Mar gave a short laugh. "There’s no more. I’m no one. Just a simple --"
“Murderer?” Telriy stroked his hand again. “No, that was a lie.”
Mar said nothing.
Telriy continued to stroke his hands, tracing her fingertips across his palms. After a moment, she released one of his hands and examined the bond on his arm. She slipped the armlet down a fingerbreadth and felt of his biceps. She stiffened, then paused.
"You’re no bondsman."
Mar did not reply immediately. Finally, finding nothing better, he asked, "Why do you say that?"
"Your hands are hard, but not hard enough. Bondsmen's hands are like sandstone. And there’s no chaff mark under your bond."
Mar shrugged, an awkward gesture in the confined space that nevertheless conveyed his meaning by feel rather than sight. "I didn’t expect to have to submit to such a close inspection."
“Not a master,” Telriy said quietly to herself as if quoting, “not a servant, but a ....”
She released his arm, grasped his chin lightly and turned his face toward hers. "What are you then?"
None of the answers Mar could have given, all half-truths save one, seemed safe to utter. He had little experience dealing with women and found himself ill prepared to spar verbally with the girl. He quickly decided that he did not want to be penned up with her any longer.
"It’s time to go."
Telriy sighed almost, Mar thought, wistfully. "Where now?"
"The docks."
EIGHTEEN
"I can’t climb that."
Mar swung from his scrutiny of the mouth of the alley to stare blankly at the roof drain. He noted nothing extraordinary in its appearance. It was of a type common in the imperial city: sections of glazed ceramic pipe, originally red but now a streaked brown, strapped to the brick with blackened iron bands. It scaled the windowless facade of the building to the tile gutters above. The climb was no more than six manheight.
"Why not?"
"I’m not a rat."
Mar did not laugh. "Put your feet on the straps; pull yourself up with your hands. Nothing to it."
"I’m not climbing that."
"There’s no other way to get to the roof," Mar insisted. "You’ll have to climb it."
Telriy fixed her gaze upon him. "I am not climbing that."
Her expression, though stern, affected Mar oddly, leaving his ire stillborn and his thoughts confused. Almost in spite of himself, he found himself studying the gentle way the edges of her lips turned down in frown, the way her hair glowingly framed her cheeks, the color that rose to them as his gaze intensified.
"Stop staring, it’s rude."
"I’m not staring.
"Well, stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing."
Mar sighed. "We have to get to the roof. The Guard’s already hunting us. That fugleman will report the two of us fleeing the Plaza. Someone from the Library will say we were seen running from the fire. In my experience, the Imperials will consider us guilty on those two facts alone.”
Telriy tossed her head. "I understand that. But I’m not climbing that pipe. I cannot climb."
Mar took a breath, then let it out slowly.
"You’re staring again."
Mar ignored this, thinking. "On my back, then?"
Telriy eyed him skeptically, then shrugged. "Turn around."
Mar complied. He sensed her move up carefully behind him. Her arms circled his neck slowly, then bore down upon his shoulders as she climbed onto his back. She locked her legs securely about his waist.
"Very well, I’m ready."
Mar took a cautious step, judging the girl's weight. Telriy was tall, but still underweighed him by better than a third. He had often been forced to carry more over a greater distance and under much harsher conditions. Satisfied, he set the toe of his boot on the strap nearest the ground and started the climb.
He had made such ascents hundreds of times and he accomplished the repetitive, methodical movements without thought. This proved rather fortunate, as he was completely and enduringly distracted.
All of his previous burdens had been cold, static, and hard -- the harvest of his midnight excursions. Telriy was warm, mobile, and soft in the most disturbing places. The contact was more than pleasant in a way to which Mar was thoroughly unaccustomed. The girl remained uncharacteristically silent as he climbed, though her grip became less rigid and more considerate as the climb progressed. He felt distinctly disappointed as he eased himself and his burden over the parapet and onto the flat gravel and tar roof.
Telriy's dismount was meticulous, almost reluctant.
She awarded him a half-smile. "That wasn’t so bad."
He caught himself smiling back, forced a frown, and grunted. "This way," he told her, gesturing.
They crossed that first roof without incident, then the adjoining, before they came alongside of an apartment, its roof a storey or so lower. Lines of drying clothes radiated from the stairwell penthouse to poles mounted at the roof edge. When he caught sight of the laundry, Mar stopped.
"Wait here," he told the girl, swinging over the parapet to drop to the roof below. Several moments later, he climbed back up to find, somewhat to his surprise, that Telriy had obeyed him. He dropped his prize at her feet.
She looked at the sheet wrapped bundle quizzically.
"By now, every Guard troop in the city will have been alerted. The Imperials will be looking for any student and bondsman traveling together. In these clothes, we’d be certain to be stopped.”
He untied the bundle and handed her an assortment of clothing, still fresh and warm from the sun, before making his own selections from the randomly gathered heap. Without thought, he stripped his shirt and tunic over his head as one piece and tossed them down.
"Where are we to change?” Telriy asked, making him pause.
Mar blinked uncomprehendingly. "What?"
She glanced significantly at his bare chest. "Where will we go to change our clothes?"
"Right here," he answered shortly, slightly irritated. The motive for her question eluded him. There were no higher buildings nearby and he was sure that they were unobserved.
The girl looked at him pointedly for a moment and then gave a careless shrug, reaching up to undo the ties that held her heavily starched student collar in place.
As he squatted to sift through his own new wardrobe, the significance of the situation dawned upon him. Almost in spite of himself, his eyes rose and lingered on the girl. She had already shed the pocketed tunic that all traditional students wore. Fascinated, he watched as she casually unfastened the large brass buttons of her under shirt. She seemed innocent of his attention as she slipped the garment from her shoulders and hung it over the parapet.
Mar was not ignorant of feminine anatomy -- a normal adolescent curiosity and a certain skill at clandestine nocturnal excursions had completed that part of his education some years previously -- but his knowledge lacked practical experience. He had, of necessity and by well thought choice, led a solitary life since his youth. When idle, he had actively avoided gatherings of people, social or otherwise, perfectly content to bury himself in a stolen book. In just the last few hours, he had spent more time in the company of Telriy than any other woman he had ever known.
Not, as it were, that his guileless stare availed much. The girl had revealed only softly rounded shoulders, a narrow but not waspish waist, and a taunt midriff. The baggy trousers were fairly effective at hiding the broadness of her hips. She had bound her breasts beneath a broad swatch of heavy white linen that wrapped beneath her arms and fastened behind her back. Clearly, this had been the essential component of her disguise, molding her bosom to proportions more readily concealed beneath the loose student's garb.
From all outward signs oblivious, Telriy reached both hands behind her.
Mar's breath caught.
Telriy glanced toward him and froze as she became aware of his scrutiny. Before he could recover, she sn
ared his gaze with her own. For a moment, she looked to rebuke him, but then a notion shadowed her face and her eyes turned calculating.
Mar felt himself being weighed, as if she balanced his potential usefulness to a broader design and he found himself trying to guess to what scheme she molded him. For a long moment, during which the air seemed to grow progressively thicker with words almost said, they simply looked at each other.
"No, not yet,” she told him finally, shaking her head. A slight almost amused smile quirked her lips. “Turn, please.”
Irritated without knowing quite why, but determined to conceal this from the girl, Mar immediately spun about. He stood and as hurriedly as possible donned his new clothing, careful to project utter ignorance of the intriguing rustlings behind him.
"I’m ready," Telriy announced.
Still annoyed, Mar turned. The girl had selected a plain white blouse with a modest neckline. Over this, she had draped an open wool mantle which fell below her knees. She had used the wide student’s belt to cinch the mantle, with the attached flat pouch swung around to her side. Cross-weave cotton breeches had replaced her trousers, but she had retained the boots. The outfit was nondescript enough to suit Mar, but sturdy enough to serve as travel garb.
The girl pirouetted slowly, beaming. "Do you like?"
Discomfited by unaccustomed stirrings and feelings, Mar frowned, shook his head, and started off across roof. He was more than ready to be rid of the girl. The sooner they found Waleck the better.
Telriy awarded him an amused laugh and followed.
They descended to the streets via the fire escape stair of a warehouse situated on the low bluffs north of the docks. As they prepared to emerge from the alley where the escape stair had deposited them, Mar grasped Telriy's arm once again in a restraining grip.
The girl laid her hand over his where it clutched her arm, but did not attempt to break his hold.
"Will you drag me? I thought the idea was to escape notice?"
"What then?" he asked, relaxing his hand. "I’ll not give you a chance get away."
"Hold my hand," she suggested. "We can play at being sweethearts out for an afternoon stroll."
"You’ll not run?" he demanded.
"No, our truce stands. I’ll swear by whichever of the Forty-Nine you wish."
"I’ve no faith in any of the Forty-Nine."
Telriy raised an eyebrow. "My honor?"
Mar laughed.
"My family, then?"
"I trust none of those. I don’t have gods, honor, or kin. Swear by nothing but yourself or not at all. Just keep your own word."
"My word then to you, but to you alone."
Unsure of the significance of this last provision, but with no real alternative, he nodded. He felt certain that the girl would vanish at her first opportunity, but for now, she seemed content to go where he led. In any event, once they were reunited with Waleck, she would become old man's problem and his no longer.
Smiling, Telriy slipped her hand into his as he released her arm.
Once again, Mar found himself smiling back and he turned quickly to hide the damning expression. Taking a deep breath, he strode from the shadow of the alley into the bright daylight of the street.
Abruptly transformed, Telriy played her part well, vivacious and gay, as they made their way down the broad stairs of Viceroy Khajdmachi's Way to the upper river promenade. She chatted cheerily of insignificant things, satisfied with no more than mere nods from him, and greeted all whom they passed, warmly and profusely, no matter that they were all utter strangers. She would lag a few steps, detaining him, as a greeting passed to a friendly conversation, gain a few steps, pulling him along, to point out a particularly bright hued bird nesting in the eave of a building. When the conversation ended or the bird flitted away, she would hug his arm affectionately, lean close to whisper something incomprehensible in his ear and often brush a light kiss across his cheek. Then she would rush on, their hands always linked, not a restraint, but a connection.
Telriy monopolized the eyes and interest of everyone. The young men gazed at her enviously, furtively watching her pass down the street. The old men smiled their fatherly smiles at her, chucking in remembrance. The young women chatted with her conspiratorially, giggling over whispered comments. The old women sighed knowingly, brassily supplying advice about childbirth and cooking.
Mar's own discomfiture with Telriy’s performance fitted well with the ruse. His near silence and nervousness were universally dismissed as the anxieties of a young man in first love. Few of the dozens they encountered bothered to glance at him more than once. It seemed certain that no one would even recall what he looked like, much less have reason to inform the Guard of their passing.
As they advanced into the crowd of the Merchant’s Market in the shadow of the great arches of the Red Ice Bridge, Telriy shed the imposture but did not drop his hand. They wove their path together through the lounging bargemen, haggling merchants, and cargo lots to reach the barge quay.
The old man was not in sight. The crew was aboard and the bondsmen rowers seated at their oars. The crates and barrels that had crowded the temporarily fenced stowage were now secured and tarped in high stacks amidships. The mate stood at the head of the gangway, making ready to heave the cleated ramp with the aid of several sailors and shore hands.
Mar rushed forward. "Wait! Passengers to board!"
The mate’s face folded into a pained look at the shout and he swiveled to look down at them sourly. The man glared for several long moments but then resignedly threw up his hands and then signaled his men. The gangway dropped back onto the timbers of the dock with a thud. The bondsmen idled quietly to one side and the sailors watched curiously as the mate bounced down the gangway.
"Aye, the Captain, he said there was passengers," the big man said doubtfully, eyeing first Mar then Telriy. He examined her full length, though not crudely. "But, the Captain, he said a merchant and his bondsman. Nothing was said about a woman."
"A small change," Mar improvised, "Nothing more. Merchant Waleck will be here shortly."
The mate wagged his head. "The Captain’ll decide that."
"And who might you be?" the grizzled officer demanded when he appeared, stomping down to the quay. "I've a boat to sail and I'll not be delayed by frippery."
As the Captain approached, Telriy shot Mar an inquisitive look. Though he remained silent and did not change his expression, the girl seemed to take some direction from his stance. She turned her face toward the riverman and smiled. She did no more than that, but from that moment forward the Captain spared Mar not one further glance. If the Captain recognized the young thief from the morning, he gave no sign of it
"Assistant Factor Third Chelmah, sir,” Mar lied smoothly, watching the bargeman’s eyes. When he detected no reaction, he continued, “Merchant Waleck's accountant."
"And you, young woman?"
"Telriy, Merchant Waleck's daughter, sir."
"And where’s the Merchant Waleck?"
"Coming, sir, coming," Telriy assured pleasantly. "He was delayed by unexpectedly lengthy negotiations for a lumber contract."
The Captain harrumphed, his expression pronouncing that none of this was his concern. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the barge. "Two passages paid, two passengers aboard, but we'll not wait for yer father. And if he shows before we cut loose, he'll owe another passage."
"Of course, sir,” Mar assured him, “and no doubt a premium for your trouble."
The Captain shrugged. That was only his due.
“And there’s no providing for females,” the captain told Telriy baldly. “The crew and the rowers is used to casting their middens o’er the side before the Gods and all.”
“I have traveled, Captain,” Telriy assured the boatman. “My sensibilities will not be offended.”
The Captain grunted. “You’ll stay to the foredeck. Elsewise the rowers‘ll be having a pinch.”
“I understand completel
y, sir.”
The Captain dismissed them with an exasperated wave and they mounted the gangway. The mate sent them forward past the rowers’ benches to a raised section of deck at the bow. There were no cabins on the barge; the barges were built quickly and broken apart at their destination, with the timbers sold off to whatever purpose. The crew, officers and all, slept on the open deck amongst the cargo or under awnings at the stern. Reached by a flight of three unguarded steps, the small triangle of deck space was utterly bare and was heavy with the bright smell of sun-warmed wood.
Telriy turned to him. "Well? What now, oh Factor's third assistant Chelmah?"
Mar looked back toward the dock. "We wait for Waleck."
"And where might this barge be bound?"
"South."
Telriy's face clouded. "I know that! What is our destination?"
"Mhajhkaei, I suppose. Is there any other?"
Telriy looked pleased. "Mhajhkaei. Yes," she said, nodding to herself, "that will do."
Weary, Mar ignored her and walked to the starboard rail. He scanned the quay, then the promenade, north and south, but saw no sign of the old man. Already the gangway was aboard and lashed to its place atop some barrels of wine. The mate and another hand came forward to cast lose the hawsers cinched about the short bow post and then went aft to release the stern lines. Once that was done, the Captain would back oars to push the barge out to the river channel.
Just as Mar came to the conclusion that the old man would not make the barge before it sailed, a disturbance broke out at the stern. Distracted, he turned to watch.
The mate, with considerable vehemence, was cursing and kicking at the knotted mass of the aft cable. Somehow, it had become tangled and would not release the cleat. His volume increased in accord with his frustration, and presently the Captain appeared, took one look, and called for an ax.
As the Captain himself raised the ax to sever the cable, a hail rose from the dock.
Mar looked, scarcely hoping, but, yes, it was indeed the old scrapper.
Shouts went back and forth, hands were waved dramatically, and then the Captain had the stern snubbed to the dock with the cable. Waleck clambered aboard, hoisted up by two burly rowers, clasped the Captain's hand several times in the midst of an abbreviated discussion, then started forward.
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