The central-courtyard was still set in its morning chill. Tahlia stood watching the scene below from the pemtagrin door step as another of the merchants' carts was driven through the barbican gateway. They were not the giant lumbering juddra wagons used by the Engineers, nor were they the masdon carts of the farmers, but were smaller vehicles, pulled by zule and grenkep. There were at least ten of the carts parked in the courtyard now, and all were surrounded by activity as they were unloaded by their crews.

It was the first day of the tourney recess, and the merchants, who had previously been restricted to plying their wares within the confines of the Encampment, had been permitted to enter Klinberg's walls, bringing with them a selection of their merchandise to the hall of petitioners. The fortress still slumbered after its excesses of the recess feast the previous evening, and it seemed that the central-courtyard was the only place to be awake as crates and boxes were unpacked, along with baskets of clothing and cylinders of fine cloth. Tahlia looked critically at the long bolts of cloth because they were partly the reason she was there. She had been summoned to meet her mother to help choose material for their new dresses, which were going to be made for her brother's ceremony of welcome at Tourney's end.

The merchants, all richly dressed and equally richly mannered, had already entered the keep to prepare their place in the hall, leaving the unloading of their wares to their Trade Proctors, whose authority stood clearly out in the bustle of the courtyard. They were the people whose job was not to lift and carry, but whose presence assured that things were lifted and carried with due diligence, and that their transport suffered no interference. They all had a hint of suppressed brutality about them, and though they were by no means thuggish, they did all look, to Tahlia's eye, somewhat wild and uncivilised.

One, a very tall woman with dark skin and a contrast of white hair piled upon her head and pinned together with long spikes of bone, wore armour fashioned from the hide of some thick skinned beast. Another seemed to do little by way of encouraging the men under his charge in their labours. Though he was short and narrow shouldered, and had the look of a good natured farmer about him, they hurried about their business, heads down, intent on their tasks. The man, in his turn, leant against the wheel of one of the waiting carts, smoking a long pipe, seemingly oblivious to the fearful deference about him.

Tahlia watched as a member of one of the carts' crew pulled a bale of grass from the rear of his vehicle and threw it down in front of the two zule harnessed between its shafts. They bent their heads eagerly and began pulling apart the wrapping of dried grass with their long mandibles, reaching for the moist, half rotted, vegetation inside, while their thick segmented tails curled and beat at the ground in anticipation of their meal.

A bellow of laughter echoed across the courtyard. One of the merchants' carts had stopped beneath the shadow of the open depot gate, and Jerrus, the loud voiced and large bellied senior clerk, was sitting on a packing box nearby, evidently sharing a joke with the cart's driver. Tahlia jumped down the steps into the courtyard's bustle to see if there was anything interesting going on. She did, after all, have some time before she had to meet her mother.

When she reached the cart, Jerrus had climbed onto its loading step and was leaning against its tailgate. One of his clerks stood by the rear wheel, hand-ledger and chamber pen in hand.

"I have the order here, chief," he was saying. "Pantler Heb placed it himself."

"And a good eye for quality has our Head Pantler," said Jerrus, grinning. "Look at these kolto husks. Have you ever seen any the colour of these?"

Tahlia stood on tip toe to better see between the lattice woodwork of the cart's side, and found it filled with round stone jars, each stoppered with solid gum bungs and painted in exotic colourful designs. Jerrus had unstopped one of the jars and had pulled out a rounded shard of something; strangely ridged with a deep red sheen on the outside.

"They are impressive," agreed the clerk.

"What do you think, young lady?" said Jerrus, noticing her by the side of the cart.

"What is it?" Tahlia asked, looking critically up at the thing that he held in his hand.

"Kolto shell. From the eastern isles."

"Never heard of it."

"That's as may be, but I bet you have tasted it. Wonderful to taste it is; grated into cheese pie is my favourite."

He put the thing back in its jar and opened up another.

"Socro pods!" he exclaimed.

He took out a long evilly misshapen object, with hard folded up black skin. It was the length of his hand, and when he shook it, it gave a dry whispering rattle.

Jerrus lifted the thing to his nose and gave it a cautious sniff.

"Ah, that takes me back. Here."

He stepped down from the back of the cart and held the thing out to Tahlia.

"Have a sniff, but mind yourself. Too much up your nose and you'll sneeze your ears off."

Tahlia sniffed the thing carefully, making sure she did not get too close. The smell from it was sweet and musky, and despite her care, she could feel it tickling at the back of her nose.

"Hah, told you it was strong stuff didn't I, and not without its good uses. Saved my life once did a jar of socro pods"

"Really?" said Tahlia dubiously.

"I don't think she believes me, Murel!" said Jerrus, addressing the clerk with the ledger.

"Surely not, chief,"

"I've told you and the boys about the jar of socro pods and the gulljamlet, haven't I?"

"You certainly have, chief."

"And you believe the tale don't you, Murel?"

"It is a very believable tale."

Jerrus held up the socro pod and studied it closely, rattling it once more beside his ear and smiling with satisfaction.

"Well?" asked Tahlia.

"Well what, young lady?"

"Are you going to tell me about the socro pods and the gulljamlet?"

"Well, if you insist," said Jerrus, taking Tahlia by the shoulder and guiding her to some empty travelling crates. "Carry on, Murel."

The clerk, with a knowing smile, climbed onto the cart beside the driver and opened up his hand-ledger.

Jerrus settled himself on a crate, which creaked and settled under his weight. He picked up a black glass bottle from the crate beside him, uncorked it, and took a long swallow of whatever was inside.

"When I was working the trade caravans," he said. "Bringing cargos of spice and red grain from the deserts of Kla, and the safety of the good Merchant Brosier and all his goods were in my hands..."

"What!" said Tahlia.

"Oh, yes," said Jerrus, patting his huge belly. "I was not always as you see me. I was once Trade Proctor to the richest merchant in the southlands, and he was rich because he had once dared to cross the deserts of Kla; the only place that the socro pods grow. Merchant Brosier was the man responsible for opening trade to those impassable lands, and he is also the reason that the cooks all the way here in the north can make such exquisite spiral bread.

"Anyway, we were travelling north with all the speed we could muster, for the cold season was coming to an end, though cold season is something of a misnomer, for there is no such thing in the southlands. The cold season is merely the season that is not the hot season. The hot season being the season where nothing survives in the south, and the desert burns.

"We had made it as far as the road to New Koln, leaving our sand wagons at the trade camp on the desert's northern shore, and loaded our cargo onto zule wagons for the journey to Naddaran. We were forced to travel in the early mornings, or late afternoons, for at all other times the temperatures became too inhospitable. Even in the evening in the cold season, when the sun is nearing the horizon, the air still shimmers from horizon to horizon.

"It was out of that quivering heat that the gulljamlet came; all legs and talons and teeth, and our outriders did not see its approach, for their eyes had been fooled by the shifting air. The first we knew was when we heard their brief screams, echoing about the rocky hills that made up the landscape of that desolate country. Then the beast fell upon us, shattering a wagon with a swipe of one curved talon, and making a bloody ruin of a team of zule with another. I rallied the caravan guard and they charged with their spears and swords, but the beast beat them aside, breaking bones and spilling their blood on the ground, to sizzle on the hot rocks.

"Then the beast came at me, its horrible legs striding over the wagons and shattering them, as the zule tethered in their traces squealed their pitched screams of terror. I stood at the back of Merchant Brosier's wagon and faced it with sword drawn, but it did me no good. The foul creature snatched the useless metal from my fingers, bent it round in a circle, and threw it away as though playing a game of hoop ball. Then it seized me in its clawed hand, and it was as though great bands of metal had been hammered about my legs as it dragged me from the wagon. It held me high above its round mouth, which was ringed with horrible pustules that seemed to quiver at the expectation of pulping my bones and mincing my flesh.

"And then it dropped me into its abominable maw."

"No!" cried Tahlia.

"But, yes!" replied Jerrus. "And things would have gone bad for me had I not used the wits that Fortak had given me. Before the beast dragged me from the wagon, I had taken up a jar of socro pods, and as it released me, I smashed the jar over the lumpen thing that passed for its head. Now, fortunately, the jar was only of pressed paper, made for its lightness of weight for transport on the sand wagons, rather than for the purpose of durability. So it broke easily over its face, socro pods cracked open, and this wonderful spice flew everywhere.

"I did not see what happened next for I was swallowed deep down in the creature's gullet, with its slimy pustule flesh squeezing about me, but it must have been a fair sight as the spice got up its excuse for a nose. I was only down there for a few seconds before the beast gave such a sneeze, I shot from its mouth like a natha-bomb from a war engine. Half a kilometer I must have flown before I came to rest in the branches of a strangler tree, where I hung for a few minutes to regain my breath.

"I was not there long before the remains of Merchant Brosier's caravan came along. It transpired that the creature was in such a state of sneezing that the remaining wagon drivers were able to make their escape unheeded. So half the caravan survived, though that was of little consolation to Merchant Brosier, who put the blame for the loss of his wagons firmly on my shoulders, would you believe?"

A ripple of appreciative chortles ran through the group of men who had paused in the labour to listen to the clerk's tale.

"Sounds like the merchants I know," said one.

Jerrus happily picked up the bottle from the crate beside him and handed it to the man.

"Never happy at their losses," he said. "And happy enough to blame others for them.

"But wasn't Merchant Brosier paying you for your protection?" asked Tahlia.

"What's that?" said Jerrus, peering down at her.

"Well, if you were in charge of protecting his wagons, then surely it was your fault."

"She does have a point there," said the man who Jerrus had passed his bottle to. He took a swig and passed it to the man beside him.

"Not much you can do about a gulljamlet," said another.

"Except see the damned thing coming," said a discourteous voice behind him.

The small assembly seemed to jump as one at the voice, then they shuffled aside as a tall, thick shouldered, man pushed his way through them, a scowl on his broken nosed face.

"You're stopping the men working with your stories, you old fool," he growled at Jerrus.

"My apologies," said Jerrus, showing no ill humour. "It was not intended for the ears of your men."

The man merely grunted.

"Are you lot still here!" he bellowed at the men who were still standing around, and they scurried back to their work. He cuffed one about the head and pulled Jerrus' bottle from the hand of another. Once the men had unwillingly returned to their labours, the man grinned humourlessly, took a long swallow from the bottle, and sat down on the crate beside Jerrus, who did not seem put out by his familiarity. The man took another long swallow from the bottle, then wiped one arm, which was covered in crudely drawn tattoos, across his mouth.

He looked down at Tahlia.

"And what do you want, girl?"

"Nothing," replied Tahlia, meeting the man's gaze with a look of blank innocence.

"Don't mind her," said Jerrus. "She was showing a keen interest in our trade, that's all."

"Well she can go and show interest somewhere else," grunted the surly Trade Proctor.

"I'm afraid my friend here is right," said Jerrus, leaning forward to address Tahlia nose to nose. "You had better be off. We have business to discuss. Hey Murel!"

This last was bellowed across the courtyard, to the clerk on top of the wagon.

"Yes, chief?"

"Is your work done?"

"It is. The delivery is in order."

"Right!" said Jerrus, clapping his hands together and standing. "Let's get the man's books signed and his cargo down to the cellars, so the good cooks of Klinberg can put them to use."

Murel climbed down from the wagon, and the driver clicked his tongue in three quick sounds, making the two zule who had been lying motionless on the courtyard's stones uncurl their tails and unfold their limbs. As the wagon moved into the darkness of the depot gate, Jerrus took the hand ledger from Murel.

"Away with you girl," he said when he saw Tahlia still standing there.

Tahlia wondered if his sudden unfriendliness had anything to do with her question about his responsibility for the spice wagons of the merchant Brosier. Surely not, she thought, for she had made a perfectly valid point.

A number of the merchant's men followed the wagon through the depot gate, presumably to help with the unloading inside. The big Trade Proctor stood and took a final swig from the black glass bottle, before following the rest of the men.

Tahlia looked around, realising that the courtyard was suddenly quiet. It seemed the merchants had finished unloading their wares, and only the wagon crews remained, feeding their animals and loosening their harnesses.

"Oh dear," she said, before turning and hurrying across the courtyard to the steps of the keep.

* * * * *

"It was one simple thing I asked of you!"

"Sorry, mother," said Tahlia, her hands clasped behind her back.

"If you were truly sorry, then you would do as you were required!" snapped her mother. "Like being in a place at the time that I ask you to be!"

Tahlia wished her mother would keep her voice down. They were standing together at the entrance to the hall of petitioners, where tables had been set out for the merchants to lay out their wares. The room was full and loud with chatter, but her mother's raised voice still seemed to carry, causing a few inquisitive ladies to look up from their conversations to see who it was being directed at.

Standing beside her mother was Amezif, her father's treasurer, and beside him was a stern looking woman that Tahlia assumed was one of the fortress' seamstresses. Standing some way behind, and gently rocking the sleeping form of her brother, Kralmir, was Kamantha, his nursemaid. Kamantha's face, which Tahlia thought always held a look of perpetual worry, seemed even more pinched and nervous than usual. She took it to be as a result of dealing with her mother's recent unpredictable moods, which seemed to change from one hour to the next. Like the day before when her mother said she would be going to watch the contests, but had then changed her mind. Tahlia had made such an effort to make herself presentable, so the whole episode had been very inconvenient.

At that moment, it seemed, her mother's mood had swung towards barely concealed anger, which Tahlia thought a little unjustified as she had only been fifteen minutes late. She did consider pointing out that fact, but decided instead that remorseful silence would be a more appropriate response.

"Come on," her mother sighed. "Let us get this done."

And so began a morning of unutterable boredom. Tahlia trailed after her mother, from one table to another, and listened to her, the seamstress and the merchants discussing fabrics and colours and filigree and the like. At least the seamstress and the merchants talked. Her mother showed little interest or enthusiasm in the materials before her, and simply looked at each one as it was shown to her, replying to any query from the seamstress with a polite 'No', or a less polite 'No, I do not think so'.

They had been in the room for what seemed like hours, and Tahlia could feel her feet getting hot and prickly with standing. They had moved to what felt like the hundredth merchant, with yet more bolts of material, when her mother did finally take an interest in something she saw.

"This is nice, do you not think?" she said.

Tahlia looked up to see her mother holding some dark fabric in her hands. So dark, it appeared almost black, but when the light from the high windows caught it, it rippled a lustrous red, and like the sun on turbulent water, bright green threads glistened along the ripples' crests.

"My lady has a good eye," said the merchant behind the table. She was a tall woman with her grey hair curled upward on her head to add further to her height, and her tunic and trousers were of the finest red material. "The green is striking, like your eyes. It would complement them beautifully."

"Not really appropriate for a gown of welcome, my lady," the seamstress said disapprovingly, but then, seeming to realise it was the first item of material that Tahlessa had taken an interest in, went on. "But maybe for a bodice it would work if we were to find something more to complement."

"A fine idea," said the merchant. "And I am sure I have something here to match."

She pulled back swathes of fabric until she reached a bolt, which she then pulled out to reveal with a flourish.

"Oh, now that is nice," said the seamstress, her eyes alight.

The material seemed a riot of oranges and reds, but the pattern was defined and trimmed by curling lines of darker colour, and within each dark band there was a line of brilliant green.

Her mother did not seem impressed. Her face lost its look of vague interest and returned to its expression of indifference.

"It will match with your choice perfectly," said the seamstress encouragingly. "We can cinch the bodice now you have your waist back, and we can taper the sleeves and add more to the cuff, and maybe layer it in the train."

"No train," said her mother.

"Maybe just at the hem then."

"Or maybe some fur at the hem," suggested the merchant. "I have some very nice samples from the southlands that would complement..."

She went to reach under the table.

"I only wear fur if I have hunted it myself."

"Of course," said the merchant, straightening up.

"Well what do you think, my lady?" said the seamstress, holding up the two samples of material.

"Yes," said her mother, "Order what you need."

"And for your daughter?"

"Something in the orange and red. No black."

The seamstress and the merchant then entered into what, to Tahlia, seemed an overly prolonged conversation on length of fabric, the weight of it, and whether lining was required. When the discussion was finally concluded, Amezif stepped forward from where he had been standing patiently, so that payment could be discussed.

Tahlia sighed with relief, for now at last the ordeal of boredom was finally over and she could get on with her day.

"Now," said the seamstress brightly, "We will need lace for the bodice, and buttons and new jewellery to match, of course."

"If its jewellery you're after, I believe Merchant Dres has some excellent pieces," said the merchant, pointing across the room to where a man dressed in a fine suit of purple stood behind a table. His wares seemed to have attracted the attention of a throng of ladies.

"Thank you," said the seamstress. "Would you like to see him first, my lady?"

"Yes, of course," said her mother, still with little enthusiasm, and she drifted across to the merchant. The seamstress followed happily and Amezif followed obediently. Tahlia gave a great sigh, and simply followed.