CHAPTER 10
When Cat came back out of the bathroom half an hour later, trying to untangle her hair with her fingers, the kitchen smelled deliciously of hot soup and something tangy and clean that got up into Cat’s nose in a rather pleasant way.
“Would you like a cup of mintbrew?” asked Ouska, gesturing at a round-bellied teapot sitting on the deal table.
“Mintbrew? Like tea, you mean? I’d love some!” Now Cat knew what that lovely sinus-clearing smell was. “You wouldn’t have a comb or something, would you? I can’t seem to get my hair straight.”
“Oh, yes, of course! And you’ve washed your hair with the soap, haven’t you—you’ll need a rinse for that, or it’ll be like straw.” Ouska reached into the bottom of the cupboard and brought out a stoppered bottle. “Here, that’ll do, just use a bit of it.”
“What is it?”
“Cider vinegar. You need something sour to smooth out your hair again; soap’s hard on it. Just take it to the bathroom; I’ll get you that comb.”
Catriona shrugged. She’d just had a bath in an oversized wooden bucket, in water heated on a wood fire; she was wearing woven linen underwear with drawstrings; she might as well be rinsing her hair with vinegar. When in Rome… except that she wasn’t in Rome. She was in Isachang. Or rather, Samach. No, actually, Ruph. She felt quite proud of herself for remembering the names; it had always been one of her strong suits at work to retain little bits of information like that. Especially when it came to people; customers really liked it when you addressed them with their name after they had only been in once or twice. She wasn’t so sure how she would do in this place, though, as the names were all so different—it was like learning a new language. A new challenge. Wasn’t that what she had wanted when she quit her job? Well, she had it now. Cider vinegar for a hair rinse was only one small part. So, when in Ruph, do as the Ruphians do? Or were they called Ruffians?
Cat chuckled at her own joke as she hung her head over the wash basin in the bathroom, poured a little bit of vinegar into her hands and worked it into her hair. It stung in a small cut she didn’t know she had on her left index finger. But when she had towelled off her hair again and used the comb Ouska had given her, she found that the wooden teeth slid smoothly and easily through her hair. She might smell like salad dressing now, but the vinegar seemed to work as well as any conditioner she had ever used!
“So, Catriona,” Ouska said as they were sitting at the kitchen table, mugs of fragrant tea cupped in their hands, “you asked me something about the powers, earlier when we were walking.”
Cat tried to remember. “Ah, yes. You said everyone had powers, or you all had them, or something. Do you? I mean, does your husband, does—does Guy?”
“Uncle, certainly. He’s the best brewman in the county. You had his applejack this morning, didn’t you feel it?”
“You mean there was something magical about it? I thought it was just, you know, hard liquor.”
“Oh, heavens, nothing magical. He just makes extremely good jack. And beer, and cider, and grape wine when he can get the fruit; really, he can make a drink out of anything he lays hands on. Mind you, I don’t mean to say that there isn’t something more to his drinks than those of any other brewman, but then he’s one of the Septimi. They’re all like that. Their oldest brother…”
“Septimi?” Cat had a puzzled frown on her face, trying to follow what Ouska was saying.
“Hmph. I keep forgetting you’re from elsewhere. Things must be very different there. Do you have men in that place who, well, lead, who are responsible for making sure things run right with the others?”
“Well, yes, I suppose—we call them presidents, or—”
“And what can they do—what is special about them that makes them be that person?”
Cat laughed.
“I don’t know if there’s anything special they can do, to be perfectly honest. Maybe convince others to vote for them; that’s about it.”
“Vote?” Ouska looked puzzled. “So there’s no particular gift they have that makes them necessary to the people? Well, it’s not like that here. Here, we have the Septimi. They’re a family of specially gifted men (their women are gifted, too, but for this task it’s usually the men), descendants of a seventh son. They have a particular ability to serve the people; they have powers no one else has. I suppose what they can do is what you would call ‘magic.’ For most of them, it’s just that extra gift within their gift, like Uncle’s applejack—they’ve all got different abilities, there’s never two in one generation that can do the same. As I was saying earlier, Uncle’s eldest brother, he works with metals, iron for the most part; he built that stove and the water heater. Most ingenious thing I’ve seen; wouldn’t be without it now. The third brother, Eradlor, he made the tub. Wood, metal, stone, music, colours, earth, even food—they all have their affinity, and what they can do with it is wonders.
“Together, they’ve always kept the traditions and served the people; they take it in turns to be the head man. But then every once in so often, a really special one comes along. It’s always the seventh son. There hadn’t been one in the family in decades, nigh on a hundred years, and then Salmor was born. He was Uncle’s youngest brother.”
“So what could he do?” Cat was leaning forward on her elbows, fascinated.
“That’s just it: he was the seventh son. The seventh son’s power is much greater than those of the others, and different. He can guide men (and children, and often women, too); and he usually has powers in his hands that let him do things that others have to have tools for, if they can do them at all. I heard tell of a seventh son who could make water boil in a cup, just by holding it (and no, he didn’t burn his hands every time; like every other gift, he learned to control it). So they say that the seventh should never be a craftsman like his brothers; he cannot use more than one gift. Hmph.”
“So, Sal-Salmor? What became of him?”
“Well, he was the Septimus—the Septimus. And he fulfilled his role well. It was he who decided to expand the village, who had the new wells dug, and whose idea it was to bring the water from the wells to all the houses.” She pointed at the pump by the sink. “Some of his brothers helped him with the particulars, of course, but it was his hands that put the pieces together, and that’s what made them work. He was a good man, was Salmor. It’s nearly three years now he’s been gone.”
“So who takes care of the village now—his brothers again? Or did he have sons himself?” asked Cat.
“Oh, didn’t I say?” said Ouska, getting up to put the teapot back on the dresser. “Of course he had sons. He was Guy’s father.”