Graeme Talboys - Players of the Game

Without a word, they gathered themselves and set off as inconspicuously as possible. A steady pace, no lurking, trying not to glance over their shoulders too often at the increasing noise behind them.

‘Sounds like they’ve had a chance to find where we went to ground,’ said Alltud as they slipped round a corner and ran downhill. ‘I wonder if that poor lad has finished washing himself yet.’

‘As long as we don’t have to go back and redo all those sheets.’

‘Well, I’m no expert, but I’d say that was the least of our worries, desert girl.’

They had pulled up short. In the dim dawn light filtering through the dust they could see the way ahead was already occupied.

Jeniche said a rude word. ‘They seem to have multiplied in the night.’

Alltud sighed. ‘Here we go again.’

The nearest alley was inviting, but they passed it up as too obvious. Instead, they ducked into the open doorway of a large house, ran through the ground floor startling a young lad in the kitchens before emerging into an alley at the rear.

Left, right, left, they darted along the narrow passages. At one point someone made a grab at Alltud, pulling him off balance. He went down in a cloud of dust, but was on his feet again in an instant, his assailant’s head gripped under his arm.

‘No time for dancing,’ called Jeniche.

Alltud left the man on the ground with a painful and bloody nose.

‘This is beginning to annoy me,’ he gasped when he caught up with Jeniche. ‘Perhaps we should just let them catch up and show them what we can do.’

‘Oh, can you imagine how far we’d get if real blood was spilled?’

‘I didn’t start it. Whatever it might be.’

‘They would surely finish it. Archers on the roof. The end.’

‘For sneaking out without paying? It all seems a bit drastic.’

‘Some people are like that.’

Once again they pulled up short. The alley was almost wide enough to be called a street, but the two men ahead blocked it quite effectively. As they stepped closer one of them drew a sword. It was a clumsy move and one look at his face told them he’d never faced an opponent before. Alltud shook his head slowly and the man, barely more than a boy, turned to face him, lifting the point of his blade.

The shing of Jeniche’s swords surprised the young man and he barely had time to change focus before his own sword lay in the dirt. His companion vanished.

‘Get home and wrap that wrist in a poultice. It’s only sprained. But a word of advice. Never draw a sword unless you mean to use it.’ She spoke kindly as she re-sheathed her blades, but the young man’s face whitened and they could hear him retching as they turned the corner.

There was only one direction left to go and that, in itself, seemed ominous. It didn’t help that it led to a large and very deserted square.

‘If you were going to choose a place…?’ Alltud asked.

Their pace slowed and faltered. In the centre they stopped. There were a number of ways in and out. The roofline was low. The ground was smooth and had been swept clean of dust.

‘This would be it,’ Jeniche replied. ‘Whichever way we try to exit we will find is blocked. There are no doubt archers up there.’

‘Would that lad have friends who knew one end of an arrow from the other?’

Several men appeared at the far end. They were different to the ones who had been chasing them. These were well rested, all wearing the same plain livery, well armed, with calm faces.

‘I don’t think it’s his friends we have to contend with.’

Behind them, others stepped out from alleys and doorways. They were surrounded.

‘Shit. Not like this. Not here.’

They drew their swords.

‘Please. There is no need for that. Put up your kettle.’

Taken aback, they surveyed their opponents, not one of whom had moved closer, let alone drawn a sword. The one who had spoken stepped forward, his hands out palm upwards.

‘I am sorry for the way this has gone,’ he continued. ‘The others… failed their instructions. They became… over-excited and were lucky you were so… kind, gentle.’

Jeniche and Alltud gaped. They had expected him to speak Arbiq, the language of the area. Instead, the young man was speaking Makamban. Admittedly his accent was poor and his grasp of vocabulary left something to be desired.

‘ Dhorisay ,’ replied Jeniche, summoning her equally shaky Arbiq. ‘I think you meant dhorisay . That’s the Makamban for “swords”.’

‘Oh?’

‘ Dhorisoh means “kettle”.’

The young man laughed. The others simply watched. Jeniche relaxed a little. Alltud let the tip of his sword rest on the ground.

‘They were simply meant to keep an eye out for you; report on where you had gone and keep me informed that I might, at the right time, approach you.’

‘For what?’ Jeniche wasn’t that relaxed. The young man smiled again. He seemed at his ease, but she had lived on the streets long enough to know how to evaluate someone. Most people were like tapestries. It was nearly all there on the surface; they were straightforward, had nothing to hide, and couldn’t do it when they tried. This one, though, was different. It seemed to be there. On the surface. But he was more like a book with a bright cover. There was plenty to see on the outside, but unless you got inside and took your time, there were many layers you would never discover.

‘Again, my apologies. Diplomacy is not really my strength. My name is Tohmarz. I represent Dahbeer who is the Qasireu of Alboran. He would very much like to meet you both.’

Jeniche accepted they could not hope to fight their way out and sheathed her swords in a single, fluid movement.

Alltud followed her example.

‘What is a qasireu,’ he asked as his blade slid home. ‘And do we have any choice?’

They were escorted through Alboran at a leisurely pace. The streets and alleys were relatively empty; few people were about that early in the morning. The Qasireu’s men seemed to be spread out casually enough, but both Alltud and Jeniche knew how tight the formation really was. Some ahead, others behind, no one far from the flank and always someone at the entrance of an alley as they passed. There was no coercion; there was no escape.

They were moving into a more prosperous area of Alboran when Tohmarz spoke again, this time in his native Arbiq. ‘The Qasireu is… he’s responsible to the Caleph of Alboran for the keeping of law and order in the city. I believe in Makamba that was the responsibility of a group of the wealthiest merchants.’

Jeniche nodded. She knew all about law and order in Makamba. Perhaps not in the way this Tohmarz or the Qasireu he worked for did. On the other hand… She gave up trying to speculate, concentrated instead on learning from the things she did know about. That the Qasireu could afford well-trained and well-equipped men; that he kept his well-trained men in reserve for the things they were needed for and employed others as appropriate for the tasks in hand. Organized, then, and thinking ahead. Powerful. Wealthy. Which meant he was probably well entrenched in Alboran society. And that raised a very interesting question in her mind: what did someone like that want with the likes of us?

She looked at Alltud who had clearly been following a similar train of thought because he shrugged and said, ‘I don’t suppose we’ll have to wait long to find out.’

As the light grew and the city began to move from stupefied early morning stumbling into full wakefulness, they found themselves on wider, well-maintained streets lined with houses behind high walls. Tall palms grew that doubtless offered shade when the sky was not filled with dust.