Valaran vowed they were crushing her arms, but Tol said, “Be easy. We just have to get past the guards.”
“But I have no feet!”
It was true. The hem of Valaran’s cloak now floated above the ground, and no legs or feet were visible below it.
“The dark will hide that,” Tol said, and the three of them bid farewell to Kiya.
They headed down the lane to the south gate. As it was used only by victualers and tradesfolk, the guards there were surprised when the trio appeared before them. The guards’ poleaxes clashed together, barring the way.
“Who goes there?” snapped the sergeant of the guard.
“Tol of Juramona and his wives.”
The soldier held up a shielded candle. Yellow light fell on their three faces. Valaran did not arouse suspicion by trying to avert her face.
“I know you, sir,” said the guard. “You command the footmen of Lord Enkian, do you not?”
“That’s right,” said Tol. Valaran didn’t weigh much, hut the burden was starting to tell. His arm quivered with the strain and he fought to keep his voice normal. “I’m heading down to the canal district to visit my men. I have Lord Enkian’s permission.”
“Ah, you’re a Rider of the Horde, sir, you don’t need to prove anything to us!” They withdrew their arms, and let Tol and the women pass. “But tell us some time how you bested Lord Morthur, will you, sir?”
“Surely,” Tol said, flattered. “I shall.”
They moved away from the gate, careful not to seem too eager. Out of sight of the friendly guards, they set Valaran on her feet.
“You’re becoming known,” said Miya. She looked back in the direction of the gate. “I should have asked them for money.”
Tol opened his mouth to protest such dishonorable behavior, but Valaran pulled at his hand. “Let’s go! I want to see everything!”
The road descended a steep hill, curving slightly to the right. Valaran threw back her cloak to free her arms. She started to lower her hood, but Tol stopped her.
“No sense announcing who you are,” he warned. He cautioned Miya to refer to their companion only as Val.
Valaran had studied a map of the city and she announced this avenue was called Bran’s Way. It was lined on both sides by two-story warehouses-brick at ground level, timber above. Here were kept all the stores for the Inner City, as well as tribute and trade from every corner of the empire. Torches burned on iron stanchions outside the door of each warehouse, and well-armed watchmen stood guard, each with a halberd on one shoulder and a brass alarm bell in his hand.
Not until they reached the first crossing street, called Saddler’s Row, did they encounter traffic. Carts and wagons, single riders on horseback, and a modest crowd of pedestrians moved in either direction. Far down Saddler’s Row the lighted doorways of taverns and theaters beckoned. Miya and Valaran were ready to go that way, but Tol insisted they at least try to find Narren and the Juramona soldiers.
The closer they came to the canal, the brighter the lamplight and the thicker the crowds. Valaran was enchanted. She stopped to listen to a slanging match between a pushcart vender and a woman who apparently didn’t have the price of a grilled sausage. Words were getting quite heated as Tol dragged her away.
“Wait!” she pleaded. “She just called him the three-fathered son of a pox-riddled goatherd. I want to hear his response.”
“Keep moving! We’ll end up in the middle of a knife-fight,” Tol said.
Farther along, they came across two gnomes, pink-pated fellows with silky white beards, who had set up a table at the edge of the street. They were demonstrating an apparatus of their own design. Four flattened glass globes turned on spindles, while a rack and pinion allowed them to move backward or forward, up or down.
“With the new Solar-Optical Domestic Stove Lighter, you’ll never have to buy fire again!” proclaimed the green-clad gnome. They were so alike only their clothes set them apart.
“My estimable colleague is correct,” said the other gnome, who wore brown clothing spotted with gray patches. “The Solar-Optical Domestic Stove Lighter is clean, dependable, reliable, safe-”
“Sounds like the perfect husband,” said Miya.
The small crowd chuckled appreciatively. Ignoring the interruption, the gnome in green resumed his spiel. “Throw away your flint and steel! Forsake dangerous and smelly tinder boxes! The Solar-Optical Domestic Stove Lighter makes all those old-fashioned items obsolete!”
“Excuse me,” said Valaran, stepping up to the table. “Do I understand from the name this device uses sunlight to ignite fires?”
Both little men first looked surprised, then immensely pleased. “Just so, lady, just so!” said the brown-shirted gnome. “It’s so nice to meet an educated person so far from home.”
“Thank you. However, I see one grave problem with your invention.”
Twin looks of approval changed to displeasure, and Valaran added, “How does it work at night?”
If she’d slapped the gnomes, she could not have stunned them more. The gnome in green faced his colleague and punched him on his cherry-red nose.
“Imbecile! How will it work at night?”
“Who are you calling imbecile?” retorted Brown. “I have a diploma from the Institute of Higher Gnomish Engineering-”
“I wipe my nose on your diploma!” Green shouted. “I dribble gravy on it too! How can a stove-lighter work without the sun?” A new thought seized him, and he shook with emotion. “Or when it rains?”
Brown attacked Green, and the two gnomes rolled on the ground, locked in a furious embrace. When they fetched up against the table, its folding legs collapsed, sending their invention crashing to the pavement. Instantly, scavengers converged on the broken device, ransacking the gnomes’ goods while the two fought on.
Tol and his party moved past. Miya, looking back at the melee, said, “They’re crazy. Why use that big thing when flint and iron fit in the palm of your hand?”
By the canal, boats and barges were tied up for the night. The streets were crowded, and waterfront taverns were doing a roaring business.
Valaran’s head swiveled left and right as she tried to take it all in. Catching Tol’s eye, she smiled, dimple dancing at the corner of her mouth.
As they strolled along the plank quayside, Miya said quietly, “We’re being followed. Since the gnomes’ table. Stocky fellow, dressed in black. I can’t make out his face.”
Tol chanced a glance. He saw no one of that description, but trusted Miya’s woodland instincts. They were acute, even in the city.
Sword and dagger reassuringly in place, Tol kept his expression pleasant for the girl’s sake. “Let’s find Narren and the men,” he said. He took Valaran’s hand, and was pleased when she didn’t pull away.
They visited four inns before they found the Juramona company. The fourth spot was called The Bargeman’s Rest, and it was a sprawling place, combining dock, boathouse, wineshop, and hostel.
Standing on his toes to see over the crowd, Tol spotted Narren and five of his men leaning on hogsheads, drinking from the short tin cups favored by Daltigoth’s tapsters. Narren hailed him. Tol elbowed his way through the press, drawing Valaran after him. Miya hung back a few steps, watching their backs.
There was much cheering and back-slapping as Tol was reunited with his comrades. Narren spoke for all when he said, “Who’s the kid, Tol?”
Valaran flushed scarlet. “Mind your tongue, rascal!”
Tol cut her off by squeezing her hand tightly. “This is a friend-Val.”
“Want a drink, friend Val?” said Narren, offering her a cup.
She would have taken it, but Tol got it first and drained it down. Out the side of his mouth he said to her, “Better keep your wits about you here!”