Eye of the Ocean Book 3 Ji'jin Station

Eye of the Ocean – Book 3: Ji’Jin Station
A penny in the coin slot for the joss stick, she felt the shape of the coin in her
hand a moment before putting it in. How much was luck worth, she wondered.
“Do you know if there's work?” she asked the old Zimmer, making sure her
donation was obvious. Then was disappointed when he looked up, he was white
eyed, blind she thought, until those eyes focused on her and she wished she
hadn't spoken.
“Here?” was the slow comment, accompanied by a prayer sign. A sasi mark on
the yellowed palm. “Go with honor.” Spoken in formal Xintan and she bowed her
thanks for the courtesy, not sure what else was owed.
The Speaker watched her as she left, she checked over her shoulder. The shop
next door let her duck out of sight; she found the intensity of his watching
uncomfortable. Hanging fabric fell in layers, curtains of red and gold weaves from
the Western Rim; they catered to the Zimmer for marriage robes. Too expensive,
but she could look and run her hand along the metal threads, feeling the tingle.
When she came out, the veiled woman was standing beside Zimmer Speaker.
They both returned her look.
Ulanda walked backwards a few feet, watching them in turn, then shrugged
and continued on her way. With one hand, she lifted the hair off the back of her
neck, feeling the relative cool as the sweat evaporated. The Zimmer wouldn't stay
outside much longer; the sun was on the Speakerhouse wall.
Warmed aromatic oils drew her into the next shop. From Celtha, the hawker by
the doorway cried, holding fists full of the expensive joss sticks. His round dark
face glowed with oil, he smelled of lavender and sunshine. Inside, all colors of
lotions in hand blown glass vials lined the walls. She rubbed a drop from a sample
jar onto her wrist, listening as two Zimmer argued. She followed the rapid fire
Zimmer-native with difficulty. Not scents, politics. Or religion, rather. With the
Zimmer there wasn't much difference. It was her that the owner of the shop was
giving the dirty look to, the noisy pair must have money. When she left, the old
Speaker and the woman were gone but a small crowd of ten or so others were
near the door where they had been. The sound of more arguing reached her and
she went the opposite way instead.
In the next street, banners in front a jewelry store advertised gems from the
Zimmer ship. Carved stones and ice-pearls. A sober-eyed guard was at the door,
screening each person who wished to come in, the Market Net buzzing around
him. A smile wouldn't work, Ulanda decided and walked on, stopping at a street
vendor to spend the last few pennies from selling the eggs. Much later, she
decided not to look for work at all and chose the shade of the gardens overlooking
the river, standing under a tree as she ate sticky squares of butter toffee from a
cone of waxed paper. Her eyes burned from too much sun, her nose was red, she
had left her hat at home, coarse straw that had been patched too often.
Laurel Hickey www.2morrow.bc.ca