[Bêthberry]

"Is it yimmer-yammer to lie there grinning like a contented silly, Madi? Is that what yimmer-yammer means?" inquired Ruthven as she gently prodded his little body with her sandaled foot, not quite tickling him, but not pushing meanly either. Still, she was challenging him.

Snorting and huffing a bit, Madi rolled over because of the insistent, nudging foot and stood up. He straightened his hood and his burlap habit and eyed the two women with a more serious demeanour.

"No. Madi doesn't yimmer-yammer. Master Jian said women yimmer yammer," he intoned solemnly.

"So you've come here seeking yimmer-yammer, then, Madi?" asked Bethberry sprightly. A look, a cross between a grin and rolled eyes, passed over her face. "How will you recognize it when you hear it, if you don't pay attention?"

Now Madi was confused. Berry expected to be listened to. She expected him to pay her attention. Perhaps he had missed something. He wished now he had listened to the Old One and Berry as they talked.

"Madi came for some nice. But Madi will work," he reminded her.

"Well, Madi, that's what we were asking you. About some important work. What would you like to do?"

Madi gulped. He hadn't expected this. This was new. It wasn't frightening; he didn't taste red. But it was ... unknown. A hint of green rose on his tongue as he became unsure, but then a flood of brown swept over his senses as he realized with surprise and some shock that Master Jian might not have been right. At least about these creatures called women. Maybe it was important to listen to yimmer yammer after all. He scratched at his messy hair and sat down again at the table.

"You want Madi to do what?" he asked, a look of intense concentration covering his face as he tried to determine what these women were about.

"Bethberry was thinking you should get to know Edoras. And that people should get to know you. I told her what happened at Market. She doesn't want people to laugh at you, so she thinks you should help me with some deliveries," said Ruthven, looking straight into the little fellow's face so that he could neither avoid her gaze nor separate his eyes again.

Madi squirmed. He was not used to being given a choice. Nor being looked at so squarely and directly. He scrunched up his mouth, as if frowning with his entire face, and extended his long tongue in thought. The brown moment was lasting a long time. He looked at the Innkeeper.

"Madi can still stay here? And come back to work for Berry?"

"Yes, Madi," the Innkeeper smiled. "But let's find out what kind of work you do best. An Inn is a busy place, you know, not at all like the silent, quiet room, I bet, where you worked with this Master Jian. We are crowded with people who will come to know you. You will have to learn to pay attention to yimmer yammer, also." She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head at him as she said this.

"Okay," said Madi, feeling like he was caught in a headlock, "let's go." He had already decided that this might be a way to find the lost amber, which he could still faintly sense. He would be able to explain Berry's colour better to her once he had the amber to give her.

Bethberry looked quizzically up at Ruthven, who nodded.

"Day's not getting any younger. Nor am I. I've got your pillow slips to show to the fishwife and some old glass to Barthaew. Come," she said.

The two, the stooped, limping old woman and the small fellow, trundled off. Bethberry was left quietly mulling over events, fingering the bolt of blue satin and wondering why something about it didn?t feel quite right.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ruthven trod a regular route, for habit was what made people look out for her. She didn't walk the front streets, either, but the back alleyways; she called to the back windows and kitchen doors. Madi was fascinated by the warren-like patterns of the streets and utterly mixed up about direction. One and two story mud and timber buildings leaned over the streets at odd angles and ditches ran with smelly fluid. There were no stone roofs like there had been at Minky Ting.

"Veny," he asked. "Why does grass grow on top of houses here?"

"Heh," shrugged Ruthven. "None hereabouts are wealthy enough for slate roofs like the White City boasts. Too much of our money goes to fill the trade coffers there and too little is left here for our needs. Except for the Golden Hall. There's a fair bit of mucky pride there."

Madi didn't know for sure what mucky pride was. He wondered if this was part of yimmer yammer, so he though perhaps he should ask Ruthven about it.

"What's mucky pride? Is it like the smell in the puddles here?"

Ruthven responded with a deep cackle which startled Madi. "Worse, lad. They think they don't stink," she said, which confused Madi all the more. This yimmer yammer, he decided, was going to be hard to understand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They approached the fishmonger's house and familiar scents of the sea port tickled Madi's nose.

"Rags, bottles, oldenwares," Ruthven cried out. "Goods for exchange."

The fishmonger's wife poked her head out a large window. Her nose was large, reddened, and veined, and she was still holding in her fist a bloodied cleaver that bore pieces of fish flesh. "Have ye any bed linens today, Ruthven?" she asked.

Madi, gasping as he spied the cleaver, hid once again behind the cart. Unbidden, words came tumbling out his mouth, not in his regular voice but in an unusual, sing-songy falsetto.

"Three blind cows.
Three blind cows.
See how they run.
They all came charging after the fisher's wife who cut off their tails with a carving knife.
Did you ever see such a sight in your life.
As three blind cows."

The fishermonger's wife howled throatily.

"What have you got there, Ruthven? You've added stories and a merry laugh to your exchanges."

"Just about, Ulmea. I've got me a help today. I'm breaking someone in for The Horse's Innkeeper."

At the words 'breaking someone in' Madi began to shake his head adamently. "No, no, no," he moaned.

Both women laughed again and Madi blushed. He decided he didn't like this yimmer yammer at all. No wonder Master Jian had told him to ignore women. This was more head lock.

"I've got some pillow slips. Fine condition. Well kept. Pressed and neat. Not even needing mending."

"I can give you an old bellows for them. Wood's still good and real brass too, but the leather has cracked and split, won't hold much air."

"I'll take it," agreed Ruthven, who knew the tanner owed her a favour and would replace the leather for her. She marched around the cart, pulled Madi upright, and placed the slips in his hands.

"She likes you, lad. People seem to cotton to you real quick. Go to her now, there's a lad. She won't bite."

Ulmea came out the door, her hands wiped clean on her messy apron and the cleaver nowhere in sight. Madi could sense a bit of white about her, not much, for her messy apron spoke volumes about dead fish, but at least he didn't fear for himself any more. He puffed out his cheeks and frowned at Ruthven.

"Berry wouldn't do this to me," he pouted.

"No, not all. That's why I'm here," she replied cheekily, with a wink of her squinting eye, as she pushed him towards Ulmea.

Guardedly, Madi approached the fishmonger's wife and held out the pillow slips. He hoped they wouldn't get covered in the messy red smear from her apron. They were clean and creamy yellow.

Ulmea handed him the bellows and told him to wait. He stood an eternity waiting for the tingle of red to arise, but it didn't. Instead, Ulmea returned with a cracked bowl of pickled herring and sour cream and a small handful of cucumbers.

"Here's reward for your joke, lad. You look hungry. So Bethberry's bringing in a jester for entertainment to The Horse, eh? She'll be drawing crowds for sure with you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The two walked on, Ruthven shuffling more and more as the day wore on but Madi tramping about keenly. They shared Ulmea's offering, Ruthven, a poor, thin woman, eating the pickled herring and cream avidly, while Madi, saying he didn't like the taste of purple, nibbled contentedly at the cucumbers, letting their juice run down his jaw out of the corner of his mouth and then smearing it over his face with his hand by way of wiping it off. Once finished, Ruthven patted him merrily on the shoulder and chuckled good naturedly.

"Madi, my lad, you've made a friend. You were a hit. That's the first time our shrewish fishmonger's wife has volunteered anything extra to me. You've a gift there, telling stories and songs and jokes. Getting folk to laugh at themselves instead of you."

Madi had no idea what Ruthven was talking about. Or what the rhyme had meant. It had just come over him when he saw the bloody cleaver. It was like a story he had swallowed and then brought up again, out of fear. But he didn't tell Ruthven this; he thought it important not to ruin her fun. He smiled, then, just a tiny bit pleased with himself, hoping this was the right yimmer-yammer way to do things.

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]