Graeme Talboys - Players of the Game

Bemused, Alltud stopped and watched until a nudge from Jeniche moved him on. He looked over his shoulder as they went through into another room, catching a glimpse of the three men.

The new room was noisier and much larger. There, baskets of wet laundry were dumped into smaller tubs of soapy water and large, bare-armed women stood with washing paddles to stir and pound the clothes. Others were transferring the lathered garments into shallow troughs where they beat them against angled stone slabs. The wet smacking drowned out any conversation and the steam made it difficult to see a way through.

Weaving between the tubs, slipping on the floor, avoiding the paddles that rose and fell, dancing round youngsters who carried dripping loads from one tub to another, they made their way through the complex of rooms looking for a way out. Their pursuers, not having to waste time looking for a route, gained ground.

Beyond the washing and rinsing area, they found themselves in a huge drying shed. Lines of washing hung dripping onto a floor lined with drainage channels. Jeniche pushed Alltud ahead of her between two lines of sheets.

‘Run,’ she said.

He didn’t need urging and they sped along as fast as the uneven ground would allow. Risking a glance, Jeniche saw their pursuers following.

As they reached the far end, Jeniche called: ‘I need a leg up.’

Alltud turned, bent forward, and laced his fingers together, palm up, making a step. Without breaking stride, Jeniche placed a foot into Alltud’s hands and he straightened his back. As she was hoisted upward, she drew her swords. With delicate twists of her wrists, she sheared through the heavy washing lines on either side of her and dropped back to the ground.

Somewhere behind them was a roar as their pursuers went down beneath a tangle of wet sheets and line. Another roar as the owner of the laundry saw what had happened.

From the enclosed smell of soap and clean linen they ran out into a vast yard filled with low bleaching vats filled with urine, reeking under the night sky. Another young man stood uncertainly in their way. He was armed but looked neither happy nor prepared. Alltud charged straight at him and shouldered him to one side.

Jeniche saw the look of horror on the young man’s face as he realized there was no way he could stop himself from going into one of the vats. He wouldn’t be rejoining the chase anytime soon. They could still hear his pathetic cries for help as they clambered over a wall and vanished into the darkness beyond.

They had been none too certain where they were before, although Jeniche had a vague idea of which direction they should be heading. Now they were completely lost. The chase through the laundry and the subsequent desire to put distance between themselves and the trouble churning in their wake had left them disorientated.

After catching their breath, they had cast around until they found a narrow road that went downhill. With a great deal of caution they crept along, avoiding doors and windows, hoping their presence would go unremarked by the occasional local that they encountered.

Before long, Jeniche stopped. They rested against the side of a decrepit building.

‘Problem?’ asked Alltud in a whisper.

‘I’m not sure this is the right downhill any more,’ said Jeniche. ‘We may be heading inland. It’s too dark down there. The harbour is always well lit at night.’

‘Well we can’t stay here,’ he replied. ‘Wherever here is. Take your best guess.’

They stepped back out onto the road for a few paces before Jeniche found them another alley. Alltud found he was getting used to the dark, although it was not something he wanted to make a habit of.

Following close on Jeniche’s heels, he became aware that she was slowing. Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear, ‘What’s wrong?’

In the dark they heard a whistle.

‘That,’ she replied.

From a distance came a whistled response.

‘There’s someone up at roof level following us. Been there a little while. I wasn’t sure, but that exchange just gave it away.’

‘Same people?’

‘I doubt we’re interesting enough to be followed by two separate groups.’

‘I didn’t think we were interesting enough for one, unless the lodging house owner has a big family.’

‘Well, whoever they are, they don’t seem to want a confrontation.’

‘Ever the optimist, desert girl. They’re just making sure we face them on ground of their choosing.’

‘Then let’s see if we can disoblige them.’

Alltud stepped forward and collided with Jeniche. She grabbed him and turned him round and gave him a shove. He got the idea, but was happier when Jeniche took the lead again.

She didn’t double back for long before finding a new direction. And it was clear they were moving into a much poorer part of town. The ground became uneven and the walls felt rougher to the touch. Several times they stumbled on rubble from houses that had fallen into disrepair.

At the same time it became more populous. Alboran was full of refugees. Whilst the bolder ones had camped out in the more prosperous areas, the majority had sought out the empty houses and derelict spaces, the very places that Jeniche and Alltud now found themselves. And with people there was increasing noise and light. Fires burned, people cooked and talked, a whole city within a city carried on its life in the flickering shadows and starless summer dark.

They wandered for a while, tantalized by the smells of hot food, watching warily for pursuit, eager to avoid trouble. Before long they were deep in the heart of the enclave and had found themselves a niche where they could rest. It was close enough to someone’s fire to make them seem part of the group without them infringing on the small territory that had been established with piles of rubble.

While Alltud sat and rested, well back in the shadows, Jeniche approached the nearest group of refugees and bought some of their food. It was just a stale loaf and some old apples, but along with water from their own water skins, it was a feast. And as they ate, Jeniche had a chance to work out where they were.

When they had finished their meal and dozed and woken again in the early hours of the morning, they took stock. It wasn’t a long process.

‘So,’ said Alltud. ‘We’re in trouble again.’

‘It’s our one abiding talent.’

‘What did they want, I wonder.’

‘More to the point, do they still want it?’

Musing on that, they watched the sky. The moment it began to lighten would be a good time to make a move and try once more to get down to the harbour. Ships would be venturing out to sea again, and they may need crew members, people willing to work their passage to wherever they wanted to go. If Alltud was lucky there might even be something heading for Ynysvron. A lot of wine and olives went there from the region around Alboran, along with spices and rare metals.

Jeniche knew she would have a longer and more difficult journey, but there was bound to be something heading in the opposite direction. She looked sidelong at Alltud. And thought again. Makamba was calling, but perhaps another visit to Alltud’s homeland wouldn’t go amiss. Despite all the recent bickering, parting company seemed like the worst of all options, even if they would have to retrace their steps northward across western Arben to Brocel, trying to remember who they had annoyed on the journey south. It was best faced together. She smiled to herself.

A light kick from Alltud brought her back to the here and now where, somewhere on the far side of the refugee camp, there was a commotion. They looked at each other. It could be a lot of things. A fight between neighbours, drunks kicking up a fuss, some ritual awakening of a particularly religious group of refugees. They neither of them really thought so.