Suddenly, Zeldezia stepped forward. "Father Vadami ain't tellin' you all! I seen—I seen them Sabirn look at Duran like he's some kind of a lord of theirs. I seen that old man hangin' 'round his shop. I seen Duran talkin' to any Sabirn he can lay a hand on. He's a wizard! Ain't nobody can tell me otherwise."
"Zeldezia—"
"I heard that damned Sab boy playin' his flute! Music gave me the creeps! It was demon music, on my soul it was! I seen him look at me, that kid, with nothin' in his eyes but darkness."
The crowd murmured louder now. Vadami felt sweat break out.
"Kill that Sab-lover!" Zeldezia cried. "Ain't no pity—he never showed me no pity. I asked him to save his soul by givin' up seein' the Sabirn, an' look what 'e did to me!"
The crowd stirred now; their voices had grown deeper, had grown ugly.
"Ever since that Sabirn kid showed up, we ain't had nothin' but evil weather!" Her voice went shrill as she turned to the crowd. "You lost business? Your customers been stayin' away! It ain't your fault you been goin' hungry. Duran's done this to you, an' you know it! I say, let's go after him an' give 'im back some of what he's given us!"
"I hear you!" a few men called back. "Let's get that bastard!" others growled. "Burn 'im out!"
"Wait!" Vadami took a step toward the crowd and lifted both hands over his head. "Stop! Think what you're going to do! Don't start anything the Duke's Guard will have to deal with!"
"Duke won't care if we get ourselves a demon worshipper!" Zeldezia shouted. "'Less he's witched, too!"
"Get 'em all!" someone cried.
The crowd surged forward, their faces distorted with anger, following Zeldezia who had started off toward Duran's neighborhood.
"No! Stop!" Vadami was pushed aside. Sweat ran freely down his face now. Gods! It was getting away from him—totally out of his hands. He gulped down a huge breath, and sprinted off after the crowd. Maybe . . . Oh, Hladyr make it so . . . he could keep them from undirected violence—
Gods above and below! What had he done?
Duran stepped outside, turned, and locked the door behind him. Dog sat waiting close by, panting in the sultry heat. The storm still had not broken, but thunder muttered ominously in the distance.
The street was strangely deserted for this time of day. The men had stopped work at Zeldezia's shop, and he saw life at only a few of the neighboring buildings.
He shrugged. It would make it easier if he could leave without seeing any of his neighbors. He pocketed the key, aware of the uselessness of the act, took up his staff he had leaned against the wall, and started off down the street.
He had written Tut a short note, explaining he was leaving and why . . . that he did not hold anything against Tut or Ithar: they had been the truest friends, in good times as well as bad.
He reached the corner, paused, and turned around. His eyes misted slightly, and he blinked. That was your shop, he thought, your home. And now it's nobody's. You're done here, Duran, through. Leave it in the hands of the gods.
He sighed and started off down the street that ran perpendicular to his, headed east. He had a good half hour of walking before he reached the east side of town where Kekoja and Old Man would be waiting for him.
He quickened his pace, Dog running along ahead, anxious now, only for it to be over. . . .
The Great Hall was nearly empty at this hour—Duke Hajun himself had come from his dinner-table. He stared at the young guardsman who stood panting before him, having spilled out his news—
A mob—gods. . . .
Loose in Old Town?
"No idea what stirred them up?" he asked, and the Captain of the Guard, who had brought the boy—
"Sabirn, Your Grace."
"Damn.—Where are they headed?"
"South, Your Grace. Toward the harbor." The Captain licked his lips. "It's a small mob, Your Grace, and we—"
"I don't give a damn if it is a small mob! Get your butt moving! I want a squadron dispatched! Get it stopped!"
"Aye, Your Grace."
"Reasonable force! You hear me?"
The Captain saluted, the young officer saluted, and ran from the hall.
Hajun found himself shaking. A small mob? There was no such thing.
Duran kept to the center of the street, avoiding the standing pools of water, and quickened his pace to a fast walk. He did not want to be caught by darkness outside his own neighborhood. Strange streets always made him nervous, a good indication of how limited his world had grown.
He had not traveled this far east in a long time, but the streets and the buildings looked much like those in his own neighborhood. Dog seemed to think the walk to be a holiday of sorts. He frisked and danced down the street, his tail wagging, every once in a while barking for the sheer joy of it.
Duran calculated he had been walking close to a third of an hour now. The clouds had grown thicker and thunder rumbled incessantly. He noted people had begun to light lamps in their homes and shops, though they kept their doors and windows open in the heat.
He looked ahead and saw a slight figure waiting by the edge of a house, a shadow in the early twilight. His heart raced. A thief? He thought of his moneybelt, and tightened the grip on his staff.
Dog, however, had recognized the figure, and ran ahead, tail wagging. The person reached down and patted Dog's head, then straightened.
Kekoja!
Duran quickened his pace again. Why was Kekoja here, instead of waiting at the edge of town?
"Can you run far?" Kekoja asked with no preamble.
Duran blinked. "Why?"
"Because there's a mob after you, Sor Duran, an' it's an angry mob, an' I don't want to stay around an' see what happens."
A bolt of fear struck through Duran's heart. A mob? Who had raised it? After what had happened last night, he knew the answer even as he asked himself the question. "Let's go!" he said, and set out after Kekoja at a slow run.
Why, why, why? he asked himself in time to his running footsteps. Why couldn't they just let me go?
His breath came harder now, and he felt the sweat run down his sides. Dammit! He was getting too old for an all-out run like this. His heart beat raggedly. Maybe he would die of heart failure and save the mob its trouble.
He concentrated on Kekoja running before him, on the long thin legs pumping tirelessly up and down. There was more strength in that wiry body than many people could guess. Just stay with him, he urged himself. Don't fall too far behind!
The moneybelt felt like it weighed as much as a heavy stone, and bumped up and down on his waist. He was burning hot, and wished he could stop long enough to remove his cloak. Several passersby turned in amazement to watch the race, and a strange one it must have appeared to them: a large yellow dog far out in the lead, a dark-haired boy loping along, and a middle-aged man bringing up the rear. If Duran had not been running for his life, he would have found it amusing.
He heard a muted roar off to his left and chanced a hasty glance in that direction. His heart lurched. Coming down the street he and Kekoja were passing was the mob.
"Here they come!" he called out, his breath growing shorter. "I think . . . they've . . . seen us! Run! I'll make it . . . fast as I can!"
"Not far," Kekoja shouted back over his shoulder. "Three more blocks."