Graeme Talboys - Stealing Into Winter

Three steps took her through the group of Tunduri, which was considerably smaller than it had first seemed. A fourth let her join the slow current of pedestrian traffic that carried her away from the terrifying smile, the soporific presence of the Tunduri, the cold and focused eyes of the soldiers.

Shopkeepers were re-opening their shutters and setting out their wares in the thin slivers of shade that had washed up against their shop fronts. The markets were coming back to life, stall-holders emerging from beneath their trestle tables, yawning as they kicked their apprentices awake and folded the dust sheets that had protected their wares from the elements and felonious hands. As Jeniche reached the end of the street, she could hear Dillick swearing at the Tunduri.

More people were venturing out. Sleepy servants and listless children, ambling dogs and yet more pilgrims all getting in the way of the ox-drawn work carts that were once more trundling back and forth carrying rubble, bricks, and timber. A haze of dust began to fill the air and the water sellers and lemonade stalls began to do a brisk trade.

All of which suited Jeniche. Because there were soldiers everywhere. And with life getting back to something resembling normal she could fade into the free-for-all. At least the streets seemed to be clear of the city guard. Not that she was going to make that mistake again.

Bread was her first priority. When she arrived at the bakery, Bolmit, normally the most placid of men, was arguing with one of his regular customers. Jeniche stood in the street, bemused. It wasn’t until two soldiers stepped from the alley that ran alongside the bakery that she fished in her pocket to find some of the loose change that had, until recently, been in a box behind Dillick’s bar and approached the shop.

Close to, closer than she wanted, she could see the soldiers were seasoned professionals. Lean, wary, with a quiet confidence in their abilities. They had, she also noticed, discarded their dark blue tunics for something lighter and were wearing keffiyehs as well. Whether they were trying to cope with the heat or blend in and make themselves less obvious targets was anyone’s guess.

She managed to get the attention of Bolmit, disappointed that his good-looking son, Wedol, wasn’t serving. Once she had paid for her bread, she wandered away from the shop and crossed the street into some shade. She felt lost. Everything was out of sorts and the usual rhythm of the streets had faltered. People were still out as usual, errands had to be run, provisions bought, gossip exchanged. There was, however, an air of distraction that she shared, understandable given the circumstances. It was as if people weren’t sure how to behave. Unlike some, though, Jeniche didn’t think it a good idea to stand and stare at the pale-skinned Occassans, if that’s what they were. Every time someone did, she noticed, every time a group began to gather, more soldiers would appear, threatening and bullying until the curious and sociable dispersed with grumbles and resentment. If nothing else, it confirmed to Jeniche that she was in for a thin time.

Dispirited, she ran her eyes over a display of fruit, wondering about the weapons these soldiers carried. Feldar had mentioned the bounty a sword smith had put up for the capture of one. She couldn’t understand why. They looked a bit like long crossbows without the bow and string, nothing more than elaborate clubs. Not very practical.

She walked along the stall, only half seeing the produce. In the end, she bought some peaches and was about to move on in search of some goat’s cheese when she stopped in her tracks, heart beating hard.

Crouched in the shadow of the fruit display was a member of the city guard. The man wasn’t in uniform but she knew. He looked up at her for a long moment and then flicked his head to one side to get her to move on.

Letting out a breath of relief, she said with a quiet voice, ‘Your boots are a giveaway.’

The man, trying to look round her legs, flicked a glance up at her and frowned. She just hoped he wasn’t one of the ones who had arrested her. In the melee, she hadn’t paid much attention to what any of them looked like. Her fists had made contact a few times before a rope went round her wrists, and this guard had bruises. But they could have come from anywhere.

‘Just get out of the way.’

‘If they see those boots, they’ll know what you are.’

He looked down at them and then back at Jeniche. It was clear he was trying to decide if it was a con, but in the end he pulled them off.

‘Someone here will have a sack you can put them in. Trade them for sandals.’

After that, she saw several other watchers, tucked away in shady spots. One of them was talking with a small boy who ran off and Jeniche saw him pulling his boots off. She smiled, but it was half-hearted. There had been deaths already. More were sure to follow. Perhaps it was time to leave the city. First, though, she needed some sleep.

Deep shadow and a light breeze from the wide river valley to the south of the city filtering through the sandalwood screen made the balcony comfortable. The prospect, however, was not. Across the wide street, lined up against a long wall in full sunlight, were fourteen men and six boys. Two of the men had been beaten and blood had dried hard on their swollen faces. The seventh boy had fainted and lay in the dust. The only comfort to be drawn was that there should have been fifteen men.

I hope you’re not somewhere doing something foolish, she thought. Willed it. Though where Trag would go, she had no idea. The stables across the road were his work, his home, his whole world.

Jeniche moved with cautious steps, shifting her perspective. The group of soldiers guarding the stable staff had not moved, but others were now emerging from the buildings. They crossed the main courtyard and appeared in the grand gateway. She leaned forward and caught sight of the tops of the heads of two just below her. A board creaked beneath her shifting weight.

The voices below stopped their murmur. Not waiting to see what was happening, Jeniche launched herself through the door, made a forward roll that would add more bruises to her collection and was up the stairs to the roof. She could hear booted feet clattering up behind her.

Grabbing her sack of provisions as she passed, she crossed the flat roof, jumped the narrow alley to the next roof and was up and over the shallow pitch of pantiles with nimble steps, skirting a garden courtyard before dropping onto an outhouse roof and down to the packed earth of a narrow service alley. She doubted anyone had seen her, but she didn’t stop moving until tiredness forced her to rest in the shade behind an old, public fountain.

‘Are you all right, lad?’

She looked up, startled. A dishevelled man smelling of sweat and cheap alcohol stood a few steps away, watching her. He looked familiar in a vague kind of way, but she could not place him and did not much care. Two friends were gone and she had nowhere to sleep. All on top of being caught for the first time in her life. It really was time to be leaving the city.

‘You lost?’ continued the man. ‘You don’t look the type who gets lost.’ He shrugged.

‘I’m… just a bit tired,’ she said, not really wanting to get into a conversation, especially with someone she didn’t know.

The man nodded and lifted a stone bottle to his lips. ‘Don’t suppose you got much sleep last night.’

He waved his free hand in aimless circles and wandered away with the careful steps of someone perpetually drunk, raising the bottle to his lips again as he went. Jeniche watched him go until he was out of sight, her eyes burning, her throat dry, and her head full of questions.

There were no answers where she went looking, but there was a bed in the shade of a rooftop awning. However, after that first night of restless, dark, dream-haunted sleep, she moved down into the deserted house.