Still she stood in the street shivering as the chill morning air seeped into her sweaty hair.
But I may still need Sal one day. No need to burn that bridge just yet. If I give them to the locals and then make up a story for Sal, that should be good enough. And then I can go south. I can go someplace warm.
Shifrah strode into the guardhouse by the city gate and pounded on the inner door. “Wake up, boys, you’ve got a few minutes of work to do.” Her Espani wasn’t perfect, and she knew she wasn’t pale enough to pass for local, but the stolen triquetra medallion displayed on her chest had proven a reliable passport before. Only in Espana would they care more about the trappings of faith than the genuine article.
The door opened and two pale children of seventeen or so stepped out in dark blue uniforms. Mottled little beards clung to their cheeks, which only made them look younger. “Yes?”
She sighed. “Do you have anything bigger in there? Because honestly, this Mazigh is going to eat you boys alive.”
“What Mazigh?”
“The big Mazigh staying at the Red Swallow. Two of them, actually, but I’m not too worried about the little one.”
The young soldiers looked confused. “Did they do something?”
“Haven’t you heard? There’s a manhunt going on across half the country for foreign spies, particularly ones from Marrakesh. And I just found two of them at the Swallow. Now get the real soldier boys out here before they leave.” She crossed her arms, nudging her breasts up higher, and she stared at the boys in blue. They both blinked at her chest.
“Let me go talk to the captain.” One ducked back inside, leaving his friend to stand in the doorway looking cold and nervous.
Shifrah smirked at him. “So, you ever kill a man, soldier boy?”
“What? No, no ma’am. No, I haven’t.”
She sniffed. “What about a woman?”
His eyes widened in horror and she laughed.
The door opened again and half a dozen soldiers spilled out into the street, their shining black boots clacking on the icy cobblestones. At least three of them were over thirty, and the one with the air of authority had a rather impressive mustache. He said, “Ma’am, I understand you’ve found some foreigners in the city?”
She nodded as she waved them after her. They followed in a loose knot with their rifles in their hands, and at the door of the tavern the captain set two of them to stand guard outside. Shifrah told them which room to check and then paced across the street to wait. It was still early and precious few Espani were hustling through the streets to wherever it was that Espani went to work. Churches, she guessed.
A sneeze caught her attention and she looked to her left. At the end of the street a lean figure was straightening up and wiping his face. A much larger figure grabbed him by the collar and hauled him around the corner and out of sight.
“Damn.” She turned to the two soldiers still outside the tavern. “Hey! They’re down there! End of the street! Left at the corner!”
Shifrah bolted down the icy street, hoping that any ice she stepped on would crack and shatter rather than slip under her weight. She skidded around the corner and saw a thickening crowd down the next road. The big Mazigh’s bare scalp bobbed among the sea of heads and she took off after it.
She felt her heart pounding in her chest and her blood thundering through her head. How much whiskey did I drink last night?
Shifrah crashed into the edge of the crowd and set to worming her way deeper and deeper into the press of bodies. They were in a large, open square bordered on two sides by a small cathedral and lined with clothiers’ shops on the other two sides. She saw the dummies standing behind the tall glass windows, stuffed and headless bodies in sharply tailored suits.
How Italian of them.
The tide of the crowd flowed toward the cathedral. A morning mass. The Mazigh’s head showed the big man wasn’t making much better progress cutting across the square and she focused on his stubbled crown and the bright puff of vapor streaming from his unseen face.
Shifrah grunted and began shoving people out of the way to close the distance to the big man’s head. The Espani around her made countless surprised and angry looks, but she didn’t give them a second glance.
They won’t do anything. They’re church people, just like the church people back in Rome. The only church people to worry about are in Constantia, and there aren’t any Constantians here.
The Mazighs broke free of the crowd and darted down a side street, and a moment later Shifrah burst out of the square and raced after them. The two men were only a few yards away now. The sounds of her boots slapping the ice and slush echoed off the stone walls and the Mazighs twisted their heads around to look over their shoulders.
Still running, she drove her bare first through the young one’s surprised face and felt his nose crack under her knuckles. When she saw him falling backward with the first glimmer of blood in his nostril, she knew he was no longer in this fight and she spun just in time to catch the big man’s open-handed strike to her neck. She grabbed his arm with both hands but still the blow threw her against the alley wall. Her boots slipped but she scrambled away before she fell and threw a fist and another fist and a boot at the hulking Mazigh’s face, but each time the man just raised his own fist and took the blow on his arm.
He’s a boxer. He’s used to pain. I won’t be able to wear him down.
Behind her she heard the younger Mazigh moaning, his voice distorted by his broken nose and no doubt one or both hands clutched to his face.
“Lady, who the hell are you?” the big man asked.
She backed away a few paces up the alley, careful not to let him corner her against the wall. She considered drawing her knives but she had seen the man’s fat hunting knife under the bed.
A boxer and a knife-fighter, and three times my size. This is not turning out to be one of my better days.
She straightened up and lowered her fists. “I was sent to kill any Mazigh spies I could find. I found you.”
“What for? You’re no soldier. Hell, you’re not even Espani, are you? I guess that makes you a freelancer, doesn’t it?” He nodded and lowered his meaty fists. “Fine, you want money? Let us get out of here and I’ll get you money. We’re not spies. We’re just trying to get home.”
The younger one staggered up, gingerly touching his face. “Major, she broke my nose.”
“Major?” Shifrah smiled. “A Mazigh officer who carries a knife instead of a gun. I like that.”
“Good for you.” The major spat on the ground. “So, do we have a deal? You cut us loose now and I pay you later. Name’s Zidane. You come find me in Tingis and we’ll settle up there. You’ve got my word. Okay?”
“It sounds like a very nice deal.” It did sound nice. Marrakesh, far across the Strait of Tarifa, would be warm, so much warmer than Espana or Italia. The only hiccup was the Mazigh warrant on her head, but that could be dealt with. “And I’d be happy to take that deal and walk away right now except for one little problem, major. I already told the soldiers where you are.”
Behind her at the mouth of the alley, she heard the Espani soldiers shouting as they slipped out of the cathedral crowd and ran toward the Mazighs. The big man glared over her head and muttered, “Damn.” He grabbed his companion by the collar and hauled him away at a dead run.
Shifrah smiled and bit her lip. She stepped back against the cold stone wall of the alley to let the soldiers fly past, and then she stepped back into the lane to watch them plunge into the slow-moving traffic on the main road ahead. With her hands on her hips, thumbs gently pressing against the handles of two of the knives hidden in her coat, she stood thinking.
So which is the better deal? Do I bag some heads to keep Sal happy in case I need him again, or do I save the big man, take the cash, and spend a few months in the sun?