(Trid Almost Makes Up for It)

Padlimaird's obstinacy very nearly cost him his big toe about a month after we had our argument, because two of the guard caught him at it, both human, and both in need of a diversion from guarding the east armory.

Andy, Trid and Forbs had set me to pick the lock on the east armory that very morning. (Forbs, whose mother didn't allow him a sword in his belt, was especially keen.) I followed the human boys across the barracks bridge, through the brick arcade, and into the courtyard.

Forbs walked confidently over to the drowsing sentries. "My, but it's muggy today." He waved air into his tunic, and the men immediately snapped awake and stood up straighter.

"And it's only going to get hotter. Look at that sun." Andy stepped into the shade.

"I'd keel over and die out here if the fountain weren't right there," said Forbs, pointing. "Especially cold for some reason, that water was just now." He slipped a tin pannikin off his belt and offered it to the first sentry, a man with a curly beard. "You look like you could do with some water, sir."

"Go on." Trid wiped his forearm (after he had spit on it) across his brow. "It's a blister out here."

"Gracious, do my sandals stink in this heat," said Andy. "But not as much as Forb's armpits. If you fellows feel faint you'd better leave before the fumes get to your heads."

Curly-beard eyed the pannikin nervously. "Best we don't leave our watch ––"

"If the both of you don't clear out," said Andy, "I'll tell Herist how you're all set for the night watch because of the nap you were just taking at your post."

The soldier took the cup from Forbs with a suspicious look, and in a great clinking of hauberks, pulled his fellow after him towards the fountain.

"Aloren." Andy looked around for me. "Aloren, hurry up."

I shuddered, and stumped over to the double-bolted door, and Floy threw herself into my hands, chipping and trilling. The chisel dropped from my teeth.

Trid said to Andy, "Have you ever seen a sparrow do that?"

"The fire-headed feck," I said to Floy. "Did he have to choose now?" I picked up the chisel, pushed through the gawking boys and ran towards the fountain.

Beside it Curly-beard held Padlimaird by one of his protruding ears. The other raised his hand and bowled Padlimaird over, and Curly-beard sat on Padlimaird's legs to stop their kicking, and grabbed Padlimaird's hair to keep Padlimaird's teeth from sinking into his arm.

"Get off me, you bear in a dress," Padlimaird shrieked.

"We'll teach you not to hit, scab." The second soldier unsheathed a falchion. "Won't be kicking, neither, when I lop your toes off."

"When you could've got off larceny with just a quick shave of the head," clucked Curly-beard.

I added to the taunting: "Think you're big an' brave, now, Paddy?" And I leapt forward to stick a soldier through the heart with my chisel.

Andy grabbed a handful of my chemise and I fell on my butt.

"First they'll rape you blind," he said matter-of-factly, "then they'll beat you into a pulp."

"Let go." I rolled onto my stomach, and pulled away from him. "They'll cut him."

"Mercy me," he said.

Trid walked after us, saw the bucket, the wet seeping through the flagstones.

He put hair out of his eyes. "Water?" he said in disbelief. "A bucket of water?" He leaned over Andy, who'd fallen behind me, and unpinned a broach from Andy's right shoulder. It was enameled with a wild rose. "So much for keeping the peace." And he strode towards the soldiers, pinning the thing onto his tunic.

I picked myself up to better watch.

The soldier whittled his knife into Padlimaird's foot and Trid stuck out a hand. "Stop this," he said. "Stop or I'll have you sent to Miachamel. Where they shove sabers up your arse if you make eyes at a female monkey. If you want to browbeat the Elde you can't do it here in this mudbath of a country. You'll have to go west, to Lorila. And you've got nothing on Lorila. You're just pathetic bullies."

Both men stared at him for the minute it took their eyes to move from his face to Andy's broach. "My lord." The soldier on top of Padlimaird loosened his legs, and Padlimaird slid out from beneath him.

"Aloren." Padlimaird flattened his shirt. "Why're ye hanging round a bunch of owls?"

"Hasn't much of a choice." Andy walked up beside us and pushed me out of the way. "Go collect your water, and the next time you disrupt such a brilliant idea, I'll––"

"Toss off stupid death threats," I said. He gave me a high look and spoke to Trid.

"Mudbath of a country, is this? You can go straight back to Lorila if you prefer bloodbaths to mudbaths."

"But then you'd be short a friend." Trid handed back the broach. "And you're not doing much to win new ones."

"Sweet blessed earth." Padlimaird shook Trid's hand. "Thankye kindly, sir."

"Wear boots," Trid said, looking at the boy's feet.

"Aye, m'lord." Padlimaird tramped away to fill his bucket and blow raspberries at the soldiers.

I scowled at him, certain Wille and Nefer would know all about my unlikely acquaintances by the next half-hour.

"Aye, m'lord," crowed Andy into Trid's ear. Trid shoved him through the arcade and they wrestled together, and Forbs joined in from where he had watched the whole thing.

I thought of all the m'lord's and sir's the humans seemed to inspire in everyone, and wrestled with a horrific thought––one of those that haunt the mind until they're cleared and settled. So I ran and caught up with the boys.

"D'you ever see the Queen's son?" I asked them. Andy stopped for a beat, and his face took on a queer expression.

"Too much." He strode ahead of Trid and me.

Forbs took Andy's place. "The prince gets in the way of Andy's fun. He doesn't like the prince."

"Nobody likes the prince," I said, shrugging. "Nasty little bastard."

The boys on either side of me began to laugh, softly at first, but it soon became an impediment, and they had to stop and calm themselves. "Aloren," said Forbs, "you're a lark. Careful you're not a dead one."

After Trid took the initiative to help Padlimaird I grew a grudging affection for him: for his soft fairness, never quite beaten into submission by his peers, and for the unexpected dexterity of his long fingers.

He badgered and goaded until I'd taught him how to pick a lock, care for a beaten dog, mend a broken finger.

Lord or no, Trid wanted to be a doctor. This puzzled me, as healing was a woman's profession among the Gralde. But Trid was human, as well as from Lorila.

Autumn came, sweeping in with cold rain, and the locust trees spread naked limbs under the bell tower. The ground shone, paved with gold leaves.

I sat on the top step waiting for Andy, who'd exhausted his supply of discreet meeting-places, to tell me what I was to do next. I expected an angry shout from him. I'd sprained my ankle dancing the day before and my steps were slow and laborious.

He bounded up the steps, face steely with excitement. Forbs walked behind him with a more glum expression. Andy stopped to take a great bite of something wrapped in a cloth napkin, allowing Forbs to speak first: "I wanted to dig through Cole's cabinet tomorrow night––see if he had leaf in there, but I was ruled out."

"Stop wingeing," Andy said. "It's Herist's records, and I'm going to slug you if you don't shut up."

I jumped up, rolled on my bad ankle, and fell down. "Herist?" Perchevor Herist, commander of the city garrison and owner of two-thirds of the vessels in the harbor, was not known for his leniency toward thieves. Or Gralde. "Are you mad?" I rubbed my ankle.

"Barking," said Forbs.

"She's gone and hurt herself." Andy stared at the ankle. It was swollen into an angry red ring. "A great deal of help you're going to be tomorrow, you dancing monkey." My mouth twisted down. "Don't give me lip––I see you doing it everywhere. Gods know why. You've precious little to be happy about."

I stood up again, two steps above him, swaying. "What d'ye know about happiness, you stinkin maggoty canker?"

He bent real close. "Shake the sand out of your cunny," he said.

"You shouldn't talk––got a tree so far up your arse it's scrambling your brains."

"I ought to smack you." Our exchanges were becoming boringly rote. "I'm thirsty," he complained to Forbs. "Let's go find a fountain."