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DUN FELT A FIRM POKE in his ribs from something blunt and woke with a start.
“We cannot stay here forever.” It was Amber.
Dun didn’t even realize he’d been asleep, or how long he’d been out for. He just knew he felt better, very much better.
“Here,” Amber said, poking something warm into his hands. “You are not the only one who steals.”
Dun felt a comment rise in his throat but thought better of it. It was the first warm food he had eaten since they were about to be executed, and it tasted fantastic. Some kind of spiced nuts ground up into nearly a paste and wrapped in a leaf. It was a satisfying combination of sweet and slightly bitter, and the spices warmed him as it went down. He could hear similar noises of satisfaction from the others in the bolt-hole and smiled to himself. As he finished, he put his hand back into his pocket to feel for a rag to wipe the sweet grease from his hands. Instead, he found the totem nestling warm against his leg. It was odd to find the thing comforted him, as much as it unnerved him. And that was before he answered all those nagging questions about it. The shape of it, the odd one-half textured, one-half smooth, feel of the thing. He knew it, somehow.
“Come,” Amber said from the end of the room nearest the exit. “The noises of searching have died down now. We must leave.”
There was surprisingly little noise of bustle coming from the cavern outside. Dun figured it must be sleep-cycle.
Amber marshaled everyone in the corridor. “Ready?”
One noise each from the Bridge-folk was enough, and Amber slid the grating free and edged out.
She paused briefly then, said, “Okay. Clear. Come.”
They followed out as quickly and quietly as squeezing would allow. Amber grabbed Dun’s hand, and they quickly formed a chain with Tali bringing up the rear. The route through the sleeping market that Amber picked took the folk through a trail of fading aromas. The smells stranded together in Dun’s mind. He thought of the weavers in the village, taking different textured fibers in their great peg looms to make beautiful rugs, to go underfoot in special places. This place was certainly special but too dangerous to enjoy now. An impatient pull on Dun’s wrist from Amber snapped him back to the present.
“Come.”
“Wait,” Tali’s voice came hushed but urgent from the back of the snake of hands. She pulled Padg and so jerked all the others to a stop.
“Listen, above us.”
When they stood, stopping even breathing, the hissed voices over their heads carried enough to be audible.
“...still not apprehended! They are only Bridge-folk: a simple people. Why can we not find them?”
“We have all our guards searching now. We have called on volunteers from the common-folk too; traders and the like.”
“It is not good enough. They must be found. You all know what is at stake.”
“We cannot be sure how much they know.”
“Why else would they be here?”
“Accident?”
“I am no great believer in accident.”
“ Truly spies then?”
“Yes,” the voice said impatiently. “But from whom? I always believed the Bridge-folk to be too naive.”
“You think them not to be Bridge-folk?”
“I think merely we should inform our allies that we may all be being observed.”
“Impossible, how could anyone know? The Ri—”
“Silence!”
“I merely...”
“Quiet! I can hear something. Below us...”
“Run!” Amber hissed.
They did. Still holding onto her hand, they ran zigzag through the stalls. And all the time, through their panted breathing they could hear the gathering calls and voices of militia and soldiers closing. When the calls became shouts they knew they were surrounded.
“We were so close to the gates.” Amber tried to keep the tone of desperation from her voice.
“Now we shall find who these spies are and what they are really doing here!” Skarn shouted.
“Well, that would really spoil my fun,” Myrch said. His voice so close; he was as close as the guards.
Then came a low concussion wave and everyone was knocked flat, ears ringing. Dun felt his arm being roughly dragged and followed where it went, too dazed to do otherwise. He was pushed down to some wide steps and fighting to keep his balance, was encouraged down. He was starting to get enough wits to use his air-sense around him. Tali and Padg were above him on the steps, below them all, some kind of water. There was another loud explosion from the top of the stairs and they continued down hastily. At the bottom of the staircase was the river, quite deep, wide and fast there and moored at the bottom of the stairs bobbed some kind of crude raft, made from found things. It smelled of rusted steel and thermo-plastic. Dun felt someone hurry down the stairs behind them.
“Get on!” Myrch shouted. They climbed awkwardly on, Dun getting feet wet in the process. The raft lurched as some kind of tie was hastily cut and the flow carried them away.
“Well,” said Myrch, “did you miss me?”
“Where the hell have you been?” Tali shouted.
“I’ll take that as a no then.”
“You can adapt amazingly quickly to extraordinary conditions, if you have to. Maybe they’re not that extraordinary. Maybe they’re just ordinary, transposed, shifted sideways somehow.”
Excerpts from <Distress Beacon SN-1853001>. Found by E.S.V. Vixen Terradate: 26102225.
