Players of the Game. Graeme Talboys K.

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      ‘What did they want, I wonder.’

      ‘More to the point, do they still want it?’

      Musing on that, they watched the sky. The moment it began to lighten would be a good time to make a move and try once more to get down to the harbour. Ships would be venturing out to sea again, and they may need crew members, people willing to work their passage to wherever they wanted to go. If Alltud was lucky there might even be something heading for Ynysvron. A lot of wine and olives went there from the region around Alboran, along with spices and rare metals.

      Jeniche knew she would have a longer and more difficult journey, but there was bound to be something heading in the opposite direction. She looked sidelong at Alltud. And thought again. Makamba was calling, but perhaps another visit to Alltud’s homeland wouldn’t go amiss. Despite all the recent bickering, parting company seemed like the worst of all options, even if they would have to retrace their steps northward across western Arben to Brocel, trying to remember who they had annoyed on the journey south. It was best faced together. She smiled to herself.

      A light kick from Alltud brought her back to the here and now where, somewhere on the far side of the refugee camp, there was a commotion. They looked at each other. It could be a lot of things. A fight between neighbours, drunks kicking up a fuss, some ritual awakening of a particularly religious group of refugees. They neither of them really thought so.

      Without a word, they gathered themselves and set off as inconspicuously as possible. A steady pace, no lurking, trying not to glance over their shoulders too often at the increasing noise behind them.

      ‘Sounds like they’ve had a chance to find where we went to ground,’ said Alltud as they slipped round a corner and ran downhill. ‘I wonder if that poor lad has finished washing himself yet.’

      ‘As long as we don’t have to go back and redo all those sheets.’

      ‘Well, I’m no expert, but I’d say that was the least of our worries, desert girl.’

      They had pulled up short. In the dim dawn light filtering through the dust they could see the way ahead was already occupied.

      Jeniche said a rude word. ‘They seem to have multiplied in the night.’

      Alltud sighed. ‘Here we go again.’

      The nearest alley was inviting, but they passed it up as too obvious. Instead, they ducked into the open doorway of a large house, ran through the ground floor startling a young lad in the kitchens before emerging into an alley at the rear.

      Left, right, left, they darted along the narrow passages. At one point someone made a grab at Alltud, pulling him off balance. He went down in a cloud of dust, but was on his feet again in an instant, his assailant’s head gripped under his arm.

      ‘No time for dancing,’ called Jeniche.

      Alltud left the man on the ground with a painful and bloody nose.

      ‘This is beginning to annoy me,’ he gasped when he caught up with Jeniche. ‘Perhaps we should just let them catch up and show them what we can do.’

      ‘Oh, can you imagine how far we’d get if real blood was spilled?’

      ‘I didn’t start it. Whatever it might be.’

      ‘They would surely finish it. Archers on the roof. The end.’

      ‘For sneaking out without paying? It all seems a bit drastic.’

      ‘Some people are like that.’

      Once again they pulled up short. The alley was almost wide enough to be called a street, but the two men ahead blocked it quite effectively. As they stepped closer one of them drew a sword. It was a clumsy move and one look at his face told them he’d never faced an opponent before. Alltud shook his head slowly and the man, barely more than a boy, turned to face him, lifting the point of his blade.

      The shing of Jeniche’s swords surprised the young man and he barely had time to change focus before his own sword lay in the dirt. His companion vanished.

      ‘Get home and wrap that wrist in a poultice. It’s only sprained. But a word of advice. Never draw a sword unless you mean to use it.’ She spoke kindly as she re-sheathed her blades, but the young man’s face whitened and they could hear him retching as they turned the corner.

      There was only one direction left to go and that, in itself, seemed ominous. It didn’t help that it led to a large and very deserted square.

      ‘If you were going to choose a place…?’ Alltud asked.

      Their pace slowed and faltered. In the centre they stopped. There were a number of ways in and out. The roofline was low. The ground was smooth and had been swept clean of dust.

      ‘This would be it,’ Jeniche replied. ‘Whichever way we try to exit we will find is blocked. There are no doubt archers up there.’

      ‘Would that lad have friends who knew one end of an arrow from the other?’

      Several men appeared at the far end. They were different to the ones who had been chasing them. These were well rested, all wearing the same plain livery, well armed, with calm faces.

      ‘I don’t think it’s his friends we have to contend with.’

      Behind them, others stepped out from alleys and doorways. They were surrounded.

      ‘Shit. Not like this. Not here.’

      They drew their swords.

       Chapter Four

      ‘Please. There is no need for that. Put up your kettle.’

      Taken aback, they surveyed their opponents, not one of whom had moved closer, let alone drawn a sword. The one who had spoken stepped forward, his hands out palm upwards.

      ‘I am sorry for the way this has gone,’ he continued. ‘The others… failed their instructions. They became… over-excited and were lucky you were so… kind, gentle.’

      Jeniche and Alltud gaped. They had expected him to speak Arbiq, the language of the area. Instead, the young man was speaking Makamban. Admittedly his accent was poor and his grasp of vocabulary left something to be desired.

      ‘Dhorisay,’ replied Jeniche, summoning her equally shaky Arbiq. ‘I think you meant dhorisay. That’s the Makamban for “swords”.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Dhorisoh means “kettle”.’

      The young man laughed. The others simply watched. Jeniche relaxed a little. Alltud let the tip of his sword rest on the ground.

      ‘They were simply meant to keep an eye out for you; report on where you had gone and keep me informed that I might, at the right time, approach you.’

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