.
Ten yards from the cavout he seemed to see it for the first time, and halted as if in wonder. He noticed the tether and traced it to the casammon tree. He too four quiet steps forward, craning his neck. He saw the boat and stopped short, while his eyes performed an inventory of its contentsA shovel, several useful pots, and what might those cartons contain? He licked his lips, looked sharply right and left. Peculiar. Probably the work of a child. Still, why not take a look in the cartons. Certainly, no harm in a look.
Vang Drosset walked carefully down the bank, and he never knew what struck him. Glinnes, fury surging in his veins, lept forth and almost tore Vang Drosset’s head off with a pair of tremendous blows over each ear.Vang Drosset fell to the ground. Glinnes pushed his face into the mud, tied his hands behind his back, lashed his knees and ankles with a length of rope he had brought for the purpose. Then he gagged and blindfolded Vang Drosset, who was now uttering stertorous moans.
He brought the knife from Vang Drosset’s black boot: his own. A delight to have the keen blade once more in his posession! He searched Vang Drosset’s garments, slicing them with the knife to facilitate
Glinnes turned the boat into Zeur Water, which bounded the Prefecture Commons on the northeast. On impulse he slowed and turned into the shore. Nosing his boat through the reeds, he made it fast to the crook of a casammon tree, and clambered up the bank to where he could look across the island. Three hundred yards away, beside a copse of black candlenuts, the Drossets had pitched their three tents — the same rectangles of orange, dirty maroon and black that had offended Glinnes’ eyes on Rabendary. On a bench Vang Drosset sat hunched over a fruit of some kind — a melon, or perhaps a cazaldo . Tingo, wearing a lavender headkerchief, squatted beside the fire, chopping up tubers and throwing them into the caldron. The sons Ashmor and Harving were not in evidence, nor was Duissane.
Glinnes watched for five minutes. Vang Drosset finished the cazaldo and flung the husk at the fire. Then, hands on knees, he turned and spoke to Tingo, who continued her work. Glinnes jumped down the bank to his boat and drove home at full speed. An hour later he returned. During Glay’s sojourning with the Trevanyi he had used their costume; these garments Glinnes now wore, as well as a Trevanyi turban. A young cavout lay on the floor of the boat, head muffled and legs tied. The boat also carried three empty cartons, several good iron pots, and a shovel.
Glinnes took the boat to where he had previously run it ashore. He climbed up the bank and observed the Drosset camp through binoculars. The caldron simmered over the fire. Tingo was nowhere to be seen. Vang Drosset sat on the bench carving a dako burl. Glinnes stared intently. Would Vang Drosset be using his knife? Chips and shavings effortlessly departed the dako, and Vang Drosset approvingly examined the knife from time to time. Glinnes brought the cavout up from the boat and removing the muffle, tethered the creature by one hind leg so that it might wander a few yards out upon the common.
Glinnes concealed himself behind a clump of hushberry, where he muffled the lower part of his face in the loose tail of the turban.
Vang Drossett carved the dako. He paused, stretching his arms, and noted the cavout. He watched it a moment, then rising to his feet, scrutinized the entire common. No one in sight. He wiped the knife and tucked it into his boot.Tingo Drosset put her head from the tent; Vang Drosset had a word with her. She came forth and looked dubiously at the cabout. Vang Drosset set off across the common, walking with an air of furtive purpose.
Ten yards from the cavout he seemed to see it for the first time, and halted as if in wonder. He noticed the tether and traced it to the casammon tree. He too four quiet steps forward, craning his neck. He saw the boat and stopped short, while his eyes performed an inventory of its contentsA shovel, several useful pots, and what might those cartons contain? He licked his lips, looked sharply right and left. Peculiar. Probably the work of a child. Still, why not take a look in the cartons. Certainly, no harm in a look.
Vang Drosset walked carefully down the bank, and he never knew what struck him. Glinnes, fury surging in his veins, lept forth and almost tore Vang Drosset’s head off with a pair of tremendous blows over each ear.Vang Drosset fell to the ground. Glinnes pushed his face into the mud, tied his hands behind his back, lashed his knees and ankles with a length of rope he had brought for the purpose. Then he gagged and blindfolded Vang Drosset, who was now uttering stertorous moans.
He brought the knife from Vang Drosset’s black boot: his own. A delight to have the keen blade once more in his posession! He searched Vang Drosset’s garments, slicing them with the knife to facilitate
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