Give it up, she thought. They aren’t going to hurt you. Instead she lunged again; a truly sloppy lunge this time, head not still, balance nowhere. The soldier’s parry was worse, a typical fumbled response by a righthander against a southpaw. She made a half-decent recovery, feinted low and came up into a short backhand cut that caught the soldier’s sword on the fort of the blade, a finger’s breadth below the quillons, and knocked it out of his hand. He stood perfectly still, staring at her; beside him, his colleague was scrabbling up on to his feet. Iseutz turned and ran.
A little better now. The soldier had stopped to pick up his sword, his mate who’d fallen over had turned his ankle and was hobbling, and the lance-corporal was still well behind. Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time and distance, and she knew that. What the hell; it’d be amusing to see just how far she could get. ‘Iseutz! ’ her mother was shrieking in the distance. Probably no other incentive could have made her force her numb-weary knees to carry her up the scarp and down into the dip on the other side -
– Where (there is no god but Fool’s Luck, and I am his chosen one) she found herself in the arms of an extremely startled man who was standing beside a perfectly good horse, tightening the girths of his saddle. Iseutz squeaked with shock, turned the squeak into a growl and waggled the sword in the air; the man reeled backwards, slipped and staggered away. But I hate horses, Iseutz thought as she jammed her foot in the stirrup and launched herself on to the animal’s back, trying to catch hold of the reins with the stumps of her righthand fingers and failing. She slid the sword between the saddle and her right thigh, pressing hard to keep it there, caught hold of the reins and dug her heels in.
Of course, she hadn’t the faintest idea where she was going; she’d hardly been outside the door ever since they’d arrived in this godforsaken place. But it didn’t matter. She was going to get caught sooner or later, so there wouldn’t have been much point in planning an itinerary. The horse, on the other hand, seemed to have views of its own; no matter how hard she tried to pull its head round, sooner or later it returned to its default course – if pressed, Iseutz would have hazarded a guess that they were running due west, but her sense of direction had never been her strong suit. The sword and a raised seam in her idiotic leather skirt were digging into her quite excruciatingly. All in all, she felt, she wouldn’t be too sorry when it was all over.
(Spur-of-the-moment actions, quick reflexes, snap decisions; then grab somebody else’s horse and get the hell out, fast as you can. It’s the Loredan way. Uncle Gorgas will be so proud when I tell him…)
And then, quite suddenly, there was nowhere else to go. The sea sprang out at her from under the lip of a patch of dead ground. She’d come to the edge.
The horse wanted to go left, following the coastline up towards Ap’ Bermidan. Iseutz had no strong feelings on the matter either way. They turned left; and before long they were on the outskirts of the town, passing the square wooden frames where the fishermen hung up their catch to dry in the sun and the wind. She took note of the fish as she rode past, contorted by death and desiccation into melodramatic writhing shapes, stiff as boards and flaking loose scales. Dipped in olive oil or smeared with a little garlic butter, the stuff tasted like greasy firewood, and none of the locals would touch it. Instead they shipped it inland, where it was reckoned a delicacy.
As she reached the edge of the harbour, a shallow half-moon enclosed by a long artificial spit extending from a projecting spur of rock, she saw that there were only two ships tied up at the quay. One of them was a short, stubby galley, the pitiful excuse for a ship that was all the Imperials knew how to build. The other was completely different; curved and tapered at each elevated end like a slice of melon, with small castles fore and aft standing high above the water. She hadn’t been a merchant’s daughter very long, but even she could recognise a Colleon long-haul freighter. She reined in the horse, frowned, then grinned. It was pointless, of course; they’d never go for it, and besides, the timing would be all wrong – they’d probably only just arrived and would be in no hurry to leave. Nevertheless, she couldn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t give it a try. All she could do was fail.
There was a small gang of men loading barrels on to the ship with a block and tackle. ‘Hello,’ she said. They stopped what they were doing and looked at her.
‘Where are you headed?’ she asked, hopping down from the horse.
There was a long pause, then one of the men said, ‘The Island.’
‘That’s a bit of luck, then,’ Iseutz replied cheerfully, ‘because that’s where I’m headed.’
The man who’d spoken looked her up and down. ‘Merchant?’ he asked.
Iseutz realised that her ludicrous outfit was just the sort of thing an Island merchant might be wearing. ‘Courier,’ she replied. ‘For the Shastel Bank. Just letters,’ she added with a smile, ‘no cash money, so there’s no point throwing me overboard as soon as we’re out of sight of land. I missed my connection a few days back and I’m running really late, so if you could possibly help me out, I’d be very grateful. And so would the Bank,’ she added.
‘Not up to me,’ the man replied.
Iseutz nodded. ‘Then if you could possibly see your way to telling me where I can find whoever it is up to-’
The man jerked his head up at the ship. ‘Captain Yelet,’ he said. ‘You got much stuff to take? We’ll be off soon as this lot’s loaded, or we’ll miss the tide.’
She smiled, shook her head, unfastened the saddlebag and slung it over her shoulder. It was surprisingly heavy, and as she held it against her cheek, she thought she could hear the chink of money.
‘Captain Yelet,’ she repeated. ‘Thanks ever so much. See you later.’
The captain wasn’t hard to find; but by the time she tracked him down, checking the fastenings in the cargo hold, she’d had a chance to peek inside the saddlebag. Fool’s luck: there was a small fortune in there.
‘You want to be careful,’ the captain warned her gravely as she counted out two gold quarters into his huge round hand. ‘Travelling on your own with that much money.’
Iseutz shrugged. ‘I manage,’ she said.
Dear uncle -
She’d never even tried to write left-handed before. It was still a mess, but much better than she’d ever managed with the stumps of her right.
As the sun set, so the wind had dropped, and at last the ship was holding still long enough for her to be able to put her ink-horn down beside her on the deck with a reasonable chance of it staying there. Quite the treasure trove, that saddlebag; as well as the money she’d found this adorable little traveller’s writing set, pens, powdered ink, a dear little penknife, ink-horn and stand, all in a flat box you could use to rest on. And her fool’s luck didn’t end there; after Captain Yelet concluded his business on the Island, he was heading for Barzea, where he was sure he’d be able to find a jute-dealer headed for Tornoys who’d be only too pleased to deliver her letter. It was turning out to be a good day after all.