Legacies Read Online Free Page B

didn’t feel he should use the term “Pleasure Palace,” especially since it was anything but a palace. “Why didn’t they just alternate the yellow, blue, and green stones from the bottom?”
    Royalt laughed. “Asked myself that very question for years. I can’t tell you, boy, because the place was old when I was your age.”
    â€œAre the same…people there?”
    â€œSanders, no. The women there change, they say, sometimes as often as the wind shifts the sands around the plateau. Some stay. Most don’t. I wouldn’t know, for sure.” Royalt cleared his throat and went on quickly, “Hope Hastaar has some of those sweet yams they bring up from Dekhron. Your grandma’am would really like them.”
    Alucius understood. “I hope he has some of the early cherries. They’re good.”
    Royalt kept the wagon moving toward the center of Iron Stem, past the empty vingt or more separating the Pleasure Palace from the nearest cottage. Despite the chill and the mist and rain, the reddish brown shutters were half open, as were the shutters of the cottages closer to the square.
    Alucius leaned to one side, watching intently as they neared the metal shop. He listened for the hammermill, but the mill was silent, although the odor of hot metal and a line of smoke rose from the forge chimney. The road flattened into an absolutely level stretch more than a hundred yards from the square. The buildings around the square were all of two and three stories, and although boardinghouses, all were well kept and swept, if not always painted so well as they should have been.
    On one side of the square were the trade buildings—the cooper’s, the chandlery, the silversmith’s. On the corner adjoining was the inn, with its blue-painted sign, showing the outline of the old mining mill. Alucius had only seen the mill once, a cavernous and empty set of walls on the far west side of Iron Stem.
    In the center of the paved eternastone square was a short line of carts and wagons, several with canvas awnings to protect either produce or goods from the threatening weather. Alucius wondered why. Even the worst storms produced little rain, just winds that were more likely to damage the awnings than the goods.
    Royalt eased the wagon over to one of the stone posts on the west side of the square. After setting the wagon brakes, he climbed down and threaded the restraint ropes through the iron rings on the back of the harness of each dun dray horse, then tied both the ropes and the leathers to the big iron ring on the posts. Then he took out the two watering buckets and motioned to Alucius, who had just finished folding the cloak and slipping it under the wagon seat.
    â€œYou can water them, can’t you? The public pump’s right there.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œI’ll be over checking to see if Hastaar’s got any of those yams. Likely be from last harvest, but he sometimes brings ’em.”
    After taking the buckets from his grandfather, Alucius pumped what he felt was enough water into one bucket and then the other, and carried them back to the horses. He set the buckets before them, and then stood back.
    â€œDon’t see how you herders do that,” came a voice from beside him. “I’d risk having them kick it over.”
    â€œThey won’t do that.” Alucius turned and looked up at the older man in a shapeless gray jacket, wearing a battered gray felt hat.
    â€œYou’re Royalt’s grandson, aren’t you.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œI’m no sir, young fellow. I just run regular sheep south of town, where it’s wet enough we don’t worry about sanders.”
    Alucius nodded politely.
    The man returned the nod, before turning and walking toward the nearest produce wagon.
    When the horses had had enough, Alucius reclaimed the buckets and took them back to the pump, where he rinsed them out before