Players of the Game

Rounding a corner, Jeniche froze for a moment, turned, and pushed Alltud back the way they had come. Alltud edged past her to the end of the building and peered round to see for himself what had made Jeniche stop in her tracks. It couldn’t have been the smell of baking bread, strong as it was. At first he couldn’t make out what was happening. Two people scuffling in the shadows just beyond a bar of light escaping from the back doorway of a bakery. There was a faint moan. He wondered for a moment if one of them was being mugged by the other, and then realized.

He stepped back and turned to Jeniche. ‘They seem happy in their work,’ he whispered. ‘Is there a different route?’

‘In a minute.’

‘What?’ Before he could stop her, she had disappeared round the corner. By the time he had plucked up the courage to look, she was gone. Moments later she walked out of the bakery, cool as you please, passed the couple who were still otherwise engaged, and stepped round the corner to where Alltud was cursing her all over again. She didn’t stop and he had to hop and step to keep up.

Several alleyways further along, it began to get lighter. They stopped in one that gave out onto a main thoroughfare where torches and lanterns blazed and people came and went. Jeniche broke the stolen loaf in two and handed half to Alltud.

‘Not much,’ she said, ‘but not likely to be missed.’

They joined the crowds on the road. It wasn’t that busy, but after the dark and being cooped up for days, it felt frenetic. Stalls lined the way, mostly selling fruit and vegetables. Men stood around or sat in the small cafés on the corners playing tawla. Women inspected produce, haggled and bought, gossiped and laughed. Children raced about, getting under everyone’s feet.

‘Keep an eye on your purse,’ said Jeniche automatically as they passed a couple of youths who seemed to have nothing better to do than watch what was going on.

‘I haven’t got one any more. Remember?’

‘Oops. Sorry.’

Chewing on their bread, they made their way up the gently sloping road to the crest of the hill. Behind them the landward side of the city was mostly dark, faint glimmers from buildings, one or two ways like the one they had just come along lit by torches. In front of them, however, it was a different picture. Many of the roads down to the port were ablaze with torches and lanterns. The souks and arcades were doing business in the relative cool of the evening and, despite the recent troubles and shortages, they were busy.

As well as the local inhabitants and the migratory population of sailors and traders, the thoroughfares were crowded with refugees. The wealthy ones had no trouble finding accommodation and anyone with a relative in the city had relied on their hospitality. Most, however, were camped on the streets. They had set up home in every conceivable corner, niche, and disused doorway. Some had found work. Others begged. Most traipsed about looking for some way of improving their lot. One or two priests and prophets wandered about preaching. Before long, the strain on the city’s resources would become too great. Then the tolerance of the locals would really be tested.

Joining the crowds, Jeniche and Alltud began to make their way downhill toward the docks. It became clear before too long that it would take them all night. They seemed to be the only ones there who knew where they were going and wanted to get there quickly.

‘Let’s try down there,’ said Alltud, pointing to a side road that seemed less crowded. ‘As long as we keep going downhill, we’ll end up at the harbour.’

Jeniche agreed and they cut through to a narrower street that had houses between the shops and stalls. Partway along, a donkey suddenly lurched forward in front of them. The cart it was pulling caught against a stall and brought it down, spilling produce across the ground.

Immediately they were engulfed in a fierce argument. Several boys were trying to free the frightened donkey, the stall holder was cursing the carter whilst trying to stop a half-starved youth from helping himself to a handful of carrots, shoppers were gathering to watch the free show, and people were emerging from surrounding houses to join in. The road was completely blocked.

‘Where have they all come from?’ asked Alltud, trying to back away from the arguing throng.

‘This is quiet by Makamban standards,’ said Jeniche with a grin. She pointed to an alley that seemed to be going downhill. ‘This has probably just thrown fuel on a long-running rivalry. The carter and the stallholder most likely belong to two different local families. All their relatives will be there. And anyone else who enjoys a good argument.’

They reached the quiet of the alley, but after a few paces it turned to the right and led them back to the main thoroughfare. The noise and bustle seemed worse than ever, shoppers haggling, arguing over the sharply rising prices, stall holders arguing back. But at least they were able to make their way downhill, no matter how slowly.

At one stall, Jeniche stopped and bought two slices of melon, talking with the elderly vendor.

‘Same story,’ she said when she returned to Alltud. ‘My Arbiq’s a bit shaky, but it’s clear he was saying less stuff is coming up from the south. More mouths here to feed. No shortages as yet, but he seemed a bit worried.’

Alltud nodded as he enjoyed the sweet flesh of the fruit. ‘Sounds like another argument further down.’

Jeniche went up on tiptoe to look over the crowds. ‘There’s a gathering of some sort. One of those preachers on a box.’

They pushed closer. They might be half mad, these prophets out of the mountains to the south, but they often had news.

‘New bloke,’ they heard someone say.

‘Wish they’d leave off with the doom and gloom,’ said another.

It was difficult to make it all out. The man, dirty and ragged, wild eyes in a hollow face, balanced on an old fish box and ranted. They caught snippets; talk of pale demons stalking the land, stealing the crops, forcing people from their villages, talk of them desecrating holy places, breaking taboos. Talk of them flying.

Jeniche and Alltud looked at each other. They had heard this before. Witnessed it elsewhere. It could only mean one thing. Somewhere, to the south, there were Occassans, their enemies of old. Cold-hearted, equipped with weapons and machines far in advance of everyone else, they were locusts in human form. Wherever they appeared they stripped the land and displaced the people, driven by some obscure craving.

Memories they had both suppressed unfolded themselves. Of danger and fear and pain and loss. Grim-faced, they pushed forward so they could hear clearly. It was barely worth the effort. The crowd had obviously listened to this kind of thing before and not all of them were impressed or happy that trade was being disrupted. But even though he was only partially coherent, the preacher was getting through to some, whipping up resentment against the Occassans who he constantly called the defilers.

Alltud nudged Jeniche and she followed his gaze. There were people working the crowd. Not thieves, but compatriots of the speaker. They were focussing on young men, talking to them, persuading. Some weren’t interested. Others, the hungry, discontented, and displaced were making their way to one side.

‘Recruiting,’ said Alltud. ‘That means trouble ahead. Definitely time to get out.’

It would have been wasted effort to try to carry on down the main thoroughfare. A nearby arcade looked less crowded and they ducked in that way. It was part of the jeweller’s quarter and Jeniche looked over the goods with a professional interest, her hands well in view. They stopped at one stall to admire some intricate dagger sheaths. The owner looked up and scowled at them. He clearly knew a thief when he saw one, recognized the way she assessed pieces by the ease with which they could be broken up and sold on. He must have rung a bell or given some other signal because an elaborately embroidered inner curtain was pushed aside and a large, heavily scarred man appeared. They didn’t hang around to see what he would do.

The jewellers’ shops gave way to other emporia and workshops, with smaller arcades running off at different angles. Brassmongers hammered at plates, jugs, and buckles; cutlers sprayed passers-by and knots of admiring children with sparks from their grindstones, whitesmiths toiled over intricate confections of silver, tin, and pewter. Further on, the din of metal working was softened as they passed booths selling cloth and clothes, carpets, slippers, sandals, and boots.

At the far end, they found themselves on a quieter street, but as soon as they tried to turn downhill again the way was blocked by several well-armed men in some kind of uniform.

‘You can’t go down this way. There’s been an incident.’

The speaker had a face and physique they didn’t care to argue with so they carried on, still moving parallel to the coast. Before long they found themselves in a poor residential area. Dark, narrow streets lit only by the occasional torch, paving stones and cobbles giving way to packed earth. And then dark, narrow alleys where the ground was broken and lit only by stray beams of lamplight from houses of people too poor for curtains or properly fitting shutters.

Jeniche was not happy.

‘I don’t like this,’ she said.

‘Neither do I,’ agreed Alltud.

They decided to retrace their steps and look for a better-lit way down to the harbour. After a few steps, they stopped. Blocking off the end of the alley, leaning with casual menace against the walls, were three well-armed young men.

‘I’m beginning to think someone doesn’t want us to get to the harbour.’

Chapter Three

Alltud followed Jeniche into yet another narrow gap between buildings. He groped along behind her as fast as he dared in the darkness, fumbling to get his keffiyeh across his face as Jeniche had done. There was still a great deal of desert dust about, especially in less-frequented byways. When they had been out for an evening stroll it was bearable, especially in areas kept clean on a regular basis, but they were now in a hurry and trying to avoid others, darting through places that street sweepers had not bothered or dared to venture. The last thing either of them wanted was to be incapacitated by a coughing fit.

He was happy to follow her lead. Desert girl she may be, but this kind of landscape was her natural environment and she seemed to know by instinct which alleys were blind, where the crossways were, what doorways were safe to rest in.

There was, however, precious little time to rest. Jeniche grabbed the cuff of his right sleeve in her left hand and continued to lead the way. Even though his eyes had now become accustomed to the intense gloom, he could see very little beyond the shape of Jeniche in front of him – a swift shadow in the darkness ahead.

‘How much chance,’ he asked in a whisper as they stopped at a junction, ‘do we stand of losing them?’

Jeniche said nothing for a moment, checking that the way ahead was clear, and then tugged his sleeve to get him moving. ‘Not much,’ she replied once they had crossed an unlit residential road and plunged into another alley. Invisible walls loomed above them on either side, their unseen presence sensed through sound and touch.

‘They looked like locals. They’ll have run the streets since they were knee-high to desert rats,’ she added as they skirted the edges of a large yard, keeping to the deeper shadow. Alltud eyed what little he could see of the roofline whilst Jeniche guided him round invisible obstacles. He thought he caught the odour of burnt sand and hot metal characteristic of a forge, but it was a fleeting impression. ‘They’ll know all these back ways blindfolded and sleepwalking. Still, they may get arrogant and careless. Or we might, in our ignorance, go places they wouldn’t dare to enter.’

‘Was that meant to be reassuring?’

Beyond the yard there were more of the seemingly endless alleyways and narrow gaps between buildings. Alltud wondered just who lived there and if it was as bad in daylight as it felt in pitch darkness.

Tired, they stopped for a moment in a broader, silent thoroughfare, standing side by side in a wide doorway. The gates behind them felt solid. Even through the cloth over their lower faces they could smell and taste the fine desert dust they had kicked up in their flight.

Alltud pushed back against the door. ‘Any chance—’

‘No lock. Barred from the inside.’

‘What if we split up?’

He should have been ready for it considering the number of times she’d done it in the past to make a point, but the punch on his arm was as unexpected and painful as it had ever been. He smiled in the dark.

‘We are not splitting up,’ she said. ‘Not until we both have safe passage home.’

Alltud refrained from sighing. He knew that meant when he had safe passage home, but that was an argument to have later. Right now, they needed to escape from this maze and find their way down to the waterfront.

Stepping out into a street where several lanterns hung was disorientating. They had both become so accustomed to moving silently in the dark, that they felt exposed and uncertain. They could travel faster, but they could be seen.

Jeniche looked a silent question at Alltud, who shrugged in reply. ‘At least it’s downhill,’ he said.

They stepped out and walked as if they had every right to be there and weren’t being chased for some reason. Several women crossed the street further down the hill and went into a large building. Two donkeys stood outside patiently chewing on fodder and ignoring the noise from within. There were other signs of life as well.

‘All that must have been workshops back there,’ said Jeniche. ‘They weren’t likely to risk the rooftops in case of guards.’

‘So we shook them off?’

Three men appeared further downhill. The same ones they had seen before.

‘You had to ask.’

‘What do they want?’

‘I don’t know. Let’s go and ask.’

‘Very funny. So what now?’

‘Let’s go and find out who owns those donkeys.’

‘What?’

But he followed all the same. He had no doubt that they could have beaten the three men in a fight, but the last thing they wanted was trouble. Of course, the last thing you want…

Jeniche patted one of the donkeys as they passed, but it was too busy eating to do much more than twitch its long, soft ears. They stepped through the open double doors of the building where the women had gone. Hot, damp air enveloped them, carrying faint sounds of talking and splashing.

‘A bath house?’ asked Alltud.

‘Better hope it’s not ladies’ night if it is,’ said Jeniche.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he replied, stepping sideways to avoid her knuckles.

Following the noise, they went through an inner door, pulling down their keffiyeh. It was ladies’ night, but it wasn’t a bath house.

Lanterns ranged round the walls were wreathed with steam. The women there were emptying baskets of clothing into large vats, standing on a low step to drop their loads into the steaming water. Boys scuttled about carrying bundles of firewood.

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.

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.