Their course took them past the seat of the Fadema's government, the Fadem. Still no one challenged them.
Finally they came to the place the fat boy had chosen.
Argon sits on a triangular island, connected to other delta islands by floating causeways. The apex of the triangle points upriver, and it is there that the girdling streams are narrowest. It is there that the ancient engineers built the walls their tallest, with their feet in the river itself.
A hundred feet below, and a quarter mile south, lay one of the pontoons. It linked Argon with suburbs on a neighboring island. Beyond, in the deeper darkness, lay fertile rice islands, the foundation of Argon's wealth.
The fat boy did not care. Economics meant nothing to him.
"Is necessary to walk from here," he said. "Great Lord say bring no beast to mess garden."
The old man grumbled, but let the boy help him down.
"Is this way." He took Sajac's arm.
"Damn you!" the old man snarled a minute later, rising from a rainwater pool nearly tour inches deep. "That's twice." Whack! "You did it on purpose." Whack! "Next time go around."
"Am humblest apologizer, Master. Promise. Will be more careful." A grin tore at the corners of his mouth.
"Woe! Is pool across path again."
"Go around."
"Is impossible of accomplishment. Is flowerbeds on sides. Great Lord would be angered." He paused. "Ah. Is only four feet wide. Self, will jump across. Will catch Master when same jumps after." He positioned the old man carefully, grunted prodigiously.
He cast his voice to say, "Hai! Was easy, Master. But jump hard to make sure."
The old man cursed and thrashed the air with his cane.
"Come, Master. Please? Great Lord will be angry if augurs come late. Jump. Self will catch."
The fat boy's heart hammered. His blood pounded in his ears. Surely the old man would hear their infantry-tramp thundering...
Sajac mouthed a final curse, crouched, hurled himself forward.
He did not begin screaming till he had fallen halfway to the river.
The tension broke. The fat boy flung his arms into the air and danced...
"Here! What's going on up there?"
A police watchman was hurrying up the cline to the ramparts. The fat boy ran to the donkey. But the animal would not move.
He would have to brazen it out.
The watchman walked into a storm of tears. "Woe!" the fat boy cried. "Am foolishest of fools."
"What happened, son?"
The fat boy blubbered. He was very good at that. "Grandfather of self, only relative in whole world, just jumped from wall. Am idiot. Believed same only wanted to look on river by night for last time." He made a show of trying to control himself.
"Only relative left. Was wasting sickness. Much pain. No more money for opium. Self, am stupidest of stupids. Should have known... "
"There, there, son. It'll be all right. Maybe it was for the best, eh? If the pain was that bad?"
That watchman had patrolled the same beat for years. He had seen all kinds go off the wall. Jilted lovers. Dishonored husbands. Guilty consciences. Just plain folks.
Most of them did it by daylight, wanting an audience for their final world-diddling gesture. But a man with cancer would not be mad at the whole world, just its gods. And those little perverts could see just fine at night. His suspicions were not aroused.
"Come on down to the barracks. We can put you up there tonight. Then we'll see what we can do for you in the morning."
The fat boy did not know when to quit. He protested, wailed, made a show of trying to throw himself after his departed relative.
The policeman, deciding he needed detention for his own safety, dragged him to the police barracks.
A less enthusiastic despair would have allowed the boy to have gone his own way. The lawman would not have demurred. His world was filled with parentless, street-running children.
The same watchman woke the boy from his first-ever sleep in a real bed. "Good morning, lad. Time to see the Captain."
The fat boy had a premonition. How many guard captains could there be? Not many. He could not risk meeting this one. "Self, am famished. Dying by starvation."
"I think we can arrange something." The policeman gave him an odd, calculating look.
The boy decided he had better show more grief. He turned it on, as if suddenly realizing that he had not just awakened from a bad dream.
The watchman seemed satisfied.
He gorged himself at the mess hall. And filled his pockets while no one was watching. Then, when he could stall no more, he followed the watchman to the Captain's quarters.
He got himself out a side door while the patrolman made his report. He had recognized the officer's voice. His premonition had been valid.
They almost caught him in the stables. The donkey did not want to leave such rich fodder. But the fat boy got her moving in time to evade the Captain's notice.
He decided to abandon Argon altogether. The Captain was bound to do his sums and order a general search. Sajac had taught him long ago that the best way to avoid police was to be out of town when they started looking.
Could he bluff his way past the causeway guards? They might not let a kid leave by himself.
He managed it. He was a crafty and confusing liar.
The child-fugitive from Argon joined the ranks of the visibly unemployed who nevertheless survived. He did so by employing the dubious skills he had learned from Sajac, and others of the old man's ilk whom they had encountered in their journeys.
For several years he wandered the route he had shared with Sajac, from Throyes to Necremnos, to Argon, and round again, with stops in most of the villages between. One summer he traveled to Matayanga and Escalon. Another, he journeyed down the western shore of the Sea of Kotstim, beneath the brooding scarps of Jebal al Alf Dhulquarneni, but that route showed no promise. The people were too savage and excitable.
They used human skin, back in those dread mountains, to make the parchment on which they scribbled their grimoires.
He picked up several more languages, none of which he learned well. He stayed nowhere long enough to become proficient. Or he simply did not care.
He developed evil habits. Money fled through his fingers like grains of sand. There were girls, and wine...
But gambling was his downfall. He could not resist a game of chance. He left a series of bad debts. The list of places he had to avoid grew too long to remember.
And he persevered in his stealing, thereby committing the double sin, making enemies on both sides of the law.
It caught up with him in Necremnos.
Mornings and evenings he did the usual phony sorcerer spiel.
"Hai! Great Lady! Before eyes of woman renown for beauty and wisdom sits student of famed Grand Master Istwan of Matayanga, self, working way west at Master's command, to seek knowledge of great minds beyond Mountains of M'Hand. Am young, true, but trained in all manner of secrets beauteous. Am also Divinator Primus. Can show how to win love, or tell if man loves already. Have in hand certain rare and secret beauty potions hitherto concocted for wives of Monitor of Escalon only, ladies known across nethermost east for teenlike beauty unto fiftieth year."
The appeal went on and on, tailored to any woman who showed interest. He sold a lot of swamp water and odiferous juices and ichors.
Between his morning and evening shifts he prowled the marketplaces, picking pockets.
And by night he squandered his take.
Then a pickpocket victim recognized him while he was at his more innocent trade.
He tried bluffing it out, packing his gear and loading the donkey while he argued. But when a policeman showed signs of believing his accuser, he fled.
He was no more agile or fleet than he had been in Argon. He relied on cunning. Cunning was his edge on the rest of the world.