LITMIR.BIZ

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apart from back to the man he had just stolen it from?’ It had been the beginning of a long, friendly, working relationship, not least because Feldar knew Jeniche had seen what happened if you stepped out of line.

      In the cool interior, they sat in comfortable chairs behind a curtain well away from prying eyes and savoured the lemonade Feldar’s apprentice brought.

      ‘Have you had any trouble here?’ asked Jeniche.

      Feldar shook his head. ‘I don’t understand it. Everyone is edgy, but apart from a few skirmishes, it all seems to…’ His words faltered and he stared at his hands folded in his lap.

      ‘Has the city fallen to the enemy?’

      ‘The Occassans.’

      ‘Occassans? Are you sure?’

      Feldar shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. No one seems to know. There are plenty of rumours but not many hard facts. And few of those I trust. Occassus is so distant it barely seems credible. Tales of the Occassans have always seemed like the distant growl of thunder from a dark horizon.’ He paused for a moment, thinking. ‘The Citadel is badly damaged. That’s certain. Some of the warehouses on the docks are badly burned. That too is certain. And there are, according to some who are in a position to know, a thousand more soldiers in barges on the river.’ He sighed. ‘I just hope the young hotheads in the Old City don’t start thinking they can fight back. Not against these new weapons.’

      Jeniche leaned forward. ‘What new weapons?’

      ‘Have you not seen?’

      ‘No. It was… chaotic down there last night. And I’ve not seen any soldiers up close today.’

      ‘You must have heard them, though. That firecracker sound?’

      ‘I thought that was… well… firecrackers.’

      ‘No. One of the sword smiths on Blade Alley has put up a bounty, a handsome sum as well, to be paid to anyone who brings him one of these… whatever they are. Moskets, they call them. I dare say if they get hold of one they will be making them here.’ He sighed again. ‘And then we will see real bloodshed.’ Feldar looked at Jeniche, searching her face. ‘You’ll stay clear of all that, won’t you?’

      ‘You needn’t worry about me. I’m not a fighter. I never have been. And all I want at the moment is some cash.’

      ‘Hmmm. Business. Very well.’

      Feldar took a black cloth from his sleeve and laid it on the low table between them, smoothing out the creases. Jeniche waited until he had finished and then unlaced the jeweller’s belt beneath her tunic. She removed the three rings, the bracelet, and the small good luck charm, placing them on the cloth. After the briefest hesitation, she left the amulet in the belt which she retied round her waist.

      ‘It’s not much,’ she said, straightening her tunic, ‘but I thought the metal might be of use.’

      He picked up each item and held it where he could see it clearly. ‘The bracelet is brass. You might get a few sous for it in one of the chandlers’ workshops. I can’t do anything with that charm, either, although if you find the right person you might convince them it’s pre-Evanescence. Fools will always pay over the odds for that.’

      ‘And the rings?’

      ‘Times are hard.’

      Jeniche grinned. ‘Doesn’t work with me.’

      Feldar grinned back. ‘That one is good, fine gold. Five crowns. The other two are plated silver. Three crowns for them.’

      Jeniche was disappointed. She had been hoping for ten, but Feldar always gave her a good price. She nodded and picked up the bracelet and the charm. The smith folded the cloth over the rings and it disappeared into a pocket inside his work jacket. Jeniche knew the stones would be out of their fittings and the metal in a crucible before she reached the end of the street.

      Eight crowns appeared on the table and Jeniche scooped them up. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Hmmm. You be careful. Once the city guard is back on the streets, they’ll be looking for you.’

      Jeniche sighed. ‘I don’t plan on being caught.’

      ‘What you plan and what happens…’ Feldar shrugged.

      In the workshop, the bellows creaked and the charcoal fire beneath the crucible gave a soft roar. Jeniche left Feldar and his apprentice to their work and ambled along the alley trying to sort out her thoughts, edging round her grief for Teague. She peered into busy workshops, sold the bracelet, stopped to admire merchandise, bought a new knife to replace the one confiscated when she had been arrested, watched a party of Tunduri pilgrims in their green robes and wondered how people of the high mountains coped with the heat, tried to recall any hard facts about Occassus and failed.

      When she reached Dillick’s tavern and went down the steps into the kitchen, the place was quiet, just as she had planned. She went on tiptoe past the two skivvies who were curled up and fast asleep in the corner by the pantry. It was their one respite in a long day’s work and Jeniche had no wish to deprive the two young women of the bliss of sleep.

      The door to the servery was by the bar. Jeniche helped herself to some small beer from a keg and sat in a corner near the main door to wait. It was dark with all the shutters closed but there was enough light to see that there were several new tables and benches. It had been a short, scrappy brawl. At least Dillick had suffered as well, where it would hurt him most. He had probably had to spend the best part of his tip-off money on new furniture.

      When Dillick’s pale face finally appeared in the gloom, Jeniche had long finished the drink, carved an elaborate design into the wood of one of the new tables with her knife, and begun to doze. He moved his oleaginous bulk between the tables, feeling his way as he went, eyes still dazzled by the afternoon sun. Even as a shadowy figure in the shuttered room, he managed to convey that mixture of servility and slyness that Jeniche so disliked.

      ‘Don’t open them just yet,’ she said quietly as he reached up to the nearest shutter catch.

      Dillick froze. ‘Who’s that?’

      ‘Someone who is curious to know how the city guard can get here so quickly after one of your clients sits down to eat.’

      The pale moon of Dillick’s face loomed toward her. Jeniche was reminded of a tulik worm, strange and poisonous creatures of the deep desert that come to the surface only on the night of a dark moon.

      ‘Is that you, Jeniche?’ The voice was pitched high with nerves.

      ‘Well?’

      ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ It was feeble even by Dillick’s standard.

      ‘Someone told them I was here.’

      ‘Could have been anyone.’ The face moved slowly away as Dillick backed toward the bar, knocking against a table and upsetting a bench.

      Moving with long-practised silence, Jeniche crossed the room and stood beside him. ‘But it wasn’t.’

      She heard a sharp intake of breath. It may have been surprise at her voice so close. It was more likely the cold, sharp point of her knife pricking the folds of flesh on his neck.

      ‘Anyone would know you,’ he said. ‘Anyone could have—’

      She pushed the knife just a little harder.

      ‘Anyone?’

      ‘A lad like you. Out of the desert. Easily recognized.’

      ‘What makes you think I’m out of the desert?’ she asked, annoyed by the lazy assumption.

      ‘Skin that dark. Stands to reason.’

      ‘Not to me, Dillick. There’s more than just desert to the north of Makamba. A lot more.’

      Jeniche pushed away the memories, saw Dillick frowning

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