The Forgotten Sisters by Shannon Hale Read Free Book Online Page A

the creak of cart wheels and the snorts of donkeys before she spied the first trader trudge through the trees. A dozen more followed him. She ran forward.
    â€œI am Miri Larendaughter, lady of the princess and envoy of King Bjorn to Lesser Alva. I am here to claim anything that has come from the king or his officials for his royal cousins in the linder house.”
    The first trader tipped up his large-brimmed hat and smiled. His expression seemed as sincere as a snake’s. He wore muddied boots high as his knees, but his shirt was silk and his cap fine wool. “I’m Gunnar, head trader, and I’m obliged to check in with Jeffers first, my lady fanciness, and then I’ll come
straight
to you.”
    â€œI’ll join you.”
    Gunnar’s smile twitched. “As you wish, my lady.”
    Most of the trading goods were stacked in small, two-wheeled wagons pulled by donkeys. The traders unhitched the donkeys on shore and pulled the carts themselves onto the main reed island.
    The water was crowded with reed boats, people journeying from other islands all over Lesser Alva for trading day. Nearly hidden by the crowd, Miri spotted Fat Hofer still beside the chapel, his cap shading his watching eyes.
    Gunnar approached a large reed house near the chapel and clapped his hands, since there was a woven reed curtain instead of a wood door to knock on. The door lifted to a man dressed in a blue linen shirt and fine trousers, his face browned, his beard cut to a point on his chin. Such beards had started going out of fashion in Asland years ago, and Miri had not seen anyone else keeping the style other than the chief delegate.
    â€œGood morning, Jeffers,” said Gunnar.
    â€œGood morning, all,” Jeffers said. “Welcome! You may enter my house.”
    Gunnar and two other traders pushed in past Miri. She introduced herself and moved to enter too, but Jeffers blocked her way.
    â€œI would invite you in, but we have business,” Jeffers said and let the door flap shut.
    Miri waited. She paced. The top of her head began to burn in the sun. Jeffers’s house rumbled with laughter. She clenched her fists, but instead of punching through the door flap, she politely clapped.
    Jeffers opened the curtain. His house was one large room. The woven reed walls and thick pillars were a bright gold, but the ceiling, darkened by smoke, was the color of oiled wood. Miri was surprised to see furniture like a real wood table, several chairs, and a reed mattress atop a wooden bed frame. Several men lay sleeping on mats.
    â€œI believe there is a letter from Asland for the girls in the linder house,” Miri said.
    Jeffers took the mailbag from Gunnar and went through the few folded and sealed papers.
    â€œNo, nothing,” Jeffers said. He smiled at Miri. “Sorry I couldn’t be of service. I’d invite you in, but I’m afraid my establishment isn’t hospitable to a fine lady such as yourself.”
    Behind him, one of the sleeping men roused, rubbed his head, and stared at Miri.
    â€œVery well,” she whispered.
    As the door flap shut, the laughter renewed.
    She stalked back to Fat Hofer and asked, “Who is Jeffers?”
    He held out his palm.
    â€œI’m warning you,” she said, “I’m in a mood to put someone on a spit and—”
    He put both his hands up in defense. “I’m just trying to stay alive, since I sadly cannot absorb flies.”
    â€œI promise I’ll pay you when I can,” Miri said. “Which will be sooner with your help. Please.”
    Fat Hofer stared at her, rubbed his large nose, and sniffed. “All right then. Jeffers is the closest thing we have to a head of the village. He negotiates with the traders and sets the prices for all of Lesser Alva. His house is the largest and every night fills up with villagers who want to play darts and buy swill.”
    â€œSwill?” Miri asked.
    â€œA clear, scorching drink