L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

Kharl ignored that, too, and half trotted, half hobbled, not a counterfeited hobble, but one from the pain in his leg, toward the alley. Each step also stabbed through his left arm. There was no one in the alley, and another gust of wind blasted over them, rustling the graying leaves of the trees surrounding the ancient dwellings on both sides of the alley.

Kharl and Jeka managed three blocks before Kharl slowed to a true hobble, finally turning out of the last alley and onto Gemstone Road. Just after they turned the corner, they found themselves less than a rod from a Watchman on patrol.

“You!” snapped the Watchman. “What are you doing here?”

“Just a poor man, ser…a poor man…my boy, ser, he’s not right…ran off he did, and I’ve just gotten him…”

Truncheon in hand, the Watchman looked at Kharl, then at Jeka.

Jeka did not look at the Watchman, but remained standing beside Kharl.

“Does he speak, fellow?”

“Sometimes, ser…” Kharl looked at Jekat. “Can you tell the man your name, Jekat?”

“Jekat.” The two syllables were uninflected, dull, and she continued to look straight ahead.

The Watchman studied Jeka and then Kharl. He shook his head. “On your way! Away from decent folk. And make it quick!”

“Yes, ser…yes, ser…thank you, ser…” Kharl whined.

He just hoped that they didn’t run into more Watchmen or, worse, Egen, although he suspected the lord’s son might not even recognize him any longer. Not unless they held him and stripped him and found the scars on his back.

The rain began to fall more heavily, and by the time they were back in the serviceway beside the rendering wall, both Kharl and Jeka were soaked through. The rain had come too late to help Kharl with the wizard, but it might have helped them escape.

Kharl took a deep breath. Despite the chill of the rain, the staff continued to feel warm to Kharl’s hands. He looked at Jeka.

“Climb over the wall and wait.”

She did, and he followed, laboriously, and with inadvertent tears streaming down his face. Every movement sent stabs of pain through his injured arm and leg.

Only when they were under the roof, such as it was, did he touch the staff to Jeka.

She collapsed.

Then he eased her into her hidey-hole, pulling off her wet cloak, but not more, and wrapping her in drier woolen rags. Then, in turn, he collapsed against the stone wall, just sitting there, breathing deeply, and wondering what he had done.

He knew why-but not how.

Sevenday was cool and cloudy, even at dawn, but the clouds were high. Kharl thought it was unlikely there would be rain. For that he was grateful as he sat against the stone wall and checked his wounds. Three sets of half-scabbed and oozing lines ran from the knee to just above Kharl’s boot tops on his left leg. A shorter trio of lines ran between Kharl’s elbow and shoulder, also on his left arm. The pain from the night before had faded into a dull aching in both his injured leg and arm, unless he moved suddenly, then it sharpened.

Kharl still did not understand exactly what had happened. He knew that he had fought well enough to disable the guards, but he doubted that he had struck hard enough to kill them; and he certainly had not struck the wizard hard enough to stun him-yet he had. Or was Kharl deceiving himself? Had he really used that much force? He wasn’t sure he’d ever know. What he did know was that, if he couldn’t find a friendly ship soon, he needed another way to get out of Brysta. All around him bodies continued to mount, and if Egen ever suspected that Kharl was alive in Brysta and had killed his wizard, there would be more Watchmen looking everywhere.

He glanced up to find Jeka sitting on the edge of the hidey-hole ledge, studying him. While there were dark circles under her eyes, her face was not so drawn as the day before.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“You came after me.”

Kharl nodded, not knowing exactly what to say.

“You killed the wizard.”

He nodded again. “I was lucky.”

“You were brave.”

“I’m not brave.” How could he explain that he wasn’t, that he’d just had to try, because it might have been the only chance left in his life to try to help someone who had helped him? He looked at Jeka carefully. Her face was still pale. “I’ve got a few coppers. I’m going with you to the lower market. You need to eat.”

“You shoulda taken coins from the wizard.”

“I was more interested in getting us out of there before anyone found us. Coins don’t do much good if they hang you.”

“Coulda grabbed ’em without stopping.”

“ You could have,” Kharl said. “I’m not that good. Besides…” He paused and offered a grin. “Wasn’t that what got you in trouble with the wizard in the first place?”

“Yeah…” Jeka looked away slightly, then back. “But if he was dead…”

“If there were coins missing, the Watch might be looking for us a lot more. This way…the wizard’s dead. So are his guards, and there’s a rope tied to a bedpost. No wizard’s going to kidnap a ragged urchin everyone thinks is a boy. Clearly…” Kharl paused. He hoped it was clear. “The wizard kidnapped the wrong person and paid for it.”

“That’s what you hope.”

“You think Egen is going to believe that a beggar and an urchin killed two guards and a wizard-and didn’t take a thing?” countered Kharl.

“Probably not,” Jeka agreed.

“Now…let’s go get something to eat.”

“I could do it myself.”

“You aren’t going alone.”

“You got hurt. Maybe you shouldn’t walk that far.”

“We both got hurt. Besides, I can limp for real.”

Jeka smiled.

Kharl stood. He would take the staff.

Fog finally rolled in early on eightday, sometime well before Kharl woke. The air was cold and clammy. Even his hair was damp. He glanced toward the canvas that covered Jeka’s hidey-hole, hoping she was warm enough. He stood quietly, trying to stretch out sore muscles without pulling the scabs on his injured leg and arm. The burns weren’t deep, but at times they were painful, and doubtless would remain so for days.

The Seastag hadn’t tied up in the harbor by sunset the night before, and with the fog, wasn’t likely to in the next day. It could be eightdays before Hagen’s ship showed up, and there wasn’t even any certainty that Kharl could buy or beg his way aboard. Even if he did, what about Jeka? Sooner or later, she’d run into something she couldn’t handle. What could he do for her?

He laughed silently, ruefully. He couldn’t even solve his own problems, and he thought he could do something for Jeka, an urchin whose only skills were cadging food? But were they? She’d mentioned once that she’d been a weaver.

Kharl frowned, thinking.

He was still thinking about it a glass later, when he slipped out of the serviceway, the dark staff in his hand. Jeka was still dozing. He’d listened to Jeka enough to know that the market was dangerous, even for her at times, and there were few he could trust in buying or cadging food. But he wanted to do his share, and with the wizard gone, he could try the White Pony.

With the fog covering Brysta, the Watch wasn’t likely to be able to follow him, although he doubted that they were all that interested in a ragged beggar. He walked slowly, trying not to stretch his left leg too much. The fog was so thin at times that Kharl could see almost a hundred cubits, and then so thick moments later that he could scarcely glimpse the tip of the staff he carried. He made his way southward until he reached Copper Road, where he paused.