Jo Clayton - Moongather

“You already said that.” Dinafar pinched her nostrils shut. “Do we have to?” she croaked.

“Yes.” Serroi moved ahead of her and pushed through the swinging door.

Inside, in the small dark foyer, the smells made a massive raid on their senses. What light there was shone red and obscured more than it revealed. Serroi crossed the foyer, Dinafar close behind, and stepped into the taproom. In the light of two lanterns they saw a number of men sitting in small groups at scattered tables, two leaning on the long bar; the smell was more wholesome or at least was overpowered by the varied liquors served here. The small wiry man behind the bar paused in the middle of drawing a mug of ale and stared at them while the hum of voices filling the room fell to silence.

The barman finished with the ale, set the mug before a one-eyed man and came to the end of the bar, scowling at them, his hands fisted against his hipbones. “Git, boy. This ain’t no flowershop.”

Serroi smiled up at him, letting her lips tremble. “Yael-mri speaks in me,” she whispered. More loudly, she said, “Uncle Coperic.” The men at the nearest tables lifted their heads and stared.

The barman set his hands flat on the stained wood, his scowl softening. “Jinnit’s kids?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“What’a doin’ here? Where y’ ma?”

“Home. She got married again two years since and is with child.”

“Stepfather kick you out?”

“Sorta.”

He turned away and yelled into the gloom. “Haqtar! Get over here.” A dull-faced man came shambling to the bar. “Hold bar a while.” He tugged irritably at the ties of his apron, jerked it over his head and thrust it at the man. “This’s no place f’r kids,” he muttered, scowling at the ugly, vicious man. “No credit,” he snapped. “Get goin before you draw drink,”

“Yah, berom.” The words stumbled out of the thick-lipped mouth, the labored voice matched the dull face. His little eyes brightened as he looked past Coperic at Serroi and Dinafar.

“Get way, fool.” Coperic caught hold of a doughy arm and twisted until the man backed off, whining with pain. “These ain’t meat f’r you.” He turned to Serroi and Dinafar. “Maiden’s tits, I give Jinnit hell on this. No place f’r kids. Come on.” He hustled them through a door behind the bar, then squeezed past and led them up a narrow wooden stair that creaked protest at every step, even under Serroi’s light weight. Climbing behind him, Serroi smiled to herself.

Coperic was one of the network of newsgatherers and silent suppliers that the. Biserica maintained about the land-and he had other things he did; not even Yael-mri knew them all. A clever man. The staircase was proof enough of that, an efficient and invisible alarm. No man could climb it without giving ample warning of his approach and few would suspect that this was precisely why the steps squealed.

At the top of the staircase a long dim hall stretched back into shadow with floorboards that sank and groaned under their feet. Serroi began to feel that Coperic was a bit too thorough in his precautions. The whole building seemed to be swaying and unsteady under her feet.

Coperic pushed open an unlocked door at the far end of the hall and waved them inside.

Dust covered every surface. Greasy plates sat on an equally greasy table. The dust itself looked as if it would smear over anything it touched. The sheets on the unmade bed were grey with long use and the quilts leaked batting through old tears and were dark with ancient sweat and greasy mottles. The stagnant air held many odors, the strongest being stale sweat and urine. She wrinkled her nose at Coperic. “Don’t you think this is carrying things too far?”

When he didn’t answer, she crossed to the window and peered out through a knothole in one of the rotting shutters. As far as she could tell, the tavern backed onto the citywall; its mossy stones were close by the window. A dead end? Frowning, she turned and scanned his bland wrinkled face.

The man who’d arranged those stairs and this squalid room had to have a back door even though that seemed impossible.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice was cold. He stood with his arms folded, his deepset eyes drilling into her.

“Not what I seem.” She pulled the cap off and ran her fingers through her hair until the squashed curls stood out in a wild tangle, then stripped off the glove’s and showed him her olive-green hands.

Coperic relaxed. “Maiden’s tits, meie. The whole damn army’s poking about for you.” He jerked a thumb at Dinafar. “Who’s she?”

“My business.” She shook her head. “There’s no danger in her, only to her.”

“It’s done.” He shrugged. “What do you want here?”

“Shelter. A bird.” She rubbed at her eyes. “Nearga-nor is moving on the mijloc; Sons of the Flame involved in it somehow; and there’s a plot against the Domnor, a crazy stupid… never mind, the Biserica has to know.”

“No bird.” He scowled at Dinafar. “Girl, you wait outside a minute.”

Dinafar crossed quickly to Serroi, took hold of her sleeve.

Serroi patted her hand. “Well both go. Call us when you’re ready.” She took Dinafar’s arm and hurried her out of the room. In the hallway, the girl started to protest but Serroi silenced her with a headshake. “Wait,” she murmured. “He has a right to his secrets.” She looked off down the hall, remembering that she’d left the cap behind, hoping no one would come and find them.

“Come,” Coperic stood in the doorway, his face unreadable.

As she stepped back into the room with Dinafar behind her, she heard the rain dripping steadily outside. Inside, the gloom had deepened but there was enough light left for her to see the black hole in the wall. She slipped out of her backpack and held it dangling by the straps. Behind her she could hear Dinafar doing the same. She reached out her free hand and the girl took it.

“Through here.” Coperic stood back and waited until they crawled into the dusty hole. After a foot of stone the hole widened suddenly. Serroi had just time to curl her body and roll, then catch Dinafar as she fell through.

Coperic came through and clicked the panel shut. He brushed past them. There was a sliding clash in the darkness, a shower of sparks and a quick lift of flame. Using the tinder, he lit a lamp then pinched the first flame out.

They were in a small comfortable room carved out of the wall’s stone, a room almost painfully neat. There was a padded armchair, a bed neatly made up, a rack of scrolls against one wall, a table with a straight-backed chair pushed under. Opposite the entrance there was another door, a narrow hole closed by heavy planks. Coperic sat on the bed and waved at the stuffed chair. Serroi dropped her pack and sat, Dinafar sinking onto the floor beside her knee. “No bird?”

“Right.” He was more relaxed now, a tired cleverness in his face, shrewdness bright in his eyes, eyes that abruptly narrowed to creases as he yawned, then yawned again, belatedly masking the gape behind a narrow hand. “Sorry, meie, I’ve been on my feet since I don’t know when, About the bird. I tried sending one out a couple of days ago. With Norim and Sons flooding into the city and all the fuss you and your shield-mate kicked up, I got nervous, thought the Biserica ought to know.” He scratched at the crease running from his long nose to the corner of his mouth. “Lots of traxim around, damn stinkin’ demons aping bird-shape, ought to… I sent out a bird without a message capsule to see what would happen. It got maybe a quarter of a mile. Then the traxim swarmed it, carried it off midtown somewhere, couldn’t track it all the way down, too many demons skitterin’ around. I thought about sending a courier. Changed my mind. With everyone pouring into Oras, anyone heading out would have a lot of unfriendly eyes on him.” He managed a smile. “Maiden’s blood, meie, what the hell did you do?”