‘You did well,’ said Nish, clasping her hands in his. ‘You saved my life. No one could have done better, Liliwen.’
Meriwen was sitting up, looking at the other man, who had stopped kicking. Judging by the angle of his head, his neck was broken.
‘They did not harm you?’ Nish asked Meriwen.
‘No,’ she said in the faintest whisper. ‘We’re both all right.’
‘We’d better go,’ said Nish, ‘before they recover.’
‘Yes.’ Liliwen was still staring at her victim.
He was not going to recover either. Liliwen’s blow had crushed his skull and killed him instantly. Nish suspected she knew that. A difficult thing for a twelve-year-old to cope with. Difficult enough for him, for that matter. Nish checked the other ruffian. His neck was broken. He, Nish, had killed a man.
‘Come on!’ he said. ‘There may be more of them.’
Nish wiped the bloodstained mallet on the ground when he thought Liliwen was not looking, and led the way back to the road. The girls collected their packs and they kept going all day without stopping. Liliwen did not complain about her blisters. The girls said virtually nothing. As did Nish, though his leg was in agony, his throat was so swollen that every breath hurt, and he was seeing double. He was too caught up with what had happened. He had killed. The fellow had been a villain, certainly, but hadn’t desperation driven him to it? Could he, Nish, end up like that one day?
‘Is it far to Kundizand?’ Nish asked when the day was near its end. He did not want to spend the night out here.
‘Not far,’ said Meriwen.
They turned a corner at dusk and the lights of the town were twinkling ahead of them. They had not seen a lyrinx all day but he could not allow himself to relax until, finally, they reached the gates.
They were passed through without question. The normal checks had been suspended; just to be human was a passport. The town was bursting with people. As well as its normal population of eight thousand, there were at least thirty thousand worn out, desperate refugees. Every bed had been taken long ago. Every street was jammed; people were bedding down in the alleys and everywhere else that was out of the way of direct traffic.
They fought their way through the throngs, Nish keeping close by the twins. It would be easy to lose them and impossible to find them if he did.
‘Where were you to meet your parents?’ he asked.
‘In the town square, by the wind clock.’
The square was an explosion of people – it took a good fifteen minutes to struggle from one side to the other. Eventually they reached the clock, which was striking the hour of seven. Its screw-shaped scarlet sails twirled merrily in the breeze, though down in the square the air was still and stifling. Nish and the girls worked back and forth for an hour without finding anyone the twins recognised.
Liliwen burst into tears. ‘They’re dead, I know it.’
‘Father said he’d be here,’ Meriwen said soothingly. ‘He never breaks his promises, Liliwen. We have to keep looking.’
Nish thought he saw Colm’s sisters, Ketila and Fransi, across the square. He shouted their names but the sound was swallowed up in the din, the crowd closed again and he could not find them.
By the time the clock struck nine, Nish could barely move. ‘We’d better find a place to sleep –’ he began, when a tall woman screamed, pushed through the crowd and threw herself at the girls.
‘Meriwen, Liliwen! Where have you been? We thought we’d lost you.’
Meriwen burst into tears. ‘We went home, Mummy, but you were gone. We were so afraid –’
‘But you did as you were told. Good girls!’ The woman embraced Meriwen, and then Liliwen.
‘Where’s Father?’ Liliwen asked anxiously. ‘Is –’
‘He’s just over there,’ said the woman. ‘Troist!’ she yelled. ‘They’re here!’ Shortly a stocky, handsome man in a lieutenant’s uniform shouldered through the crowd, beaming from ear to ear.
He embraced his daughters, gathered the family up and was shepherding them away when Meriwen said, ‘Wait, Father. I must thank this man –’
Troist spun on his heel, inspecting Nish and evidently not much liking what he saw. ‘Who the blazes are you, fellow?’ he demanded, his lip curling.
‘My name is Cryl-Nish Hlar, surr, and I –’
‘If you have rendered my daughters a service, I thank you for it.’ He reached into his coin pocket.
‘Father,’ said Liliwen, ‘he saved our lives! Two horrible men grabbed us and took us into the forest –’
‘What?’ cried Troist. He spun around to his daughters. ‘Are you all right, girls? They did not harm you? By heavens –’
‘We are untouched,’ said Meriwen calmly. ‘But only because Nish attacked them with his mallet.’
‘Give me their descriptions, man,’ cried Troist. ‘I’ll see they hang for this.’
‘They’re dead,’ Nish said softly. ‘I broke the neck of one of them, and the other your daughter struck down with this mallet when he had his hands around my throat.’ Nish pulled down his collar, revealing the bruised and blackened flesh.
‘The devil!’ cried Troist. ‘I owe you an eternal debt, man. Name it and you shall have it.’
‘I want no payment,’ said Nish, ‘but … I see you are an officer in the army. You may be able to advise me.’
‘Oh?’ Troist said warily.
Nish lowered his voice. ‘It is a matter of the utmost secrecy. I must speak to a senior officer, the master of the city, or a representative of the Council of Scrutators.’
Troist took another look at him. ‘You are not from these parts.’
‘I have come all the way from Einunar.’ Nish said no more. He did not know whom he could trust and the news he carried was a great burden to him.
‘The master of Kundizand is not here,’ said Troist. ‘Neither is any representative of the Council. Perquisitor Unibas was in Nilkerrand when it was attacked and has not been heard of since. We are quite as lost as you are, I’m afraid.’ He shook his head wearily.
‘And the army?’ said Nish.
‘Slain, or scattered to the four posts of the compass. The enemy’s favourite trick is to attack the command tents first with flying lyrinx. I fear that all my senior officers were killed, else there would not be this chaos now. Had I not been on leave I would be dead too.’
Nish turned away in despair. He had no money, no papers, no friends. If he did not get treatment for his leg, he was likely to lose it. He had to trust someone and this fellow had an honest look about him. And you could tell a lot about people from their children. Meriwen and Liliwen were bright, resourceful and well brought up. He turned back to Troist.
‘Then I must trust you, surr. I am in the service of Scrutator Xervish Flydd and carry vital intelligence about the war.’
‘I wondered about your accent. You’d better come with us, Cryl-Nish. We cannot talk of such matters here.’
He introduced Nish to his wife, Yara, who was an advocate. She was a half-head taller than Troist, with a lean, horsy face, big teeth and flared nostrils, though she had an elegant manner. Her dark hair hung in a single plait all the way down her back.
Troist was short and muscular, with a small head capped in sandy curls, a blunt nose and a square jaw. His eyes were blue, his shoulders broad, his fingers thick and blunt. He exuded capability.
It took an hour to force their way through the crowds to their inn, though it was only a few blocks away. Cramped and musty, their room was considerably better than the hovel Nish had last slept in. He lay on the floor with his head in his hands and could scarcely believe that he had survived.
There was no possibility of a bath, for the overcrowding had exacerbated a water shortage, but Yara announced that dinner was on its way. Shortly a skinny lad staggered in under a laden tray. The smell made Nish drool. He had not had a proper meal since leaving the manufactory a month ago, and this smelt better than anything he had eaten there.