Chapter II

The creaking wheels of the merchants' overflowing pushcarts had an almost melodic quality to them if you listened carefully. Anyone who just saw or -- more to the point -- just heard the little caravan pass by wouldn't notice. She would only see the dust the merchants kicked up and the sweat on the men's brows and would only hear their brash voices and their friendly "hellos." But if she walked with the men mile after mile, she would start to sense the rhythm of it all, the ebb and flow and the music that hid in the unlikeliest of places. She would notice how a house along the road would make the wheels of the pushcarts turn a little faster, a crescendo building almost imperceptibly until the men knew whether a sale was to be made or not. She would notice how the cooling shade of a beech grove could slow the turning of the wheels, a spontaneous diminuendo turning men into boys laughing with the joy of being outside and longing to run among the trees in search of adventure and a cold stream to cool their feet in. Round and round the wheels turned, performing their drawn-out concert.

Ida listened as she walked behind the caravan of merchants. It was entrancing. She thought of all the places those wheels had been. Every inch of road on Iordo: the busy markets of Rebild, the southern cliffs, and the lonely road along the western sea. Maybe the song the wheels were singing was about their travels, an ode to the island. She smiled at the thought. If she weren't a girl, she would become a traveling merchant, she thought to herself; she'd see the island while selling her wares. She would sell beautiful things of clay, pots and vases and mugs and bowls glazed in all the colors of the rainbow. Or maybe she would sell things carved in wood, soft and beautiful forms that were smooth to the touch. As she walked, she wondered who would stop her if she attempted to join the restless caravan of men and wares. No one, she suspected.

They were on their way into Dustring for market day. Ida had waited all morning for the caravan of merchants at the crossroads where the quiet country road that led to her house met the main road into Dustring. More people joined Ida behind the caravan as it neared Dustring. Ida's two friends Ella and Willa were among them. A relaxed excitement was in the air. Market days were a breath of fresh air in the humdrum of everyday life. The merchants brought with them news of the island and, on rare occasions, even news of the world beyond Iordo, though such news interested the people of Dustring little.

When they arrived in sleepy Dustring, Ida, Ella, and Willa sat down next to a tree on the edge of the village square and looked on as the merchants began emptying their pushcarts and setting up their little stalls. They looked on, bemused, as one of the novice merchants struggled with taking apart his pushcart; after a long fruitless struggle he asked one of the older merchants to help him. The older, more experienced man patted the young, flustered merchant on his shoulder and smiled knowingly at the three girls watching as he effortlessly worked the pushcart's hinges, which had seemed so unyielding a moment earlier. In an instant, the novice's pushcart became a little stall. The young man thanked the older profusely and began hurriedly lining up his wares.

When all the men were done setting up their little stalls and lining up their many varied wares, the merchants' unofficial leader, young Luke, rang a small bell to open the market. The traveling merchants bought their wares all over the island, and some even made purchases from the harbor traders down in Asp. One such enterprising merchant sold exotic spices imported from the spice market in Foborg. The spices on display looked like little piles of colored sand, but their smells were strange and alluring. One spice made Ida feel like sneezing, while another made her eyes feel prickly; some smelled of flowers and sweetness while others smelled bitter and ominous. She wondered what strange places all these many smells came from. The spice seller was not having much luck selling his wares to the Dustringers. Some gave his stall a wide berth, holding their noses, while most sniffed exploratively but remained uncommitted, not quite believing the spice seller's assured claims that his spices could enhance any dish or dessert and that some of his little piles of sand could even serve as potent medicine powder.

Another merchant was selling dried and candied fruits. A throng of children stood around his stall and looked on with big eyes. The man traveling with copper wares stood polishing a beautiful pan as Ida passed. He nodded at Ida and she smiled back. Ella owned many pots and pans made of copper. The fine kitchenware always shone beautifully hanging above her stove, but Ida knew the many hours it took make them shine and was happy with her cast iron at home.

She let her hand run through the colorful fabrics a cloth seller had laid out on a table in front of his stand. The cloth seller was busy eying his competitor two stalls over. Every one of the merchants, even the very new ones, had heard of the time when young Luke had showed up on the square in Pelthill with a crate full of windup birds that could sing a little song and walk of their own accord when you turned a key in their backs. That whole day people had crowded Luke's table without as much as glancing at anyone else's wares. Young Luke, who was quite old now, still refused to give away his supplier, and the many little birds he had sold that day so many years ago had, over time, become treasured family heirlooms in many homes in and around Pelthill. The common view among the other merchants was that Luke had bought the windup birds from a dwarf aboard a ship anchored in Asp who, in return, had had his cargo hold filled with Dustring oak in the dead of night. Luke simply smiled knowingly if anyone asked him about the windup birds and their origin. He still kept a single old windup bird on display to lure young children and their parents to his table. Today, as on most days, none of the merchants seemed to have gotten their hands on anything out of the ordinary, apart from the spice seller who had misjudged the adventurousness of the Dustringers.

In the corner of the square, near the well, the food-sellers had set up their stalls. Most of the sellers here were local people. Nora Mudtrunk, Ida's closest neighbor, manned a little stand where she sold bread and other baked goods. Elna Clayroot sold assorted roasted nuts, and her two twin boys, who were about ten years old, had a rather makeshift stand next to their mother's where they sold dried mushrooms they had collected in the shadowy depths of the oak forest. The main attraction among the food-sellers was the young man who sold yellow crabs. A long line of people queued behind his stall, waiting patiently for their turn to order. The young man had brought two barrels filled with large yellow crabs to Dustring but it was clear that he would run out before the day was over, and Ida, worried that she had lingered too long, placed herself at the back of the queue.

The crabs in the barrels were still alive. They picked at each other and snapped their claws at curious onlookers. There were no lids on the barrels, but the crabs ceaseless pulled at each other and let none of their kind escape their fate on the cutting board. The people in the queue chatted politely as they gradually neared their prize. They spoke of the weather, which had been particularly agreeable as of late, and of the coming harvest, which promised to be bountiful. Ida only half-listened to the unfolding conversations as she attempted to count the number of remaining crabs and the number of people in front of her.

"A ship. That's what they are saying," said Euan Fernlake, the miller, and look around knowingly.

"That hardly sounds queer," said Alistair Bushelcrop, the butcher, and shook his head.

"Ah, but this is no ordinary ship," said Euan.

"Oh," said Alistair and smiled bemused.

"No," said Euan and paused to see if anyone else was listening. No one in the queue seemingly were. "It is an elven ship."

"Elves on Iordo. Ha! You must have it wrong."

"I am quite sure I have it right. Young Luke practically said as much when I asked him his opinion."

Alistair shook his head silently, not wanting to indict the venerable old merchant.

When at last Ida reached the front of the line, she ordered three crabs.

"Hungry, are we?" asked the young man cheerfully as he pulled three crabs from the now almost empty barrel next to him. He placed them one after the other on his large cutting board and drove a large knife through their shells. The crab seller wiped his heavy knife on a towel which was soaked in blue crab blood.

"Do you want them smoked?"

"I would."

The young man placed the three crabs on a grate, tossed a handful of readymade wet herbs and leaves on the pile of red embers, and placed the grate with Ida's three crabs over the embers. An instant later, the crabs were enveloped in thick white smoke.

Ida found Ella and Willa at the edge of village with their backs against a wide chestnut tree. Willa had bought three freshly baked buns from Nora Mudtrunk, and Ella had bought three bottles of golden sparkling mead from one of the traveling merchants. Ida handed them each a smoked crab and sat down next to them. The crabs were wrapped in large green fern leaves.

With her back against the chestnut tree, Ida had a clear view of the landscape below the village. Tall reeds marked the creek, which wound its way through the patchwork of orderly fields nearest the village. In the distance, the fields gave way to green meadows and scattered woodland and shrubbery, and in the far distance, she could see the shimmering blue water of the Cimbri Bay.

Ida unwrapped her crab, broke off a claw and began pulling it apart. Inside the claw, rich yellow and orange meat was revealed. It tasted salty and sweet.