“No, I don’t know how he does it either. It’s that brain of his.”
The three children collapsed to the floor in the shade and scanned the rooftops at this, one of the highest places in M’Dahz. The Pelasian bell tower was just visible around the edge of the building, as were various turrets and high rooftops, but the main obstruction on the skyline here was the Palace Compound and it was the looming and intriguing walls of that forbidden complex that captured the gaze of the three runners.
“One day.”
Both Asima and Ghassan turned to look at their companion. Samir shrugged.
“We’ve been almost everywhere there is to go above the town, but we’ve never set foot in the compound. Before the summer’s out, I want to walk on the governor’s roof.”
Asima and Ghassan nodded sagely, each privately considering the almost negligible chances of that ever happening. But there was something in Samir’s eye that afternoon in the high places of M’Dahz; something that made Asima certain that nothing in the world of human endeavour was beyond Samir’s reach if he put his mind to it.
Nothing.
In which changes occur
A year had passed. The rooftop chases had tailed off in the late wintertime, though not due to the conditions. After all, in M’Dahz the deepest winter was almost indistinguishable from high summer to all but the natives. No, somehow the thrill had gone without them ever having set foot on the governor’s roof as Samir had vowed. Oh, they still ran occasionally; perhaps once a month now, and it was always Samir who set the routes these days, but when the joy of the rooftops had palled a little, the three had sought out new thrills. Games had come and gone as the seasons turned, and had culminated in this, their latest test of nerves.
The port district of M’Dahz was a maze of warehouses, offices, palisaded yards, harbours, dry docks, houses and taverns. Every open space seemed to be filled with people, busily striding around with papers, boxes and sacks. Local merchants on business errands, factors visiting ship captains, dockers loading and unloading vessels and filling and emptying warehouses. And, of course, there were the fascinating visitors. Few of the foreigners that landed at the port made it into the depths of the city, staying close to their ships and cargoes and to the drinking pits that entertained them.
Among the busy and narrow thoroughfares, where ropes coiled around bollards and crates lay in abandoned unruly piles, Asima, Samir and Ghassan picked their way carefully, repeatedly ducking back and dodging the unheeding feet of sailors and slaves. The boys, dressed in the clothing of peasants, would be entirely unnoticed in the streets under normal circumstances, but Asima wore a shabby cloak over her good cotton clothes and had removed her jewellery once again so as not to stand out.
Ahead lay the warehouse complex of master Trevistus, owner of four merchant galleys, native of the Imperial capital and probably the richest man to currently walk the streets of M’Dahz. Asima swallowed nervously as the three of them ducked once more into the shadowy recesses of an unknown building out of the press of sweaty workers.
“This may be stupid, Samir.”
The lithe young man turned and grinned at her.
“Your definition of stupid is a little looser than mine. Getting caught would be stupid.”
Ghassan smiled enigmatically.
“She might be right, brother… this is a powerful man. One slip and we could be watching our hands as they’re separated from our arms.”
Samir shook his head.
“Firstly, we’re too good to be caught. Secondly, no one can hold on to me for long; I’m part eel… you know that. Thirdly: we’re children. This man is a family man from the northern cities and they’re all soft and sentimental. A sob or two from Asima and he’ll send us on our way with a smile.”
Ghassan looked distinctly unconvinced but shrugged and then nodded. Asima rolled her eyes and finally gave her consent.
The three took a deep breath and slipped back into the busy street. A few more minutes and the high walls of Trevistus’ compound loomed. Samir had thoroughly checked out the location yesterday. Within the enclosure stood four structures, one at each corner, leaving an open space in the centre that cluttered and emptied with goods and equipment like the tide.
Closest to the single wide and strong gate stood the two storey building with an external staircase that held the offices of the merchant, his factor, and the various clerks in his employ. On the other side of the gate stood the bunk house that catered for the crew of the merchant’s ships when in port, a building busy at all times barring mid evening when the men caroused in the local taverns. In the opposite corner stood the wealthy and elegant house of Trevistus himself, lived in for only a few weeks each year, and maintained the rest of the time by a permanent staff of servants and slaves. The final corner, the object of Samir’s main investigation, was dominated by an enormous warehouse.
Ducking into a narrow side alley, the three crossed to the next street, from where the gateway of the compound was visible, guarded by mercenaries of foreign extraction; powerful and blond. Samir waved his companions back into the shadow of a porch projecting from the front of a smelly building called the Laughing Mermaid.
“Any time now.”
The others nodded and watched with growing nervousness and excitement in roughly equal quantities. Tense moments passed as workers and slaves traipsed past along the road, carrying goods or going about their various tasks, none interested enough to accord the three peasant children more than a passing glance.
Somewhere a horn sounded, announcing the arrival of another vessel at this meeting place of worlds. Samir tapped his foot impatiently and looked up at the sky, trying to gauge the time by the angle of the sunlight hitting the building opposite.
“We’re here on time. They must be late.”
Ghassan, beginning to twitch slightly, pursed his lips and frowned.
“I cannot help but wonder how you came across detailed transport schedules for foreign merchants.”
Asima shrugged.
“Be sure there’s some clerk somewhere wondering where his important papers are, Ghassan.” She turned and smiled knowingly at the smaller brother. “You are a menace, Samir. And possibly a genius.”
Samir grinned and put a finger to his lips, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb. In the street, four wagons, loaded to a point where the wood groaned uncomfortably, trundled past with interminable slowness, each drawn by an ox with a stoically resigned expression.
“Remember. Quiet until we’re left alone. Take only one thing and nothing that will be missed. This is a game; a test… not a theft.”
Ghassan nodded and pointed.
“The third wagon. No guards; just a driver.”
Samir smiled and stepped backwards into the street, hidden from view of the general populace by the wagon itself. Gripping the side boards, he hauled himself with ease from the murk of the road and tipped over the edge into the mass of grain sacks. Ghassan shared a look for a fleeting moment with Asima.
“He’s going to get us all killed one day”, she said with mock seriousness.
Ghassan glanced past her at the cart and, quick as a flash and with no warning, tipped his head forward and kissed her; a brief peck in the manner of a nervous child, and then he was past her, hauling himself up into the cart.
Asima stood in the shadow for a moment, her eyes wide as she reached up in surprise and touched her lips. The world slowed as her mind reeled.
“Sssss!”
Snapping her head round in the mist of confusion, Asima saw the brothers peeking over the side of the wagon and beckoning as the vehicle had almost rolled on past the tavern. Shaking her head to clear it, she ducked out of the shadows and leapt onto the side of the cart. A hand appeared to help haul her up. She gazed upward into Ghassan’s eyes and, taking a deep breath, clasped her hand in his. Suddenly, Samir was there also, helping haul her in among the sacks of grain, just as the cart passed from the building’s shadow and into the clear view of the public once more.