Players of the Game. Graeme Talboys K.

in the alley below. It was a melancholy tune, a traditional song of Ynysvron. There were words, something about the road that takes you away being the same one that will lead you home. Alltud had been singing it quietly to himself a lot of late. Time to move. She hoped there wasn’t a corpse this time.

      Leaning over the mud-brick balustrade, she looked down into the alley. With eyes long accustomed to the gloom she could just make out the shape of a figure standing directly beneath. She waved and the whistling repeated softly again.

      Happy that it was Alltud, she found his pack and the end of the cord to which it was attached. They couldn’t afford any rope, so Jeniche had gone out and helped herself to a length of washing line. It probably wasn’t long enough, but it would have to do. She pushed Alltud’s pack off the edge and heard bits of grit tick and clack as they fell.

      Taking the strain, she lowered the pack, keeping it away from the wall so that it didn’t make any noise. Not for the first time she wondered what he kept in there that was so heavy. Even now when he had all his travelling clothes on.

      The line ran out and the pack had not reached the ground. Looking over again and listening to be certain no one else was about, she let go. A second’s silence was followed by a muffled thud and an equally muffled grunt that might just have been an obscenity. Alltud had broken its fall. She grinned for a moment and then remembered it was her turn.

      In the dark she put on the harness that held her swords and buckled it tight. She followed it with her pack, adjusting the straps so it was comfortably settled and her arms were free. As a last, almost reflex, action she reached back, drew her swords, and swivelled them once to get the feel of them, enjoying the way they managed to find light to reflect even in this starless gloom. They were back in their scabbards in an instant and she climbed over the balustrade, placing her feet on the ledge on the other side.

      From the first she knew that what should have been a simple climb was going to be difficult. Every little foot and handhold was piled with dust. Fine dust that was slick and made it difficult to get a decent purchase. Even on the comparatively broad ledge on the outside of the balustrade, she lost her footing. The toe of her boot seemed secure, but as soon as she put her whole weight on it to move to the next hold, she felt it begin to slide.

      With a secure handhold, she let it go and shifted her weight. At least it was dust and could be brushed away. If it had rained, this stuff would have set solid and made the climb impossible. Instead it was just dangerous. But she had grown used to that over the years.

      So, rather than a straightforward descent that should have taken no more than a couple of minutes, she had to scrape carefully at each crevice and protuberance to clear away as much dust as possible. Handholds were easy. Her boots, however, were not designed for it.

      Halfway down, a figure appeared on the balcony just below her level. Light glimmered faintly from a lamp inside the room, painting a vague outline of someone taking what little air there was to be had. There was a voice from inside and the person on the balcony replied.

      Jeniche clung as best she could to the wall. Her left hand was twisted with the fingertips jammed into a shallow vertical crack. Her left foot seemed to be resting on thin air and prayers to whatever gods were listening. It wasn’t the fall that worried her so much as being discovered.

      The person on the balcony rested themselves on the parapet as if settling for a while, but the voice from inside must have called them in because they stood, turned, and disappeared. A moment later, the lamp went out.

      Without waiting to see what happened next, Jeniche continued down. She hadn’t gone much further when a substantial foothold broke away from the wall and she fell amidst a shower of grit and dust.

      Braced for impact with the hard ground, her fall was broken by something marginally softer that prompted, in an urgent undertone, what were definitely obscenities, a lot of them, not to mention the inventive string of imprecations hurled against her parentage, intelligence, and general behaviour.

      Pushed to one side, she rolled onto the packed earth of the alley and sprang to her feet.

      Alltud stood as well and brushed dust from his clothes. ‘Anything else you’d care to drop on me? I’ll be black and blue for weeks.’

      Smiling to herself, Jeniche grabbed his sleeve and pulled him along toward the rear of the building.

      ‘I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Someone is leaving by the front,’ she added when Alltud grunted. ‘Best if we cut through this way for now.’

      ‘Do you know where…?’ he began. ‘Silly question.’

      Letting himself be dragged along, he followed her through the maze of shadowy alleys that cut between the backs of the buildings. What little light there was filtered through thin curtains, shutters, and the open doorways of houses and taverns. Conversation and cooking smells filled the space and reminded them both that a meal was long overdue.

      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