Skyblaze Read Online Free Page B

Vertu dea'San forged ahead
into the morning, the dim light of the promised dawn aiding her
very slightly as the day's snow began with a gust and a
swirl.
    The coat was a regretful purple color, with
a collar imitating any of five different animal pelts, none
convincingly. Despite its age and aesthetic deficiencies, it was
warm, hung well on her, and swept the path she walked without
impeding her Liaden-length stride. Her tall-peaked hat was
hand-knit and accidentally color coordinated with her coat, with
purple symbols of good luck splashed around the red-orange that was
so often seen as winter colors here.
    The hat was pulled down over her ears and
tucked into the collar wrapped with the heavy ugly purple and
orange scarf, which was also hand-knit locally. The hat peak was
stuffed with an extra pair of light gloves in the top pouch, while
her so-called wind gloves were still in her pocket, where their
bulk warmed her hands and helped disguise her size, and perhaps her
capability.
    Being no-nonsense, she tried as much as
possible to put aside the recognition that this morning might well
be the coldest morning she'd experienced in her life, just as she'd
put it aside yesterday. The boots did as advertised, being the most
expensive of her recent acquisitions, and the only certifiably (as
much as anything might be certified on Surebleak!) new ones. Her
other outer clothes were used and comfortable, for she'd bought
early, having whiled her time in the long lines by listening to the
chat of those who were native. The wisdom of the natives was also
to buy clothes somewhat large, for oversize became the perfect size
when layered and layered again. The boots, of course, were harder
to layer, but with them she wore thick socks -- and had been glad
of both on the first morning that the mush in the street tripped
her -- mush gone stone hard and jagged on the overnight.
    The weather had been
unrelenting, windy and cold, for the past seven-day now, and the
forecast for the morrow was much the same. The night winds would
move over the seacoast, pushing moisture into the swamp-regions,
where it would gather energy from the barely frozen rivers, then
push to and over the bowl of the city as the winds changed with the
morning -- and it would snow. The local at the bakery -- Granita --
promised Vertu that it had been a warm year so far, and that
when real winter
arrived, she'd wear her hood, sight loss or no, lessen she got
herself some working blizzer goggles to hold on her
face.
    The street was not empty, but it being the
dark of morning rather than the dark of night it was much safer
than it might have been a quarter spin before. The doors of the
open bars were far fewer, and the doors of the day businesses shone
with the white blue of guide lights.
    The door she wanted was across the street,
and she looked both ways for traffic of vehicles, and then for
people within intercept distance, and crossed to Brickoff
Flourpower, where the door recognized her and whined open as she
approached.
    Behind the counter, Granita looked up with a
grin. ''There you are, more on time than I'd guess!''
    Vertu bowed in her direction wordlessly,
letting the warmth comfort her as she read the words to be a
welcome. It was good to expected and greeted, and she found it
happened more often on Surebleak than it had in Low Port, and more
often in Low Port than many of the Higher places she'd frequented
in Solcintra. Who expected the ragged to recall one's usual time of
arrival?
    ''Why so, mother of baking?'' Vertu
ventured, pulling her hat off and checking the room in the same
motion. The Hooper sat in his corner, hands cupped around his mug
of 'toot . . . she knew it was 'toot because he asked for it by
name, and sometimes she was here before he was. He got '''toot and
crackers'' most mornings, the ''crackers'' being yesterday's
flatbread covered in a pasty flour-sauce with soy crumbles.
    Granita extended a hand with two fingers
straight up, which meant, here,