Part of Your World (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,43

music that was probably just for listening to. Now she stood back and watched. Was this the result of age, and experience, and time? Or of not having a voice for so long? Had quiet observation just become a habit?

Maybe this would provide an excuse for her to gather more information.

Observation is all well and good, but only if it leads to a thoughtful plan of action!

She followed the delicious aroma until she came to a small bakery. In front of it a young man with red hair—not half as bright as Ariel's—was setting out savory pies.

She pulled out her little satchel and went through the things m there: gems, pearls, corns, bits of mismatched and sea-changed jewelry that could be useful. Two coins looked like the same kmd she had seen other people use; with those in her palm she cautiously approached the stand. She felt like she moved slower than when she was younger, as if the water on the Dry World had become heavier and thicker.

"Excuse me," she said, and it was still strange to hear her voice. The man looked up from his pies to give Ariel his full attention. There was a streak of flour m his red hair and a tired but pleasant smile in his eyes. So much plainer than Eric...but still, so much more interesting than a merman!

"How much are the..." She fought for the right word to speak aloud, which had no equivalent underwater. "That?" she pomted.

"Onion and cheese pie's a real," the man said. Ariel held out her corns.

The man looked at her, raised an eyebrow, then carefully chose a single green com.

Ariel tried to memorize it: the size, the color, the smell. One real. Made of the metal that tastes like blood. The baker, still mystified but too polite to say anything, picked out a good-lookmg pie and handed it to her. "Thank you/' Ariel said, trying to make her words sound normal. Then she bit into the pie.

It was all those tastes she remembered from before. Fatty, doughy flour crust. Cheese. Spices and flavors that spoke of foreign Dry- World places. And, she supposed, the overwhelming taste of onion. Green, and not unlike certain seaweeds. But stronger.

The baker just watched her as she chewed and enjoyed.

Ariel stopped. Didn't people eat the things they paid for?

She looked around and saw that no one else was gulping down their treats immediately. There went the old Ariel again. Impulsive.

"Ah, this is wonderful," she said quickly, soundmg interested; as if she were eating it only to compare with other pies she had in the past. "Very unusual."

"It's my pickled calgots" the baker said triumphantly. "It is the wrong time of year for those—so I preserve them m the early spring, when they are harvested. A special treat, for an...unusual lady. I haven't seen you around the market. You must not be from Tirulia?"

"No, I'm from...farther south."

"The ocean, then?"

She began to choke—possibly on an onion. Or cal^ot.

But before she could come up with a suitable reply the baker was already talking again. "One of the islands, or the contment of Alkabua, I suppose."

"Oh, but I've been here before," she said smoothly, as if he were right in his guesses and therefore it didn't merit more discussion. "Tirulia has changed a bit since the last time I visited. There seem to be a lot more

"Oh, aye." The baker 's look soured. "Prince Eric—or should I say. Princess Vanessa—is much more hungry' for war than the king and queen ever were. Of course there's always been the fight over water rights or passes through the mountams or a particularly fine hillside for vineyards....But this is a whole new cursed thing, and it's bad busmess, I don't mind saying."

"Why are you so against what the princess is doing? Specifically, I mean?"

The baker looked at her as if she were mad. "War is war. Fighting and death and more food for the soldiers and less for everyone else. Twenty-three Tirulian boys are dead and buried already. And still more boys flock to jom the insanity, lured with promises of pretty uniforms and gold for their families. Have they been coming around and spending their new pennies on pies for their sweethearts? Certainly! Win for me! But rather less of a win

for their dead comrades."

"Oh..." Ariel began, unsure what to say.

"And that won't be the end of it, I'll bet you reales to sweet buns, sister. There are already shortages because the trade routes are getting cut off.