The Merchant of Dreams Read Online Free

sign of buildings apart from the crumbling harbour wall, which must have been constructed long before the skraylings’ arrival. Within it a copse of masts sprouted, yardarms bearing the square reddish sails typical of skrayling vessels, most of them tightly furled against the spring gales. The only other sign of the Vinlanders’ presence was a cairn at the seaward end of the harbour wall, out of which thrust a great branch of driftwood hung with yellow and blue ribbons and strings of shells that rattled in the sea breeze. Some of the ribbons were faded to colourlessness by the salt air, whilst others were as bright as spring flowers. The fisherman muttered and crossed himself as they passed this heathen-looking monument, and his passengers were barely given time to scramble ashore before he turned the boat around and headed back out to sea.
    They were greeted by a stout, elderly skrayling with white shell beads woven into his braids. He bowed to them in the skrayling manner, arms at his side with palms facing forward.
    “My master desires to visit the Outspeaker,” Coby said in Tradetalk, after the introductions were over.
    “Of course. The brother of Erishen-tuur is always welcome with us. Kiiren-tuur’s tent is over the next ridge, downstream from the hendraan .”
    “ Hendraan ?” Coby asked. Another Vinlandic word to add to her vocabulary.
    “Place of staying, with many tents,” the harbourmaster said.
    She thanked him, and conveyed the directions to Mal. As they left she could feel the harbourmaster’s eyes boring into her back. He must be curious as to what a boy of his own people was doing in the company of two English visitors, but evidently the outspeaker’s business was not his to question.
    A steep path led up from the harbour to the interior of the island. Steps had been cut into the cliff face, but like the harbour wall they had not been maintained well. Several times Coby lost her footing on the weathered stone and had to steady herself by grabbing a handful of the coarse weeds that had sprung up by the path. At last they reached the top, where they were buffeted anew by the powerful westerly winds that swept the island. A dry, dusty track led across short turf peppered with rabbit droppings. In a sheltered hollow about half a mile to the west, the skraylings’ striped tents rose out of the surrounding bracken and gorse like an unseasonal flush of toadstools.
    “Take the boy to the camp and see if you can find his kin.” Mal gave her the pouch into which they had gathered all the intact necklaces. “I’m going to look for Kiiren.”
    She nodded, guessing it was his brother Sandy he really wanted to see. If it had been her own lost brother waiting in the next valley, no amount of curiosity about the skrayling expedition could have kept her from him. She waved Mal away, then set off towards the main camp.
    As they drew nearer, she could hear the sounds of raised voices. She glanced at Ruviq, but the boy only grinned and quickened his pace. Coby hurried after him, wondering what could be causing such a commotion amongst the normally peaceful skraylings.
    On the seaward edge of the camp a wide circle of ground had been stripped of its turf and dozens of skraylings were clustered around the perimeter, stamping and cheering. Through a gap in the crowd Coby could make out two figures within the circle, locked in a wrestling hold. Patches of dust stuck to their grey-and-pink skins, adding to the mottled effect of their natural colouring, and their long hair was tied back with coloured ribbons like the ones on the harbour monument. Both were naked as savages. A blush rose from her suddenly tight collar and she made to turn away; too late. She stared in horrified fascination at the stubby, hairless tail extending from the base of the nearest wrestler’s spine until her view was thankfully blocked by the shifting crowd.
    She shuddered. There were rumours, of course, but she had dismissed them as ignorant