"Ghan has arranged passage out of the city," he informed her. "It is all planned, you have no need to worry."
"There are probably more priests in the apartment…"
"Not anymore," Tsem growled. "Their ghosts, perhaps."
"Oh. Tsem, you shouldn't have done it. If they catch you now…"
"They won't, and if they do, they'll be very sorry. Now come."
They dropped back down into the courtyard with its familiar cottonwood, and there Hezhi's swirling head spilled weakness down into her knees and she nearly collapsed. Tsem scooped her up and started down the stairs.
The apartments were a nightmare. Qey was bawling and there were two more dead priests, one leaking blood from his mouth and the other with his face crushed unrecognizably. The thick scent of incense still hung in the air.
"Qey! Qey," Tsem roared, shaking her. "Cut her hair! Cut it off!"
The old woman, shaken almost out of her senses, looked vaguely at the two of them. "Her hair…" she repeated.
"Arr!" Tsem rushed into her room. "Where did you hide your work clothes? The ones I got for you?"
"Under the mattress," Hezhi called, still watching the quaking Qey.
"Qey," she whispered.
Qey's eyes sharpened a bit then, and she held out her arms. Hezhi rushed into them, ground her head against the woman's breast.
"Cut her hair," Qey suddenly muttered. She gently disengaged Hezhi and went to her sewing kit, returned with scissors.
"Turn around, little one," she whispered. Hezhi did so, felt the peculiar little grinding of her hair being all but sheared off, just at the nape of the neck.
Tsem burst back into the room with her clothes; she had rinsed them of the mud and slime of the underpalace, but they were still deeply stained.
"Put them on."
"Where are you taking her?" Qey wailed. "Where are you taking my little Hezhi?"
"Somewhere safe, Qey," Tsem told her hurriedly. "But you must know nothing, nothing, or they will hurt you to find out. Do you understand?"
"Come with us, Qey," Hezhi pleaded. "She can come with us, can't she, Tsem?"
"She may," Tsem said a little doubtfully.
Qey stared at them both, then gently shook her head. "No, little one, I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"I just can't. I would be in the way, I wouldn't know what to do."
"Take care of me, like you always have," she insisted.
"No." Qey stepped back, still shaking her head. "No, please, Hezhi, don't ask me to."
She meant to keep insisting until the old woman agreed, but the finality of Qey's tone convinced her. So, instead, she hurriedly doffed her skirt, pulled on the loose pants and smock.
"That's it," Tsem muttered nervously. "That's it, come on."
"Qey…" Hezhi began, but the old woman shushed her, grasped her head, and planted a little kiss on her cheek.
"I love you, child," she said. "I love you very much. Go with Tsem and take care. Live, little one." Her tears had ceased, and now she seemed calm, in control.
"Come," Tsem insisted.
"Wait," Hezhi said. She searched back through her dress, found the little statue Yen had given her.
"All right, Tsem," she said, feeling stronger. "Let's go." Tsem nodded and gestured. Together they set off down the hall, walking briskly, but not running for fear of attracting attention.
"We'll take the Ember Gate," Tsem explained. "You are Duwe, a boy from the docks. I paid you a soldier to help me carry four baskets of fish."
"Where is Ghan? Will he be at the boat?"
"Ghan has returned to his apartments. We will not see him. He has arranged everything."
"I have to say good-bye to Ghan."
"You can't, Princess, there is no time. Soon someone will notice the dead priests. Ghan left a letter for you."
"Ghan…" She sighed. She might never know what happened to him—or Qey.
They came to the Ember Gate, Hezhi walking with her head down, trying to seem humble, respectful. Two guards met them there.
"Who is this?" they asked, eyeing Hezhi suspiciously.
"Just a boy," Tsem replied. "I had too many fish to carry, so I gave him a soldier to help me."
"A boy, eh?"
Something was wrong; she already knew that. The guards seemed too alert, too suspicious, as if they had been warned to watch for her.
"You should know better than this, Tsem," one of them grunted.
Tsem grinned good-naturedly. "Well, you can't blame me for trying, can you? A man has to have a little something, doesn't he?" He ended his question with a wink and a bit of a leer.
The soldier shook his head. "We were warned about this," the guard said, drawing out his sword. The other followed suit.
"Princess," one of the guards commanded, "tell your servant to back away from us. Do it."
She hesitated, and she saw Tsem tense for a spring.
"Princess, he might kill one of us, but we have swords. Tell him."
You fool, Hezhi thought. I can no longer tell Tsem anything.
Tsem confirmed that by taking that moment to lunge. The guard saw it coming, backpedaled away from the Giant, his sword slashing down. Tsem caught the blow on his left arm, and blood started instantly. The other guard stepped around and behind Tsem, sword raising up.
Hezhi shrieked and lashed out, though her fists were clenched at her side. In her mind, her shriek was a spear, hurtling through one guard and then the other.
The effect was instantaneous. The guard stepping behind Tsem dropped his sword and curled around his belly, gagging. The other, dancing away from Tsem, doubled over and disgorged, first his breakfast and then a stream of blood.
Whatever it was she had done struck Tsem, as well, though a lesser blow; he staggered and crumpled to his knees, eyes glazing. Blood was pouring from his arm.
"Tsem!" she gasped.
"I'm all right," he muttered, rising back onto his feet. "Come on, we have to hurry."
"I didn't mean to hurt you, too."
"Doesn't matter," he said, looking dully at his slashed arm. "Come on."
"Wrap your arm," Hezhi said.
"Later."
"No! Someone will see!"
Comprehension flickered in the half Giant's eyes, and he tore one of the guard's surcoats off. Both of the men still seemed to be alive, though in terrible pain. She felt a stab of remorse, and then remembered that they had meant to kill Tsem, had been doing it, and the guilt died, stillborn.
The scale on her arm ached as if burning. Tsem wrapped his arm, took her by the shoulder with his free hand. Together they passed through the now-unguarded gate, and for the first time in her life, Hezhi entered the city of Nhol.
Ghe stared down at the dead priests in disgust and dismay. They never even understood they were dying; he could see that on their frozen, stupid faces. It was his own fault, as well. He had spent too much time with Hezhi instead of following the old man and the Giant; by the time he had found them, understood what they were up to and had taken measures to have the boat seized and the gates guarded, he had lost touch with Tsem. Yes, he had allowed himself to be distracted by a silly boyhood whim, and now priests were dead. And yet, he had done the impossible, kissed a princess, the daughter of the Chakunge himself. What gutter rat in Southtown wouldn't give his knife arm for that? Not that he could tell anyone, but he would know.
Ghe caught the motion easily; it was the old woman, of course, the one he had found just staring down at the dead bodies. Why hadn't he noticed the scissors? He was distracted.
He disarmed the old woman as she stabbed—overhand, of course—and watched her crumple as the blade of his hand struck the base of her skull. She would live, to pay for her idiocy on a torture rack. He had things to do.
He hoped the guards at the gate would stop them, but if not, the boat should have been seized by now. There were only two men guarding it, its owner and a barbarian sellsword.