Strands of Starlight Read Online Free PDF

commotion, but it would do no more than call attention to Miriam. But the thought of what the soldier had in mind . . . “This is barbarous—“
    “So it's barbarous. So report me.”
    “Give . . .” Miriam fumbled under the blankets, her teeth clenched in pain. “Give him this.” Mika realized that she was hunting for her purse.
    Reaching down to the bag that still bulged with George's gratitude, Mika came up with two gold florins, each stamped with the ensign of Saint Blaise. She put them into the hand of the soldier. “Enough? May we cross?”
    “Lady, you just bought me ten girls, all prettier than your daughter. Or whatever she is.” He laughed and waved Mika and her cart onto the ferry. “Pass.”
    Mika urged Esau onto the wooden deck. “Pass yourself, you devil,” she muttered. “You'll have a fine time explaining how you came by that much Free Towns money.” Miriam had opened her eyes. “It's all right, child,” said the midwife. “You're safe.”
    “I'm not . . . a child.” Miriam shuddered, then lay still, her face buried in George's cloak. Her head swam, and the rocking of the ferry in the swift stream did not help, but she was aware of the slap of waves against the pier, the call of ducks, the cries of fishermen and rivermen. She was aware, too, of what the soldier had wanted, and of Mika's attempts to thwart him. Anyone else, she thought, would have given her up, glad to be rid of her. But Mika . . . not Mika . . .
    She summoned her strength and managed to roll over. She saw the upper stories of houses, painted balconies, windows. The air was damp, but the buildings shielded the streets from the wind, and the sun was warming the town a little. Maybe spring would come after all.
    “Where are we?” she managed, her voice hoarse with three days of fever.
    “Belroi,” said Mika. “Another day and we'll be home.”
    “I heard you back at the ferry. Thank you.” She said the words with an effort. Thanks were not something she had occasion to tender very often in her life. What does she want? She must want something.
    The cart rattled along the cobbled streets. “How do you feel?”
    Miriam heard the passage and talk of many people: men and women, the voices of street vendors, the screams of playing children. “My legs hurt.”
    “The fever must be abating. I found wormwood day before last. You were beyond feeling any pain in your legs by then, I'll tell you.”
    “Is that what I'm tasting? It's awful. . . .”
    “Hmmm.” Mika took a turning and breathed easier when the south gate came into view. “Odd. You didn't complain when I forced it down your throat that night. Lie still and sleep. You need to rest.”
    Miriam did not reply, but she did not sleep, either. She watched the buildings pass, saw the immense bulk of the cathedral that lifted marble pinnacles toward heaven, saw, at last, the roof of the gatehouse pass over her.
    Then they were out on the open road again, the stray houses and outbuildings of the great dairy city thinning quickly into pasture land. Miriam watched the sky and the wheeling crows for some time, lifted a bandaged hand and rubbed her face.
    “What do you want, Mika?” she asked.
    The midwife was not flustered by the question. “You,” she said. “Alive.”
    “Why?”
    “We've been over that before.”
    “Christian charity isn't a reason.”
    “Reasons can be as plentiful as blackberries and mean even less. Why must I have a reason?”
    “Because . . .” Miriam pushed herself up, frowning at the pain in her hands. “That soldier back at the ferry wanted me. Those people I saw on their balconies want their fine houses and their rich clothes. The local bishop wants his big cathedral. Sinner, saint, pope, prince: everyone wants something. And you're no different. So don't say otherwise.”
    Mika allowed Esau to find his own pace. The shaggy little pony plodded on. Miriam looked out at the bare landscape: stripped trees, dry grass. “What about you?”