Читать книгу Players of the Game - Graeme Talboys K. - Страница 8

Embraced by the hot, starless night, Jeniche sat in the dark and relaxed for the first time in… She tried to remember the last time she had really been at her ease and thought of the sunshine on the stable roof by the Great Hall in Gwydr. Despite the many hardships and bloody battles in Ynysvron, the northern homeland of Alltud, it was the aftermath she remembered best; the spring weather, watching them tear down the Great Hall which had been too stained with blood ever to use again, watching them rebuild it as the country knitted itself back together. It seemed a lifetime ago, sitting up there admiring her new boots and wondering what life would bring next. Now she knew.

Knees up, back wedged into the corner of the balcony walls, the sounds of the city at work, the voices calling, laughter and song, the tantalising smells of jostling humanity that reached through the stale air… all drew her from her reverie. Her stomach rumbled as she caught a hint of spices, of something frying. Perhaps later.

For now, she was alone. Alltud had gone. The door was locked. And their packs kept her company where she sat in the darkness on the balcony. Listening. Waiting for Alltud’s signal.

She allowed herself a smile, thinking back to the first time she had come across him, all those years ago in Makamba, the night the Occassans invaded. It had been dark then as well, death dropping from the sky, the only light from burning banners and buildings.

His voice had emerged from the darkness of an alley where she was sheltering for a moment. Having just escaped from prison she had been wary. He had sounded drunk. Had smelt disgusting. Not a promising start. Especially as the legs she had fallen over had been those of a corpse. One day she would ask him about that. One day.

Someone was whistling in the alley below. It was a melancholy tune, a traditional song of Ynysvron. There were words, something about the road that takes you away being the same one that will lead you home. Alltud had been singing it quietly to himself a lot of late. Time to move. She hoped there wasn’t a corpse this time.

Leaning over the mud-brick balustrade, she looked down into the alley. With eyes long accustomed to the gloom she could just make out the shape of a figure standing directly beneath. She waved and the whistling repeated softly again.

Happy that it was Alltud, she found his pack and the end of the cord to which it was attached. They couldn’t afford any rope, so Jeniche had gone out and helped herself to a length of washing line. It probably wasn’t long enough, but it would have to do. She pushed Alltud’s pack off the edge and heard bits of grit tick and clack as they fell.

Taking the strain, she lowered the pack, keeping it away from the wall so that it didn’t make any noise. Not for the first time she wondered what he kept in there that was so heavy. Even now when he had all his travelling clothes on.

The line ran out and the pack had not reached the ground. Looking over again and listening to be certain no one else was about, she let go. A second’s silence was followed by a muffled thud and an equally muffled grunt that might just have been an obscenity. Alltud had broken its fall. She grinned for a moment and then remembered it was her turn.

In the dark she put on the harness that held her swords and buckled it tight. She followed it with her pack, adjusting the straps so it was comfortably settled and her arms were free. As a last, almost reflex, action she reached back, drew her swords, and swivelled them once to get the feel of them, enjoying the way they managed to find light to reflect even in this starless gloom. They were back in their scabbards in an instant and she climbed over the balustrade, placing her feet on the ledge on the other side.

From the first she knew that what should have been a simple climb was going to be difficult. Every little foot and handhold was piled with dust. Fine dust that was slick and made it difficult to get a decent purchase. Even on the comparatively broad ledge on the outside of the balustrade, she lost her footing. The toe of her boot seemed secure, but as soon as she put her whole weight on it to move to the next hold, she felt it begin to slide.

With a secure handhold, she let it go and shifted her weight. At least it was dust and could be brushed away. If it had rained, this stuff would have set solid and made the climb impossible. Instead it was just dangerous. But she had grown used to that over the years.

So, rather than a straightforward descent that should have taken no more than a couple of minutes, she had to scrape carefully at each crevice and protuberance to clear away as much dust as possible. Handholds were easy. Her boots, however, were not designed for it.

Halfway down, a figure appeared on the balcony just below her level. Light glimmered faintly from a lamp inside the room, painting a vague outline of someone taking what little air there was to be had. There was a voice from inside and the person on the balcony replied.

Jeniche clung as best she could to the wall. Her left hand was twisted with the fingertips jammed into a shallow vertical crack. Her left foot seemed to be resting on thin air and prayers to whatever gods were listening. It wasn’t the fall that worried her so much as being discovered.

The person on the balcony rested themselves on the parapet as if settling for a while, but the voice from inside must have called them in because they stood, turned, and disappeared. A moment later, the lamp went out.

Without waiting to see what happened next, Jeniche continued down. She hadn’t gone much further when a substantial foothold broke away from the wall and she fell amidst a shower of grit and dust.

Braced for impact with the hard ground, her fall was broken by something marginally softer that prompted, in an urgent undertone, what were definitely obscenities, a lot of them, not to mention the inventive string of imprecations hurled against her parentage, intelligence, and general behaviour.

Pushed to one side, she rolled onto the packed earth of the alley and sprang to her feet.

Alltud stood as well and brushed dust from his clothes. ‘Anything else you’d care to drop on me? I’ll be black and blue for weeks.’

Smiling to herself, Jeniche grabbed his sleeve and pulled him along toward the rear of the building.

‘I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Someone is leaving by the front,’ she added when Alltud grunted. ‘Best if we cut through this way for now.’

‘Do you know where…?’ he began. ‘Silly question.’

Letting himself be dragged along, he followed her through the maze of shadowy alleys that cut between the backs of the buildings. What little light there was filtered through thin curtains, shutters, and the open doorways of houses and taverns. Conversation and cooking smells filled the space and reminded them both that a meal was long overdue.

Rounding a corner, Jeniche froze for a moment, turned, and pushed Alltud back the way they had come. Alltud edged past her to the end of the building and peered round to see for himself what had made Jeniche stop in her tracks. It couldn’t have been the smell of baking bread, strong as it was. At first he couldn’t make out what was happening. Two people scuffling in the shadows just beyond a bar of light escaping from the back doorway of a bakery. There was a faint moan. He wondered for a moment if one of them was being mugged by the other, and then realized.

He stepped back and turned to Jeniche. ‘They seem happy in their work,’ he whispered. ‘Is there a different route?’

‘In a minute.’

‘What?’ Before he could stop her, she had disappeared round the corner. By the time he had plucked up the courage to look, she was gone. Moments later she walked out of the bakery, cool as you please, passed the couple who were still otherwise engaged, and stepped round the corner to where Alltud was cursing her all over again. She didn’t stop and he had to hop and step to keep up.

Several alleyways further along, it began to get lighter. They stopped in one that gave out onto a main thoroughfare where torches and lanterns blazed and people came and went. Jeniche broke the stolen loaf in two and handed half to Alltud.

‘Not much,’ she said, ‘but not likely to be missed.’

They joined the crowds on the road. It wasn’t that busy, but after the dark and being cooped up for days, it felt frenetic. Stalls lined the way, mostly selling fruit and vegetables. Men stood around or sat in the small cafés on the corners playing tawla. Women inspected produce, haggled and bought, gossiped and laughed. Children raced about, getting under everyone’s feet.

‘Keep an eye on your purse,’ said Jeniche automatically as they passed a couple of youths who seemed to have nothing better to do than watch what was going on.

‘I haven’t got one any more. Remember?’

‘Oops. Sorry.’

Chewing on their bread, they made their way up the gently sloping road to the crest of the hill. Behind them the landward side of the city was mostly dark, faint glimmers from buildings, one or two ways like the one they had just come along lit by torches. In front of them, however, it was a different picture. Many of the roads down to the port were ablaze with torches and lanterns. The souks and arcades were doing business in the relative cool of the evening and, despite the recent troubles and shortages, they were busy.

As well as the local inhabitants and the migratory population of sailors and traders, the thoroughfares were crowded with refugees. The wealthy ones had no trouble finding accommodation and anyone with a relative in the city had relied on their hospitality. Most, however, were camped on the streets. They had set up home in every conceivable corner, niche, and disused doorway. Some had found work. Others begged. Most traipsed about looking for some way of improving their lot. One or two priests and prophets wandered about preaching. Before long, the strain on the city’s resources would become too great. Then the tolerance of the locals would really be tested.

Joining the crowds, Jeniche and Alltud began to make their way downhill toward the docks. It became clear before too long that it would take them all night. They seemed to be the only ones there who knew where they were going and wanted to get there quickly.

‘Let’s try down there,’ said Alltud, pointing to a side road that seemed less crowded. ‘As long as we keep going downhill, we’ll end up at the harbour.’

Jeniche agreed and they cut through to a narrower street that had houses between the shops and stalls. Partway along, a donkey suddenly lurched forward in front of them. The cart it was pulling caught against a stall and brought it down, spilling produce across the ground.

Immediately they were engulfed in a fierce argument. Several boys were trying to free the frightened donkey, the stall holder was cursing the carter whilst trying to stop a half-starved youth from helping himself to a handful of carrots, shoppers were gathering to watch the free show, and people were emerging from surrounding houses to join in. The road was completely blocked.

‘Where have they all come from?’ asked Alltud, trying to back away from the arguing throng.

‘This is quiet by Makamban standards,’ said Jeniche with a grin. She pointed to an alley that seemed to be going downhill. ‘This has probably just thrown fuel on a long-running rivalry. The carter and the stallholder most likely belong to two different local families. All their relatives will be there. And anyone else who enjoys a good argument.’

They reached the quiet of the alley, but after a few paces it turned to the right and led them back to the main thoroughfare. The noise and bustle seemed worse than ever, shoppers haggling, arguing over the sharply rising prices, stall holders arguing back. But at least they were able to make their way downhill, no matter how slowly.

At one stall, Jeniche stopped and bought two slices of melon, talking with the elderly vendor.

‘Same story,’ she said when she returned to Alltud. ‘My Arbiq’s a bit shaky, but it’s clear he was saying less stuff is coming up from the south. More mouths here to feed. No shortages as yet, but he seemed a bit worried.’

Alltud nodded as he enjoyed the sweet flesh of the fruit. ‘Sounds like another argument further down.’

Jeniche went up on tiptoe to look over the crowds. ‘There’s a gathering of some sort. One of those preachers on a box.’

They pushed closer. They might be half mad, these prophets out of the mountains to the south, but they often had news.

‘New bloke,’ they heard someone say.

‘Wish they’d leave off with the doom and gloom,’ said another.

It was difficult to make it all out. The man, dirty and ragged, wild eyes in a hollow face, balanced on an old fish box and ranted. They caught snippets; talk of pale demons stalking the land, stealing the crops, forcing people from their villages, talk of them desecrating holy places, breaking taboos. Talk of them flying.

Jeniche and Alltud looked at each other. They had heard this before. Witnessed it elsewhere. It could only mean one thing. Somewhere, to the south, there were Occassans, their enemies of old. Cold-hearted, equipped with weapons and machines far in advance of everyone else, they were locusts in human form. Wherever they appeared they stripped the land and displaced the people, driven by some obscure craving.

Memories they had both suppressed unfolded themselves. Of danger and fear and pain and loss. Grim-faced, they pushed forward so they could hear clearly. It was barely worth the effort. The crowd had obviously listened to this kind of thing before and not all of them were impressed or happy that trade was being disrupted. But even though he was only partially coherent, the preacher was getting through to some, whipping up resentment against the Occassans who he constantly called the defilers.

Alltud nudged Jeniche and she followed his gaze. There were people working the crowd. Not thieves, but compatriots of the speaker. They were focussing on young men, talking to them, persuading. Some weren’t interested. Others, the hungry, discontented, and displaced were making their way to one side.

‘Recruiting,’ said Alltud. ‘That means trouble ahead. Definitely time to get out.’

It would have been wasted effort to try to carry on down the main thoroughfare. A nearby arcade looked less crowded and they ducked in that way. It was part of the jeweller’s quarter and Jeniche looked over the goods with a professional interest, her hands well in view. They stopped at one stall to admire some intricate dagger sheaths. The owner looked up and scowled at them. He clearly knew a thief when he saw one, recognized the way she assessed pieces by the ease with which they could be broken up and sold on. He must have rung a bell or given some other signal because an elaborately embroidered inner curtain was pushed aside and a large, heavily scarred man appeared. They didn’t hang around to see what he would do.

The jewellers’ shops gave way to other emporia and workshops, with smaller arcades running off at different angles. Brassmongers hammered at plates, jugs, and buckles; cutlers sprayed passers-by and knots of admiring children with sparks from their grindstones, whitesmiths toiled over intricate confections of silver, tin, and pewter. Further on, the din of metal working was softened as they passed booths selling cloth and clothes, carpets, slippers, sandals, and boots.

At the far end, they found themselves on a quieter street, but as soon as they tried to turn downhill again the way was blocked by several well-armed men in some kind of uniform.

‘You can’t go down this way. There’s been an incident.’

The speaker had a face and physique they didn’t care to argue with so they carried on, still moving parallel to the coast. Before long they found themselves in a poor residential area. Dark, narrow streets lit only by the occasional torch, paving stones and cobbles giving way to packed earth. And then dark, narrow alleys where the ground was broken and lit only by stray beams of lamplight from houses of people too poor for curtains or properly fitting shutters.

Jeniche was not happy.

‘I don’t like this,’ she said.

‘Neither do I,’ agreed Alltud.

They decided to retrace their steps and look for a better-lit way down to the harbour. After a few steps, they stopped. Blocking off the end of the alley, leaning with casual menace against the walls, were three well-armed young men.

‘I’m beginning to think someone doesn’t want us to get to the harbour.’