"M-mica Galen, pedeman."
He switched his attention to Shale. "You?"
Shale's mouth went dry. "Chert," he said, giving the first name that popped into his head.
Fortunately the man was not looking at Mica, or he would have known Shale lied. He turned his attention to one of the younger boys in the group, Demel the widow's eldest son. "You?" he asked.
"Crag, pedeman."
"Crag, answer true, me not kill. Understand?"
No, Shale thought, scuffing a toe in the dirt as if he wasn't scared. No. He's not going to ask about me. He's a Reduner. Reduners wouldn't be looking for me.
The boy nodded, trembling. He was eight, and so frightened he'd wet himself.
"Who Shale Galen, Crag?"
Crag, trembling, pointed to Shale. "Th-that's Shale, p-pedeman."
The man gave a faint smile that scarified Shale with terror. "Babe?"
"Sh-sh-shale's s-s-sister, pedeman. Citrine."
The man turned to one of his followers. "Fanim?"
"Veh, Pasirdam?" Yes, Sandmaster? Shale understood enough Reduner to know that much.
The sandmaster jerked his head in Marisal's direction. "We play game of chala." He looked straight at Shale. "Davim hate liars." He gathered in his reins and flicked his mount into wakefulness.
Shale tried to remember what chala was. A Reduner game. Chala spears. He had seen caravanners play it. They passed a ball from spear to spear. No, not a ball-they didn't use a ball. An animal, that was it. They used an animal, alive to start with. A large horny lizard, perhaps, or a desert cat. Once it was dead, they continued to pass its carcass from one to the other. If you let the carcass fall, then you had to retire from the game. Until there was only one person left: the winner.
But he didn't understand. Why play chala now?
The man called Fanim gave a broad grin. "Veh, Pasirdam!" With one swift movement he leaned forward, inserted the point of his spear into Citrine's clothing and yanked her out of Marisal's arms.
And Shale began to scream-not her name, but his own, over and over and over.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Scarpen Quarter Scarcleft City Level 32 and Level 10 "You can't do this to me," Vivie said flatly. "I won't let you."
"You can't stop me."
"Don't be stupid, of course I can. All I have to do is call for Garri." She waved a hand in the direction of her door, as if the steward was waiting outside. "Or Madam Opal. Terelle, you are honour-bound to serve the snuggery. You owe Opal."
"I didn't ask to be here."
"You've been glad enough to drink the water."
"I wish I hadn't told you now! I just didn't want you worrying about me."
"Waterless heavens! Terelle, are you out of your mind? You met a man down on the thirty-sixth-what were you doing down there anyway?-and on the strength of that one meeting, you want to live with him so he can teach you to paint water?"
"It's not like that."
"Have you any idea what Opal will say to me if you vanish? She will think I knew and didn't tell her!" Even as she spoke, she paled. "What if she makes me pay off your debt as well as my own? Oh, mercy, of course that's what she'll do! Terelle, you can't walk out!"
Terelle stayed stubbornly silent. Inside, her hopes leaked away. Why had she told Vivie this much? She should have just disappeared. Now she'd never be allowed out of the snuggery. They would watch her like chameleons hunting prey.
Use your head, Terelle. Get out of this.
"I never thought of that," she said at last. "Of course, that's exactly what Opal would do. Make you pay. Oh, Vivie, that would be awful." She tried to look woebegone. Vivie was probably right, at that.
"You can't do that to me," Vivie reiterated.
And what about me? Terelle asked silently, trying to push away the guilt. Aloud she said, eyes downcast, "I'm-I'm sorry. You're right. That would be awful. I never thought of that." She flushed, and hoped that Vivie wouldn't realise it was because she was lying.
Vivie looked relieved. "You won't go?"
Terelle slumped on the bed. "No. I guess not."
"That's all right, then. By all that's holy, you had me worried, Terelle. I thought you'd taken leave of your senses! And over nothing, too. You'll like working here once you start upstairs."
Terelle looked at her curiously. "Do you, Vivie? Do you really like it?"
She shrugged. "Some of the men are nice. Some aren't, but Opal never lets them hurt us. If Huckman gets your first-night, it may not be pleasant, but Opal will give you part of what she makes him pay. She's very fair. Why do you let it bother you so, Terelle? If we were back in the Gibber, Father would have married us off by now, and we could both be stuck with men we hated for the rest of our lives! That would be far, far worse."
"I'm sorry, Vivie. I guess I just didn't think."
Vivie smiled at her. "It's not so bad, don't worry. Here, look, I bought you a present in the bazaar." Smiling, she handed over a small parcel wrapped in a melon leaf.
When Terelle unfolded the wrapping, she found a mirror with a carved pede-shell back. "It's a 'Baster looking glass!" she said, astonished. They were much more expensive than the polished stone mirrors most people used. "It's lovely," she added, and meant it. "Thanks. I-I will treasure it."
"Hey, it's nothing. Run along now and help the servants with the preparations for tonight. I've got to dress. Hanri the trader said he was coming and I want him to choose me, so I've got to look especially nice."
Terelle left, but she didn't go downstairs. She went back to her own room, which she shared with several of the servants. As she expected, there was no one there. She took the waterpainting from under her bed, then gathered her spare set of working clothes and bundled them up with the painting and the mirror inside. She made sure that she had all her tokens safely in her coin pocket and took one last glance around the room. She had no regrets at leaving. The servants were all middle-aged; she had no close friends in the snuggery except for Vivie, and in the end they'd had nothing in common except a shared childhood, a vague sisterly affection and a father who had sold them.
She closed the door behind her and started down the stairs. She knew the trick to dodging any added workload: you looked busy. So she hurried, clutching her bundle as if it was a pile of dirty bed linen. Once downstairs, she walked briskly past the kitchen and let herself out of the back door.
She was surprised at just how busy the streets were at night, surprised to find that the people of Scarcleft flung open their doors and brought chairs out to sit in front of their gateways. A young lad was trying to impress his friends with his dubious mastery of the intricacies of the lute as he sat on his doorstep. Residents ambled by, visiting their neighbours. A peddler, tray hanging from a strap around his neck, sold hot cakes rolled in honey for a tinny token.
She had feared people would think it odd for someone of her age to be out in the streets at this hour after sunset but she found she was just one of many. She used her bundle to make it look as if she was a servant on an errand and found it easy enough to slip by the occasional patrolling enforcer. With a pang, she realised how much she had missed, growing up in the snuggery. At this hour of the night, she had always been too busy working ever to wonder what ordinary people did with their lives.
I'm sorry, Vivie, she thought, but I've got to do this.
She did not go directly to Level Thirty-six. Instead, she climbed up to the tenth, to Amethyst's. As always, Jomat answered her pull of the bell with sour suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "What makes you think that the arta will want to see you in the middle of the night?" Even in the cool of the evening, he was sweating. He reached out and pinched her cheek with damp fingers, but Terelle stood her ground. Fortunately, just at that moment Amethyst entered the courtyard and waved Jomat away.