It took no measurable time for all of them to take up bundles, check their assorted weapons, blow out the lamp, and peer out into the corridor. Down at the front end they saw a servant run past, apparently headed for the kitchen. Omis and Vari darted into the next room, came out bare seconds later holding the two smaller children, Tamiri running silently ahead of them.
Sulun pointed to the back courtyard, and they ran—down the dark corridor, dodging around bales and barrels, pausing for long sweaty seconds to unlock doors and get through them, out at last into the sweltering night air and the open sky.
"The wagon," Sulun whispered. "Where did you—"
"By the corner of the stable," Yanados hissed back. "There . . ."
They skidded to a tangled halt, seeing the wagon standing, mules already in harness, before the back gate. The tailgate was open and waiting, nothing in the wagon bed but a single large oak chest.
Someone was sitting at the driver's box, a woman in a dark dress. She turned and smiled politely at them.
"Eloti!" Omis gulped. "Er, excuse me, Mistress. Is Master Entori . . . ?"
"He will not come, not even now. Climb aboard quickly," Eloti said, as calmly as if she were discussing a jaunt to the market. "That front door won't hold forever."
"Yes," Sulun agreed. "Everyone, get aboard. Omis, can you get the gate open fast?"
The others complied, with considerable speed and surprisingly little noise. Sulun climbed into the driver's box and took the mules' reins. They seemed restive, but still controllable. He took up the whip, just to be sure.
"Mistress," he asked, watching Omis manhandle the gate, "what weapons do you carry tonight?"
"Only my dagger." Eloti shrugged eloquently. "Gently reared ladies are not taught the uses of the bow or sword."
"Best climb in back then, with Vari and the children. Omis, climb on!"
Omis came running, leaving the gate to swing open on blessedly silent darkness behind him. He vaulted into the driver's box just as Eloti stepped neatly into the wagon box and sat down on the chest. Sulun glanced back and saw that the others were either huddled down among the baggage or else crouched along the sides and back of the wagon, bows and axes ready in their hands.
Behind them came a cracking and splintering sound as the front door of Entori House gave way.
Sulun shook the reins and cracked the whip over the mules' backs.
Willing and eager, for once, the mules leaped for the gate. Sulun hauled hard on the right reins to make the turn into the back alley, grateful that he'd practiced this maneuver a few times before. The wagon wheels growled and rumbled on the packed earth.
"Gods, the noise!" Omis hissed. "In the streets, they'll hear us coming."
"Move fast," Yanados volunteered. "Move fast and shoot arrows early."
Behind her, a child's voice rose softly in a keening wail of grief; Ziya, feeling old wounds reopened. Vari murmured attempts at comfort, but had no effect.
"Don't cry; shoot!" Arizun snapped, pressing another bow into her hands.
Ziya took the bow, nocked an arrow, and fell silent.
The wagon rumbled out into the street—and into a thin crowd all running to the right, toward the street where Entori House fronted. Sulun reined the mules to the left, and lashed wildly about him with the whip. Omis whipped up a heavy bow and let fly into the street, catching the tail of somebody's cloak. At least one of the crowd thumped into the mules, fell, went under their hooves—but managed to roll away from the wheels. Sulun whispered a brief prayer of thanks for that as the scrambling mules began gathering speed. Oncoming looters jumped aside, not ready to attack fast-moving animals and a well-armed crowd on a heavy wagon. Yanados turned and shot a few arrows to the rear to discourage anyone from following. The arrows skittered off walls and pavement, but no one followed.
In a moment, the wagon was thundering down an empty street, dark save for moonlight and an occasional lamplight glow behind shuttered windows.
"Straight three streets, then right," Omis panted. "Pray the fires have died down near the river turnoff. . . ."
"I know," Sulun panted. "Get ready for more mobs. Gods, keep us from the troops!"
At the third street, they saw torches—too many torches, in the hands of too many men—coming toward them from the left. Sulun hauled the mules to the right, hearing shouts behind him. Someone in that mob had a bow too, for an arrow thunked into the tailgate. Yanados and Arizun fired back together, and Sulun lashed the mules into a gallop. The mob fell behind and the wagon went careening up the street.
Two cross streets up, a handful of silent men made a dash for the wagon. Sulun hit one across the face with the whip, Omis backhanded another with his axe, and a third fell to the now panicky mules. This time Sulun did feel the heavy thump of a body going under the wagon wheels, and struggled not to be sick, not now, not here. The other robbers, whoever they were, disappeared back into the shadows.
A straight road then, and no other sound but the rumbling of the wheels and the clattering hooves of the mules.
But there were fires ahead. Sulun could see the fire glow in the sky above the roofs to the right, smell the smoke heavy and fresh on the air, mixed with the smell of spilled wine.
"Third vintners' street," Omis identified it. "Be sure the troops are looting there. Turn left, next chance, then right again."
"Narrow street," Sulun remembered. "If it's blocked . . ."
"Wasn't, earlier," was all Omis could offer.
They swung left. There was another crowd here, but running away from them. Sulun guessed they expected the rioting mercenaries to come this way, and hauled to the right again as soon as a street showed itself.
There was a fire at the end of the street. A house on the left corner was blazing furiously, its roof fallen in but walls still standing. The smoke smelled of scorched wool.
"A weaver's," Sulun guessed. "How will we get the mules past it?"
The animals were already slowing down, tossing wild-eyed heads, unwilling to get close to the fire. Sulun pulled them to the right, scraping as close to the buildings as he dared, lashing furiously at the beasts and thanking any gods who could hear him that this street was wide enough; they could get past the fire if only the mules didn't panic completely.
From behind him, Eloti rested her hands on Sulun's shoulders, leaned forward, and screeched a stream of ear-searing abuse at the mules. Sulun gulped in amazement; there were a few obscenities in that litany that he'd never heard before. Where had Entori's properly reared sister learned them?
The mules, encouraged by a familiar voice, lurched ahead—past the burning house, scraping the off wheels against walls, floundering past running figures laden with bundles and baskets, out and away onto the next street. Their flanks were dark with sweat, and foam spattered from their bridles.
"Give them some rest," Eloti said, stepping back into the wagon bed. "Otherwise they'll never last to the river."
Sulun nodded agreement and let the mules slow of their own accord, down to a lumbering trot for the moment at least. So, Eloti knew much of ships, wagons, and mules; there was much he would like to ask her, if they ever had the opportunity.
Twice more they turned, avoiding any sign of light or motion ahead, away from burning torches, burning houses, even lamplight. Light meant crowds: mobs, rioting mercenaries, even the city guard—none were safe to meet tonight.
Once, looking back up the rising slope of the city, they saw a whole block of buildings on fire.
"Gods," Omis groaned, "Zeren's house is up there!"
"Pray he's not in it," Sulun muttered, whipping the mules to a faster trot. "Most likely he won't be, not tonight."