They chose to pull aside the scrapwomen and the old man. It was a random selection, an approach the guard commander had settled on early, a compromise between stopping everyone, which would take forever, and no one, which would seem a dereliction of his duty. The three were ordered to stand apart from the throng, to occupy a space in the center of the court between the city’s walls, there to wait for questioning. Scattered glances from the crowd were directed their way, furtive and suspicious. Better you than me, they seemed to say. Dust rose with the crowd’s passing, and even now, before the heat of the day had settled in, the air had a hot, sticky feel to it.
“Names,” the duty officer said to the scrapwomen and the old man.
“Asra, Wintath, and our father, Criape,” the one with the ragged, tangled reddish hair said. Sores dappled the skin of her face, and she smelled like old rubbish.
The officer glanced at the other woman, who promptly opened her mouth to reveal blackened teeth and a raw, red throat in which the tongue was missing. The officer swallowed.
“She can’t speak,” the first said, grinning.
“What’s your village?”
“Spekese Run,” said the woman. “Know of it?”
The officer shook his head. He studied the piles of rags they carried strapped to their backs. Worthless stuff. He glanced at the old man, whose head was lowered into his cowl. Couldn’t see much of his face. The officer stepped forward and pushed back the cowl. The old man’s head jerked up and his blackened lids snapped back to reveal a thick, milky fluid where his eyes should have been. The officer gagged.
“On with you.” He beckoned, moving quickly away to question the next unfortunate.
The women and the old man shuffled off obediently, slipping back into the crowd, passing through the cordon of guards that lined the gates of the inner wall, moving on from there into the city. They were well off the Tyrsian Way and into the side streets where there were no Federation guards before Matty Roh spit out the dyed fruit skin pasted to the inside of her mouth and said, “I told you this was too risky!”
“We got through, didn’t we?” Morgan snapped irritably. “Stop complaining and get me where I can wash this stuff out of my eyes!”
“Be silent, the both of you!” Damson Rhee ordered, and hurried them on.
Tempers were short by now. They had fought bitterly about who was to come into the city, a fight precipitated by the news of Padishar Creel’s impending execution. A day and a half was not nearly enough time to effect a rescue, but it was all they had to work with and Morgan had decided that his original plan needed changing. Instead of Matty and Damson going into the city and finding the Mole on their own, he would enter as well. At best they had today and tonight to track down the Mole, bring Chandos and the others of the free-born in through the underground tunnels, devise a rescue plan for Padishar, and set it in motion. Morgan insisted that he needed to get inside the city immediately in order to determine what must be done. He could not afford to wait for nightfall and the Mole to get a look at things. Damson and Matty were equally insistent that any attempt to sneak him past the guards would jeopardize them all. It would be hard enough for just the two of them, but doubly dangerous if they were forced to take him in as well. Why couldn’t he do his thinking where he was? Hadn’t he spent enough time in the city by now to know where everything was?
So it had gone, but in the end Morgan won the argument by pointing out that he couldn’t do any thinking at all until he knew where Padishar was being kept, and he couldn’t know that unless he went into the city. The price for his victory was an implacable demand by both women that he leave his Sword behind. A disguise would possibly work, but not if he carried that weapon. Chances of discovery were simply too great. Despite his protests, neither woman would budge. The Sword of Leah had stayed behind with Chandos.
Damson took them down an alleyway to a side door in an abandoned building, pushed open the door, and guided them inside. The interior was close and airless, and dust hung in the air in visible layers. She closed the door behind them. They moved across the room to a second door and from there into another room, equally stifling. A tiny courtyard opened beyond, and they crossed through the early morning shadows and the faint scent of wildflowers inexplicably growing in one sundrenched corner of the otherwise withered yard to an open-fronted shed filled with old tools and workbenches. Damson left her companions there and went off with a tin bowl. When she returned, the bowl was filled with water, and the three sat down to wash themselves off.
When they were scrubbed clean again, they dug through the bundles of rags and pulled out their good clothes. Stripping off the old, they redressed and sat down on a pair of the workbenches to discuss what would happen next.
“I’ll go out first to try to make contact with the Mole,” Damson said, still combing out the knots from her tangled red hair. Carefully she tied it all back and tucked it into a scarf. “There are signs I can leave that he will understand. When that’s done, I’ll come back and we’ll see what we can discover about Padishar. Then I’ll have to put you somewhere while I go wait for the Mole. He might not come if he sees all of us—he doesn’t know either of you and he will be very careful after what’s happened. If he comes, he and I will go after Chandos and the rest, and we will meet up with you again by dawn. If he doesn’t come—”
“Don’t say it,” Morgan cut her short. “Just do the best you can.”
Damson looked at Matty. “How well do you know the city?”
“Well enough to stay out of trouble.”
Damson nodded. “If anything happens to me, you will have to get Morgan out of here.”
“Wait a minute!” Morgan exclaimed. “I’m not going to—”
“You are going to do what you are told. Your plans count for nothing if I fail. If the Federation has the Mole or if they capture me, there isn’t anything more to be done.”
Morgan stared at her, silenced by the anger and determination he found in her green eyes.
Matty took his arm and moved him back a step. “I’ll look after him,” she promised.
Damson nodded, and her face softened a shade. She rose, wrapped her cloak about, gave them a short nod, and disappeared back the way she had come. Morgan stared after her, feeling helpless. She was right. There was nothing he could do if she failed. The success of any plan he devised depended on the girl and the Mole bringing Chandos and the free-born into the city. Without the free-born or the magic of his Sword, he would not be able to help Padishar. Such a slender thread for events to hang upon, he thought grimly.
“Care for something to eat?” Matty Roh asked cheerfully, her dark eyes questioning, and offered him an apple.
They waited within the shade of the storage shed, secluded and alone in the little, closed-about courtyard until almost midday. The air grew steamy and thick with heat, and the sun burned a slow trail across the stones and withered grass, climbing the north wall east to west like the spread of spilled paint. Morgan dozed for a time, weary from the long march in and the uncertain night sleeping before the gates in his uncomfortable disguise. He found himself thinking of Par and Coll and the days before the Shadowen and Allanon, of the times they had spent hunting and fishing in the Highlands, of his own boyhood, of the long slow days when life had seemed an exciting game. He thought of Steff and Granny Elise and Auntie Jilt. He thought of Quickening. They were memories of a past that lost a little of its color with the passing of every day. They all seemed to have disappeared from his life a very long time ago.
The sun was directly overhead when Damson Rhee finally returned. She was flushed with the heat and covered with dust, but there was excitement in her eyes.