“You said the overlord gave out those blankets?”
“That’s right; that was intended to be the entire supply for the whole Ethsharitic army for the next three years, and they’ve been given away to whoever asked for them. Need one? We’ve got about twenty left, I think.”
“I might, at that, unless you can tell me where I can find lodging at a reasonable price.”
“Friend, there isn’t a place in this whole city where you can find cheap lodging except the Hundred-Foot Field and the barracks, and the word is that the penalty for civilians sleeping in the barracks is a hundred lashes — and you re-enlist. And not as an officer, either, regardless of what you were in wartime.” “Seems severe, but I know better than to argue. What’s the Hundred-Foot Field?”
“You walked right past it.” He gestured vaguely toward the market. “That’s the space between Wall Street and the wall. The law says you can’t build there, ever, in case the army needs the space to maneuver or move siege machines — but the law doesn’t say anything about sleeping there on a blanket or two in warm weather. Even during the war, we usually had a few beggars and cripples who slept there, and now it’s jammed full of these damned veterans, all the way around the city — or so I’m told, I haven’t checked. I never go south of Westwark, nor more than a few blocks into Shiphaven.”
“I don’t know my way around the city, but I take it those are neighborhoods?”
“That’s right; even without these veterans, the city was already too big, and it’s more like a dozen little cities put together — Shiphaven and Westgate and Westwark and Spicetown and Fishertown and the Old City and the Merchants’ Quarter and so forth.”
“I hadn’t realized it was so big.” Valder glanced back at the mobbed marketplace. The crowd seemed to be thinning somewhat — or perhaps the fading light just made it appear to be. He realized with some surprise that the sun was below the western horizon, and the shadow of the city wall covered everything in sight. He still had not eaten, and had nowhere to stay the night.
“Ah — how many gates are there?”
“Three, though they’re planning to put in a fourth one to the southwest.”
“Are there inns at all of them?”
“I suppose so, but Westgate gets the most traffic. This is the main highway here, going through this gate, the road to Ethshar and Anaran and Gor and the northern lands, while the other gates just go to the local farms on the peninsula. I think most of the inns must be here.”
“How far is it to the next gate?”
The soldier leaned back in his chair and considered that for a moment. “I’d guess two miles or more,” he said. “It’s a big city.”
Valder glanced at the thinning crowds, then at the dimming sky. Torches were being lighted in front of some of the taverns and shops, but the streets would still be dark.
Walking two miles through an unfamiliar city at night on the slim chance that the other gates would be preferable when he was already tired was not an attractive prospect. “Let me have one of those blankets,” he said. “It looks as if I’ll be spending the night in the Hundred-Foot Field.”
The soldier grinned. “Right. Got to make that back pay last, don’t you?” He sat up and let the chair’s front legs down, then got to his feet. With a nod, he vanished through the gatehouse door, to emerge a moment later with a brown bundle. “It’s all yours,” he said, tossing the blanket to Valder.
Valder decided against replying; he nodded politely and slipped away into the crowd.
As he made his way southward on Wall Street looking for a blanket-sized opening in the Hundred-Foot Field, he kept a steady eye on the field’s inhabitants. The further from the market square he went, the less savory his view became; by the time he had gone six blocks, he had the blanket tucked securely under one arm in order to keep his hands free, his right resting on his sword hilt and his left clutching his purse.
The wall, and Wall Street with it, jogged three times before he found himself a spot. He judged the distance from Westgate Market at roughly a mile and briefly considered continuing on toward the second gate.
He quickly dismissed the notion, however. Night had fallen, and the light from the scattered torches and lanterns did not amount to much. He did not care to travel further by such uncertain illumination, particularly with a full purse. Furthermore, if the crowd from Westgate extended this far, might not the crowd from the next gate extend as far in the opposite direction, so that he would be walking into a throng similar to the one he had just departed? Westgate might be the most active gate, but the others would surely be almost as busy and expensive.
It was quite obvious that he was not going to get anywhere in Azrad’s Ethshar; far too many people had gotten here before him, and every available opportunity must certainly have already been taken. He would have to get out into the countryside, at least temporarily. He still had no interest in becoming a farmer, but surely something, some sort of an opportunity, would present itself.
He had not eaten since leaving the ship, and his stomach was growling persistently as he smoothed his blanket on the hard-packed, bare dirt of the field. He promised himself that he would buy something to eat in the morning, no matter what the cost.
With a wary glance at his neighbors, he settled down, keeping his right hand on Wirikidor’s hilt, his left still securely gripping his purse. He did not intend to be robbed. He fell asleep, finally, and awoke at dawn to find sword and purse still intact. Any thieves who might have been around had presumably found easier pickings.
He was stiff and cramped from sleeping curled up in his blanket. He struggled to his feet and stretched vigorously. All around him, men and a few scattered women were still sleeping. A few were awake, some of them moving, some just sitting and gazing about sleepily. Valder found himself becoming depressed just looking at them — all this potential going to waste! He was determined that he, at least, would not sit and rot in the Hundred-Foot Field. He would get out of the city and find himself a career. He had not seen the horrendous inflation in prices anywhere but Azrad’s Ethshar — which was, of course, far more crowded than anywhere else — so he hoped his savings would tide him over.
He had wanted to lose himself in a crowd, where Gor would be unable to find him, should he decide ex-assassins were dangerous, but the crowding in this city was more than Valder had imagined possible, so much so that now he was eager to leave it behind. Rolling up his blanket, he picked his way carefully across his neighbors to Wall Street, where he turned left and headed for Westgate.
No one took any special note of him as he marched out the gate onto the highway. The guard he had spoken with was nowhere in sight.
By noon he was almost four leagues from the city wall.
As the day progressed, the traffic grew from virtually nothing moving to a steady stream in both directions. People were still drifting in toward the city from the disbanding armies, while others who had already seen the situation and given up on finding a place in Azrad’s Ethshar were heading back out to look for someplace better.
This struck him as futile, and he tried stopping a party heading toward the city to tell them that there was nothing for them there. They ignored his warning.