Charming Sharra, page 15
“You don’t.” All the politeness and flirtatiousness she had carefully developed while working at the Crooked Mast had vanished in an instant upon seeing Lador and her parents’ shop both so dreadfully changed.
“Well, after all, it’s been thirty years!”
“And whose fault is that?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Why didn’t you ever rescue me?”
“I…I could never come up with the money, Aunt. I tried, I swear I did, but…” He waved a hand, taking in their surroundings. “The fact is, Aunt, I’m not a very good weaver, and I’m not very good with money. I don’t know how Grandmother did it. I could never save enough to pay your debt.”
“How much did you save? How close were you?”
“I…well, I…how did you get turned back, Aunt? Did someone else pay the wizard – Polidan, was it?”
“Poldrian. You don’t even remember his name? How were you going to pay him if you didn’t know his name?”
“I’ve been busy! It’s been thirty years!”
“Which I would have thought was long enough to raise that sixteen rounds of gold, especially since you got six and a half by selling me to Lord Landessin. You only needed another nine and a half. So how close were you?”
Lador looked down. “I…wasn’t very close.”
“How much?”
“I had twelve rounds.”
“Twelve out of sixteen?” She frowned. “That’s not as bad as I feared…”
“No, Aunt Sharra,” he interrupted. “Twelve out of twenty-five.”
She stared silently at him for several seconds, her mouth tight, before eventually saying, slowly, “You just have twelve rounds of gold?”
“Yes.” He nodded miserably.
“You had more than fifteen when Lord Landessin’s men carried me off to Ethshar of the Spices! The nine I had, and the money he paid for his confounded statue!”
“I told you I wasn’t good with money.”
“It wasn’t your money!”
“I know.”
She glared at him for a moment, then looked up at the ceiling – which had cobwebs on it, she noticed.
It wasn’t so very bad, she told herself. Twelve rounds of gold was still a lot of money. She could be comfortable for quite some time with that much. She certainly wouldn’t need to wait on tables. She lowered her gaze again. “Where is it?” she asked.
“My mother has it,” Lador said.
“Your mother? Dallisa has it? Why?”
“So I won’t lose any more of it,” Lador admitted, cringing.
Sharra paused for a moment, considering. That was actually probably a good thing. Dallisa was not her favorite person in the World, but she was probably more trustworthy than her son.
Probably.
“Whose idea was that?”
“Mine.”
At least Lador had recognized his own susceptibility to the temptation that money had posed. Maybe he wasn’t completely hopeless.
“Where is she?”
“My parents still live on Spinner Street,” he said, in a tone of mild surprise. “They sold the shop, though.”
“And the money is there?”
“I don’t know. I thought it would be better if I didn’t.”
It seemed Lador was wise enough to recognize his own failings. That was something she hadn’t managed until she had spent some time as a statue, unwillingly eavesdropping on her family.
For an awkward moment neither of them spoke; then Lador repeated, “How did you get turned back?”
“A wizard named Morvash took pity on me,” Sharra said. “Not just me; he had an entire collection of people who had been turned to stone, and he transformed all of us back to men and women.”
“Oh,” Lador said.
Sharra turned to look out the shop window. The sun was still bright, and she saw no sign of sunset colors; it probably wasn’t any later than mid-afternoon. Dallisa might be out at the market, or working on something important; finding her could wait a little. “Lador,” she said, “is my mother still alive?”
“Grandmother? Oh, yes. She’s…well, she’s ninety-seven. She’s not very…she gets confused easily. She still talks to Grandfather sometimes, and he’s been gone for more than twenty years. She lives with Aunt Nerra and Uncle Kovan.”
“Then they’re all right?”
“Oh, Aunt Nerra and Uncle Kovan are fine. They still have the shop on Carder Street, with two assistants and occasional apprentices. Their daughter Thetheran is married now, with four kids of her own; they have a farm north of the city, where her husband Zorl is from, but we see them every year on Festival. Shesha went off with a sailor from the Small Kingdoms and we haven’t heard from her in ages. Gorbal is living with his boyfriend in Beachgate – they work for the Arena. Lorza drowned when his boat was caught in a storm. Amari married a wizard named Gorazin the Magnificent, but left him after he accidentally turned her into a cat and took a month to change her back because he was too busy with paying customers; she and her daughter have a place in Southshore and do odd jobs, and Gorazin makes sure they don’t starve.”
Sharra did not think she could have named all of Nerra’s children, and definitely didn’t think she would be able to keep all that straight. “What about your sister?” she asked. “Mama had wanted Arris to take over here, but that obviously didn’t happen.”
“Arris? When she made master she left that fool Tresh that she had married when she was a journeyman, and married a captain in the city guard instead. I like him. His name is Bolnar; they and their three sons live up in Grandgate, near the barracks, and her shop there has a contract to provide the cloth for the guard’s blankets and winter cloaks.”
“That must keep her busy.”
“She gives me any work her shop can’t handle. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me in business.”
Sharra frowned. “How did you wind up with this shop? Arris is older, and your mother or Nerra would have a claim.”
“No one else wanted to work for Grandmother; they all wanted their own places. I started out as Grandmother’s assistant, and when she couldn’t work any more I just stayed on. I waited a year after she left before I repainted the sign, but that ‘fine fabrics’ wasn’t what I was doing, so as long as I was changing that, I changed the name.”
“So it’s just you?”
“It’s just me.”
“You aren’t married?”
“I was for awhile, but Zinni left me years ago, after our two little girls died of fever. I don’t know where she is now.”
Sharra didn’t remember anyone named Zinni, but losing two children must have been horrible. “I’m sorry,” she said. She wished she had met those grandnieces. She wished she had even known they existed.
“It’s all right,” Lador said. “It was long ago.”
“And…” She hesitated, but decided she had to ask. “Dulzan?”
Lador did not appear surprised. “He still has his shop on Carpenter Street, I think, but he doesn’t take many commissions anymore, or maybe he doesn’t take any, and he hasn’t done anything but commissions since you…since you left. I haven’t talked to him in years.”
He made no mention of any family. Sharra remembered how she had assumed Dulzan had left her for another woman; now she hoped he had found one, at least for a little while. She didn’t want him to have lived all those years alone.
She wasn’t mad at him for leaving her; she never had been, not really, and any lingering anger had faded long ago. She had deserved it.
Of course, if he wanted her back…but she didn’t think he would.
“Was there anything else, Aunt?” Lador asked.
“I don’t have any money left, or anywhere to stay tonight,” Sharra said. “I think it’s time to pay your mother a visit and get my money back. Would you take me there?”
“I have to stay here,” Lador said. “There’s no one else to mind the shop. But you must know where the house is.”
Sharra was ashamed to admit to herself that she did not. She did not remember ever visiting Dallisa and her husband. She had to think for a moment even to remember his name – Shaldar the Tailor. “It’s been a long time,” she said. “Remind me.”
Chapter Eighteen
The directions were simple enough, and five minutes after she left the shop on Weaver Street Sharra was on Spinner Street, knocking on her sister’s door.
“I’m coming!” a familiar voice called – but not quite the voice Sharra remembered; this voice was pitched a little higher and not entirely steady. Then the door opened, and Sharra found herself face to face with an old woman she did not recognize at first.
Before she could say anything, though, the old woman exclaimed, “Sharra! You’re back!” Then her eyes narrowed. “But how? Lador said he gave me all of the money.”
This woman was indeed Dallisa. The thirty years since Sharra last saw her had not been particularly kind; her hair was snow white and thinning, she had developed a good many wrinkles, and she was hunched a little – she had always been slightly shorter than Sharra, but now the difference was much more noticeable, no longer slight.
But beneath the wrinkles, it was still the same face. And that immediate suspicion and the instant focus on money – that was Dallisa.
“A wizard named Morvash did it,” Sharra said. “He made a project out of rescuing people who had been turned to stone. For free.”
“It’s really you?”
“It’s really me.”
“Oh! Well, come in, come in, and tell me about it.” She stepped aside, and gestured Sharra into a cozy parlor. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“That would be very welcome.”
“Tea?”
“Fine.”
Dallisa vanished into the kitchen, and after standing awkwardly in the center of the room for a moment, Sharra settled into the nearest chair. She had noticed the one big, comfortable-looking armchair that looked as if it saw the most use, but she decided against taking it; she guessed that was Dallisa’s or Shaldar’s favorite, and she was trying to break her old selfish habits.
She was fairly certain she had never been in this room before. If she had ever visited this house before – and she wasn’t sure of that – she had spent her time in the kitchen. All her memories of Dallisa as an adult were in kitchens, or in a shop, sewing.
She hadn’t been invited into the kitchen, though. She realized she was being treated as a guest now, not as family.
But she was family! She was still Dallisa’s younger sister.
Dallisa reappeared with a tray holding two mugs and a teapot; she set it on a table, then settled into the big armchair. For a moment, neither woman spoke. Dallisa poured tea into both mugs, then handed one to Sharra; she accepted it, but did not drink, as it was still too hot. Instead she sat there, mug in hand, looking at her sister.
Dallisa was seven years older than she was, which meant… Sharra struggled for a moment with the arithmetic, unable to believe that she was sixty-nine and Dallisa was seventy-six. She had not worked out the numbers before.
Dallisa blew on her own tea, then looked at Sharra. “So what happened?” she asked.
Sharra frowned, struggling with the question. “Where should I start?” she said.
“What happened?”
“I…don’t know where you want me to start.”
Dallisa looked annoyed, then said, “You and Dulzan had a place in Brightside, on Straight South Street, and then he left you, and…did you really sell the house to buy a youth spell?”
“Yes,” Sharra admitted. “I did. It was stupid. I thought if I looked like this again he’d come back.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No, he didn’t. He knew better, even if I didn’t. I was still the same person he knew he didn’t want.”
“But you bought the spell, and it worked – are you always going to look like that? You’ll be young forever?”
“No, no.” Sharra waved her free hand, and shook her head. “No, I’m going to age just like anyone else, or at least that’s what Poldrian told me. He just made me about twenty years younger.”
“Poldrian is the wizard who enchanted you?”
“That’s right. Poldrian of Morningside.”
“And you couldn’t pay him. I made you those dresses so you could try to coax money out of someone to pay him, and I talked Milsin and her troupe into dancing to give you good luck. But that was more than thirty years ago; why do you still look as if you just turned nineteen?”
Sharra was too shocked to reply immediately. Dallisa stared at her silently, and at last she said, “Statues don’t age!”
“Well, I knew you were turned to stone, I saw that, but…how long did that last? I don’t understand how that worked. You aren’t stone now; did it wear off? Or did the dancers’ magic cure you?”
Sharra blinked. “No, Morvash turned me back. I told you that.”
“Yes, you did say that. And when did that happen?”
“Just a few sixnights ago, on the 26th of Leafcolor. Then I worked as a barmaid until I had enough money to buy passage home, and here I am.”
“Leafcolor? Leafcolor of this year?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it must have happened long ago!”
“No.”
“So you spent thirty years as a statue?”
“Yes.”
“That must have been horrible!”
“It was. I couldn’t move or talk, and I was blind, but I could still hear.”
“You were…you weren’t asleep?”
“For thirty years? No.”
“And you’re still…did you stay young that whole time? Or did this Morvash make you young again when he turned you back?”
“No, I stayed like this. Stone doesn’t age. When he turned me back I looked just the same as when Poldrian petrified me.”
“Even after thirty years?”
“Yes.” Sharra was puzzled; Dallisa had always been quick-witted, and had never needed detailed explanations. Why was she having such difficulty understanding the situation?
Then Sharra looked at her sister’s face again and remembered. Dallisa was seventy-six. She was old – and some old people had trouble keeping their thoughts straight. She sipped tea as she tried to think what she should say next.
“Why did Morvash turn you back? Where did you get the money? I didn’t give it to you; did Shaldar?”
“No, Dallisa. There wasn’t any money involved. Morvash just thought it wasn’t fair to leave me a statue forever.”
“That was kind of him.”
“Yes, it was,” Sharra agreed, realizing she had never thanked Morvash.
“You said that happened in Leafcolor, over a month ago; why didn’t you come to see me sooner? Why hadn’t I heard you were alive again?”
“Well, I was in Ethshar of the Spices, and it took some time to earn my fare back.”
“Why were you in Ethshar of the Spices?”
“Lador didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“He sold me,” Sharra said, and a twinge of anger stirred within her. “He sold me, to a man who collected statues. He said he did it to get more of the money he needed to pay to have me turned back. And the buyer, Lord Landessin, took me back to his mansion in Ethshar of the Spices.”
“I knew Lador was collecting money to get you turned back, of course, but…he sold you? We all thought he just put you away somewhere out of sight. Mama hated seeing you like that.”
“He sold me,” Sharra said. “I thought it meant he would have enough to pay Poldrian soon, but that…well, I don’t know when it was, but it must have been at least twenty years ago, and he never did pay.”
“Lador was never good with money. He gave the money to me and Shaldar to keep until someone thought of a way to raise the rest. And no one ever did.”
“Yes, he told me. That’s why I came here. I’d like it back.”
“Like what back?”
“My money.”
“Oh, but…it’s not yours, it’s Lador’s.”
Sharra stared at her sister. “No, it isn’t; it’s mine. Lador was just holding it for me.”
“It’s Lador’s.”
“It’s mine. I hid it in the shop, and Lador found it. And then he sold me for six and a half gold rounds, which he had no right to do – that’s definitely mine.”
“Sounds to me as if that part belongs to this Lord whatever who bought the statue,” Dallisa argued. “He didn’t get to keep what he paid it for.”
“Lord Landessin is dead!”
“And the rest belongs to that wizard, Poldrian.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
Dallisa turned up an empty palm. “Maybe it belongs to this Morvash, then, since he was the one who turned you back, but I don’t see any way it’s yours.”
“I was the one who hid it in the shop!”
“Not all of it.”
“No, not all of it, but nine rounds.”
“I think we need to have a magistrate settle this.”
Sharra stared silently at her sister for a moment, at the dry white hair and the wrinkled face and the defiant, self-satisfied smile she was trying to hide.
Dallisa was enjoying this, Sharra realized. She was getting back at her selfish, trouble-making little sister who somehow looked fifty years younger than her actual age, and was not going to ever again be her proper age. Dallisa had probably never been as confused as she had pretended to be.
And the chance to keep all that money…did Dallisa still have the money, or had she spent it?
No, she probably still had it, and quite possibly a lot more. She wasn’t a spendthrift like her son. She might have the entire twenty-five rounds Poldrian had demanded, but had not wanted to spend it on Sharra.
“All right,” Sharra said. “I’ll ask Lador to get it back, and we can see what the magistrate says.” She stood up. “It’s been good seeing you, Dallisa.”
Startled, Dallisa said, “You’re going?”
“I am. I’m sorry I bothered you. Thank you for making those dresses; the one I was wearing as a statue turned out to be very helpful when I sold it. Feel free to subtract six bits of silver from the money you’re holding. Give Shaldar my best wishes.” Then she turned and headed for the door.
