Changer's Moon (20 page)

Tuli dipped into a pocket, found a stone and settled it into the pouch of her sling. She might not have time at the chini's first charge to whirl the sling, but she trusted Rane to hold the beast off long enough to let her get set.

“Ajjin Turriy,” Rane yelled, her deep voice singing the words over the whine of the wind. “Friends call.”

The beast withdrew into the room and a broad squat old woman appeared in the doorway a moment later, not smiling but not sour either. She wore a heavy jacket and enough skirts to make her wide as the door. “Who is you said?”

“Rane.”

“Ah.” She stepped back. “Be welcome, friend.”

Rane turned to Tuli. “Wait,” she said. She dismounted, tramped through the snow to the doorway, and stood outlined by light as the dog had been. Whatever she said, the wind carried away her words before they reached Tuli. After a few moments, Rane nodded briskly, came wading back to the macain. She mounted and rode toward the corral.

Tuli slipped the stone and sling back in her pocket, feeling foolish and a bit angry. She was as tired and hungry as the macain were and too irritable to want to ask the questions whirling through her head. And she knew if she made any fuss Rane would leave her behind, was more than half inclined to do so anyway.

With Tuli silently helping her Rane stripped the macain, spread straw in two of the smallish stalls, put out the last of the grain. The gear and the packs they piled in a corner of the stable. Rane took two pairs of snowshoes from those pegged up on one wall. “We can't take the beasts into the city,” she said. “We'll have to walk back.”

“We aren't staying here?”

“Not tonight. Ever used snowshoes?”

Tuli nodded.

“Good.” She handed one set to Tuli and knelt to lace the crude webbed ovals onto her low-heeled riding boots with the fur linings that Hal had provided.

To take her mind off the ache in her legs and the empty ache in her belly, Tuli hurried up and got closer to Rane. “Why couldn't we take the macain into Sel-ma-Carth?”

Rane slowed her swinging stride a little, held up a gloved finger. “One,” she said. “The grain levy hit them extra hard. There are no riding beasts of any sort left in the city.” She held up another finger. “Two. Ever tried to be inconspicuous on a beast that big and noisy?” Another finger. “Three. They wouldn't fit through the old sewer outfall.”

Tuli was silent after that, concentrating on maintaining the looping lope that kept her from kicking herself in her ankle or falling on her face. Rane's long legs seemed tireless, eating up the distance smoothly. Tuli took two strides to her one and still had trouble keeping up. She began gulping air in through her mouth until both mouth and lungs were burning.

She stumbled, the front of the shoe catching against a hummock. Rane caught her, clucked her tongue. “You're sweating.”

Tuli panted, unable to speak for the moment.

“You should have said something.”

“Huh?”

“It's cold, Moth.”

“I … uh … noticed … uh.…” She began breathing more easily. The black spots that swam like watersprites before her eyes were drifting off. Her head still ached, her legs still shook, but she could talk again.

“Damn,” Rane said. The city was partially visible—the tops of some buildings, the gate towers. The wind blew snow streamers about them, the ice particles scowering their faces. With a shiver, Rane said, “We can't stay here. But don't play the fool again, Moth. If I go too fast, yell. Sweat will chill you worse than just about anything. Chill you, kill you. Don't forget. Let's go.”

The remainder of the trip to the city walls was a cold, dark struggle, a nightmare Tuli knew she'd never quite forget. Rane was grim and steel-hard, with a harsh patience that grated against Tuli, but prodded her into going on. Once again Rane circled away from the Gate, then angled toward the place where the bulge of the wall blocked the view of the Gate tower.

There was a low arched opening in the wall over a ditch that might have been a dry creekbed, just a hint of the arch showing over the glowing white snow. Rane unlashed her snowshoes, tucked them under her arm, went cautiously down the bank. At her touch, or so it seemed to Tuli, the grate that covered the opening swung inward, a whisper of metallic rattle, a gentle scraping as it shoved aside a smallish drift of snow. Rane stooped and disappeared inside, legs first, head ducking down and vanishing.

Tuli followed. Inside the low tunnel she saw Rane's snowshoes leaning against the bricks, their shapes picked out by the starlight reflecting off the snow. She set her snowshoes beside them, pushed the grate back in place, and stood, the top of her knitted cap just brushing against the bricks at the center of the arch. About a half a body-length in, the damp smelly darkness was so thick she couldn't see a thing.

Rane's voice came back to her. “Make sure the latch has caught.”

Tuli turned, shook the grate. “It's caught.”

“Come on, then.”

After a few turns it was almost warm in the abandoned sewer. The round topped hole moved in what felt like a gentle arc, though it was hard to tell direction down here. After what seemed a small eternity she bumped into Rane, stepped hastily back with a muttered apology. A whisper came to her. “Wait.” She waited, heard a soft scraping and saw a smallish square of pale gray light bloom in the brick roof of the tunnel. She heard the rasp of Rane's breathing, saw her body wriggle up through the opening, heard soft shufflings and some dull hollow thumps. A moment later Rane's head came back through the opening, absurdly reversed. “Come.”

Tuli pulled herself up. When she was on her feet again, she was standing in a closet hardly large enough to contain the two of them.

“Don't talk,” Rane whispered. “And follow close.” She hauled on a lever. Pressed up against her Tuli could feel her tension. The wall moved finally, with a squeal of rusted metal that was shockingly loud in the hush. Rane cursed under her breath. Tuli heard the staccato hisses, but couldn't make out the words. She grinned into the darkness. Though her father would be profoundly shocked, maybe Rane too, she had a very good notion of what the words were and what they meant, having listened on her night rambles to tie-men working with the stock when they didn't know she was around. Rane eased through the narrow opening. Tuli slid out after her.

They emerged into an empty stable, her nose as well as her eyes testifying to its long disuse, the floor swept clean, not a wisp of straw, the stalls empty; there wasn't a nubble of grain about nor any water in the trough.

As Tuli was inspecting the stable, Rane was pushing the hidden door shut and having trouble with the latch. It wasn't catching. Finally, with a snort of disgust, she stepped back and slammed the flat heel of her boot on the outside of the door just above the latch, hissed with satisfaction as it stayed shut.

Tuli chuckled.

Rane shook her head. “Imp,” she murmured, then she touched Tuli's arm, led her to a door beside one of the stalls. “I haven't had to use this way before,” she said. She wasn't whispering, but kept her voice so soft Tuli could barely hear what she said. “Nor has anyone else, from the look of it.” She stopped before the door, frowned at Tuli. “In those bulky clothes you'll pass easy enough for a boy, Moth, but keep your mouth shut or you'll have us neck down in soup. We'll be going to the third floor of this building. No problem about who we are until I knock on a door, then it's yes or no, the knocking and the name are enough to sink me if something's wrong. You keep back by the stairhead. Roveda Gesda is the name of the man we're going to see. If I call him Gesda, you can come and join us, but if I call him Roveda, you go and go fast, get the macain and go back to the Biserica, tell them what we've learned so far and tell them our friend in Sel-ma-Carth has gone sour. That's so much more important than anything you could do for me that there is no comparison I can make.” She reached out and touched Tuli's cheek, very briefly, a curiously restrained gesture of affection. “I mean it, Moth. Do you understand?”

Reluctantly Tuli nodded.

They went up a flight of stairs, down a long and echoing hall, up the flight at the far end of the hall, back down another hall, up a third flight. The building seemed empty, the doors to the living spaces so firmly shut they might have been rusted in place; the air in the halls and in the enclosed stairways between them was stale and had a secretive smell to it, a reflection more of Tuli's state of mind than any effect of nature. The third floor. Tuli waited behind a partially opened door while Rane walked alone down this corridor and knocked at another.

After a tense moment the door opened, swung out. Impossible to see who or what stood there, impossible to guess whether it was good fortune or bad for them. Rane spoke. Tuli saw her lips move, but the words came down the hall as muffled broken sounds, nothing more. Rane canted her head to one side, a habit she had when listening. She spoke again, more loudly. “Gesda, I've got a young friend with me.” Tuli heard the key name, pushed the door open and stepped into the hall. Rane saw her hesitate, grinned and beckoned to her.

Roveda Gesda was a wiry little man, smaller than Tuli, his age indeterminate. His wrinkled face was constantly in motion, his eyes restless, seldom looking directly at the person he was speaking to, his mouth was never still, the wrinkles about it shifting in a play of light and shadow. A face impossible to read. It seemed never the same for two consecutive moments. His hands, small even for him, were always touching things, lifting small objects, caressing them, setting them down. Sometimes the objects seemed to flicker, vanish momentarily, appearing again as he set them down.

Tuli settled herself on a cushion by Rane's feet and endured the sly assessment of the little man's glittering black eyes. She said nothing, only listened as Rane questioned him about the conditions in the city.

“Grain especially, but all food is controlled by the Aglis of each district and the garrison settled on us. We got to line up each day at distribution points and some …” the tip of his tongue flickered out, flicked from corner to corner of his wide mobile mouth, “some pinch-head fool of a Follower measures out our day's rations.” He snorted. “Stand in line for hours. And we got to pay for the privilege. No handouts. Fifteen tersets a day. You don't got the coin or its equivalent in metal, too bad. Unless you wearing Follower black and stick a token from the right Agli under the airhead's nose.”

“Carthise put up with that?”

“What can we do? Supplies was low anyway.” He glared down at his hands. “What with storms and Floarin sending half the Guard, Malenx himself heading 'em, to strip the city and the tars north of here—grain, fruit, hauhaus, you name it, she scooped it up. Needs meat for her army, she does. Once a tenday we get meat now, soon enough won't have any. Stinkin' Followers butchered all the macain and oadats and even pets, anything that ate manfood or could make manfood. Smoked it or salted it down. Sent a lot out in the tithe wagons. With the snow now that will stop but folk won't be able to get out and hunt in the hills, a pain in the butt even getting out to fish and having to give half what you catch as a thank offering. What I mean, this city's lower'n a snake's navel.” After a minute his wrinkles shifted and he looked fraudulently wise and sincerely sly. “Some ha' been getting out, those that know how. Awhile back we had us a nice little underground market going. Snow shut down on that some, but some a the miner families are out there trapping vachhai and karhursin; better we pay them than those foreigners and sucking twits. Tell you something too, not a day passes but some Follower he goes floating out face down in shit. Even the aglis, they beginning to twitch and look over their shoulders. Trying to keep a tight hand on us, they are, but I tell you, Rane good friend, the tighter they squeeze the slippier we get.” He grinned, his eyes almost disappearing in webs of wrinkles, then he shook his head, suddenly sobered. “Folk getting restless. I can feel the pressure building. Going to be an explosion one a these days and blood in the streets. One thing you say about Hern, you pay your tithes, keep quiet, he let you go your way and don't wring you dry. Where is he, you know? What's he doing? He weren't much but he keep the lice off our backs. Rumor says no Sesshel Fair come spring. That happen, this city burns.”

He shifted around in his chair, sat with his elbow on the chairarm, his hand masking his mouth. “Always been folk here who want to stick fingers in other folks' lives, tell 'em how to think, how to talk, tell 'em how to hold mouth, wiggle little finger, you know; they the ones that got the say now, and by-damn do they say.” He shifted again. “What's the Biserica doing? Do we get any kind a help? Say a few meien to kick out the Guards. Maybe a few swords and crossbows. The Followers, they aren't much as fighters, no better armed than we used to be. Course we had to turn in our arms. 'Nother damn edict. I wouldn't say there aren't a few little knives and you name it cached here and there, owners forgetting the hell out of 'em. Still, some bows and a good supply of bolts wouldn't hurt. Wouldn't have to get them inside the walls, me and my friends could see to that.

“Got five norits in the Citadel, they sticking noses everywhere. Maiden knows what they looking for, how much they see. One thing, they caught Naum peddling black-market meat. Whipped him bloody in the market square, took him to the House of Repentance. Lot of folk smirking like they something, watching all that. Well, he not easy to be around, but they don't need to enjoy it that much. I ain't seen him since. Me, I been lucky, you might say.” He fidgeted nervously, one foot tapping at the reed mat on the floor, the shallow animal eyes turning and turning as if he sought the cobwebs of Nor longsight in the corners of the room. “It's hoping they won't sniff you out.”