Anrel was not entirely surprised, upon reaching the city’s northeastern gate, to discover that the portcullis had been lowered, and the guards were questioning all travelers before allowing them in or out through the narrow postern. Had his little speech gone as he had expected, and resulted in little more than gossip and a few shouted insults, Anrel doubted that anyone would have bothered with such measures. Since he had apparently started a good-sized riot, though, the magistrates were taking matters more seriously.
This did complicate his situation. If he tried to walk out, even giving a false name and fabricated background, they would almost certainly see that he matched the description of the rabble-rousing speaker—brown velvet coat, fawn breeches, broad-brimmed hat. He needed to change his appearance, or find another way out.
Discarding his hat would be simple enough, though he hated to lose it—it was a good hat. The coat and breeches would be more difficult to disguise; a man without a coat would stand out even more than one in brown velvet.
Better, then, if he could find another way out of the town.
That woman who had shown him the back way out of Aulix Square—might she know a way out of Naith? Or might someone be able to provide him with a change of clothing?
In Lume he would have known where to go; there was a row of shops in the Catseye district, just outside the Pensioners’ Quarter, where the merchants were known for their discretion. They would sell the same item, whether a frock coat or a letter of introduction or a sound dagger, for either of two prices—a low one for those who could afford nothing more, or a much higher one that would come with the certainty that they would tell neither the city watch nor the Emperor’s Watch anything, should they be questioned. While these businesses dealt primarily with Lume’s more unsavory inhabitants, students sometimes had reason to shop there, as well, and Anrel had on occasion seen one nobleman or another, usually wrapped in a cloak and with his hat pulled down, hurrying along that block.
Anrel supposed that Naith must have something similar, but he had no idea where it might be.
One of the guards at the gate was looking at him, and Anrel realized he had been standing in the same place, staring at the postern, for a minute or so. He waved, and turned away.
He was a good half mile from Aulix Square, but he could still hear the shouting of many voices—the disturbance was continuing, and had perhaps even spread. He had not anticipated that. He had expected a few people to argue with the watchmen, perhaps, but no more. He had thought anyone who took his words seriously would digest them, then go peaceably about their business until the election.
A full-fledged riot had come as a complete surprise.
As the noise continued, he found it more distressing. Yes, he wanted his words—or Valin’s words—to be remembered, but if this went on people would be hurt, property destroyed, to no purpose. He did not want that.
He was not sure what he did want. He did not really think that the empire would be improved if the sorcerers lost their exclusive hold on power; the injustices and abuses of authority came about because the rulers were human, not because they were sorcerers. He had made his speech to give voice to his dead friend’s beliefs, not his own. He did not really care who was elected or appointed to the Grand Council, or what they might do once the council met, but Valin had cared, or at least had claimed to.
Lord Allutar had cared enough to silence Valin permanently. Anrel had done his best to ensure that did the landgrave no good, and in so doing had, beyond any reasonable doubt, branded himself a criminal. Despite the false name he had used, he knew he had not gone unrecognized. Even if Lord Neriam had somehow failed to identify him, which seemed vanishingly unlikely, or if the magistrate took a blow to the head in the rioting that knocked Anrel’s name from his lips, many of Valin’s friends had seen Anrel and heard that name in the wine garden a few days before, and many of them had undoubtedly been in the square today, listening to Alvos.
He had expected that when he planned his little adventure, of course. He had thought they might keep the information to themselves, out of sympathy to Valin’s cause, but that was when he assumed he was just someone making a foolish speech. Now that he was the instigator of a riot, a preacher of sedition, it seemed likely that someone would inform the authorities of his actual identity.
Until he knew more of what was being said and done he did not dare go home to Alzur, nor could he stay in Naith. He had to get out of the city somehow, and then get well away as quickly as he could—probably out of the province. Lord Allutar could not very well pursue him into Kerdery or Demerren. If he could remain free for a few days, until the initial excitement had passed, he thought he would be able to manage a quiet return to his uncle’s home, but first he had to survive those few days.
Now that he took a moment to think, he knew where he should go. His most sensible destination was Lume. It was the only place in the empire he knew well enough to hide in effectively, and in that seething mass of humanity, who would notice one more face? He could presume upon the hospitality of some of his friends in the student courts and write Lord Dorias a letter to let his uncle know he was well. If he could find some way to receive a message, Uncle Dorias could tell him when it was safe to go home.
Or it might not be necessary to go so far as Lume; perhaps a few miles up the road he might find a refuge that would shelter him until the furor subsided. He could stop at an inn, and talk to a few travelers; he had more than enough money in his purse to cover his expenses for several days. If Naith calmed quickly he could return without going all the way to Lume.
But first he had to get out of Naith. Trying to hide here, where he knew only a handful of people and none of them well, was foolish. He had no idea how thorough the city watch might be in trying to find the man who had incited the riots, but their efforts might well be more thorough than he could elude.
Getting out of the city undetected, however, presented a challenge. None of the five gates was likely to serve—if this one was closed and guarded, they presumably all were. Still, while Naith was a big enough town to have a real city wall, unlike Alzur’s symbolic iron pale, that wall was relatively small, nothing like the massive and magnificent ramparts surrounding Lume. Anrel thought there should be some way out of the city other than through the gates.
The obvious possibility was the canal. Naith was built on hills, not on a river, but there was a barge canal two or three miles long that stepped its way down the hillside and linked the city to the Raish River, near where the Raish flowed into the Galdin. Anrel had only seen the canal from a distance, but he knew it existed, and that barges unloaded inside the city walls. That meant there had to be a way for those barges to pass in and out.
He took a moment to orient himself, estimating where the confluence of the Raish and Galdin would be, and where the canal would presumably be. Then he turned and began making his way in that direction, wishing he knew the winding streets better.
Half an hour later he stood on the canal wall below the city ramparts, looking down at the water gate. Dodging watchmen had delayed him, and he had made a few wrong turns, but he had eventually found it.
The gate was well below street level; there were three locks, each with its elaborate framework of doors and spillways, one after another, between the basin where barges unloaded and the city wall. Altogether the three locks dropped barges a good thirty feet, perhaps more, below the surrounding surface; the water gate through which the canal passed was not really a gate so much as a tunnel through the city wall. This steep descent was necessary because the city stood well above the surrounding terrain; while the walls were perhaps fifteen or twenty feet high on the inside, the exterior of this portion was a sheer drop of at least fifty. That height required a thick, solid structure to support it, and a barrier that thick required a tunnel.
There was no way Anrel could see to climb down to the tunnel, nor was there any towpath to walk on. He supposed one might dive into the canal, and then swim out—if one knew how to make so long a dive safely, and could swim well enough, which Anrel did not and could not. He could swim after a fashion, but making his way through that tunnel, especially fully dressed, was not something he cared to attempt.
But if he could get onto a barge . . .
The hard part would be getting a barge crew to cooperate. He knew a sorcerer could have compelled obedience with a simple spell, and even made the bargemen forget afterward that he had ever been there, but Anrel was no sorcerer. His unsuccessful attempt to save Valin’s life had been the first time he had tried to use magic since he had failed the trial when he was twelve, and had shown him anew the limits of his ability. Yes, he could sense magic and draw the energy into himself from either earth or sky, despite the lies he had told everyone after his parents died, but he could not use it. He was utterly untrained, and had no idea how he might go about ensorceling anyone.
Under other circumstances he might have also worried about the fact that for any Walasian whose true name was not duly recorded on the Great List to use magic constituted the crime of witchcraft, which carried a death penalty. Having overheard some of the watchmen he avoided while looking for the canal, though, he suspected he was already facing execution for sedition should the city watch catch him, and if so, then committing witchcraft could hardly make matters worse.
He was not entirely sure just how he had come to this. He had given a speech to honor Valin’s memory and frustrate his killer, and this had transformed him into a wanted criminal—and not wanted for some paltry indiscretion, but for sedition and incitement to riot.
But it had been mere words! He had done no harm to anyone. He had not even told his listeners to harm anyone. He had simply delivered aloud the same sort of idealistic nonsense Valin and his friends had spoken across their table in the wine garden.
Apparently Valin had not been the only one who took all this far too seriously.
However it had come about, it had happened, and he needed to get out of Naith, and those barges looked like his best means of egress.
Money might compel the cooperation of a barge crew, but Anrel’s funds were limited. His only income, since childhood, had been the allowance Lord Dorias granted him, and while he had saved up almost a hundred guilders, and had been bright enough to bring it all with him, that was all he had, with no prospects for obtaining more. Using it to bribe a bargeman—well, it might be worth trying as a last resort.
A threat might be more effective. He frowned. He was of only average size, not a violent man, nor particularly skilled with weapons, but he was young and strong. He had a dagger in his boot, an inheritance from his father, to defend himself in an emergency; he carried nothing else in the way of arms. He was not one of the swaggering dandies of Lume who paraded through the streets with swords on their hips; he had been a mere scholar, so that even the dagger was unusual, as the more customary weapon for students at the court schools was a cosh, a little bag of lead suitable for cracking an assailant over the head. Anrel had just enough family pride to have kept his father’s dagger instead.
A dagger would be better than a cosh for intimidating bargemen, but not by much. He needed a sword, or a small crossbow, or perhaps one of those newfangled hand-cannons with which the Emperor’s Watch was rumored to be experimenting.
Or perhaps, he thought, he was being too pessimistic. Perhaps he could hide on a barge, unknown to the crew. The vessels were simple and not overlarge, but there might be spaces in among the cargo where he could conceal himself.
He turned his steps toward the basin and docks at the head of the canal, and realized as he did that he could still hear fighting, off toward the center of town. Uncomfortably, he wondered what he had done. It couldn’t have just been his words that provoked so sustained a reaction; Naith must have been brimming with anger and sedition beforehand.
He should have guessed that, he told himself. He had seen the crowd that gathered around Lord Valin. He had heard the conversations in the wine garden. He had encountered those people with their planned escape routes out of Aulix Square, ready for his use.
For that matter, Valin’s wild ideas had not come out of nowhere; in the four years that Anrel was in Lume Valin had gone from mild discontent and wistful idealism to passionate, radical pop u lism, and it had apparently been his frequent visits to Naith that had brought about this transformation. The city must have been a tinderbox, ready to burst into flame.
And Anrel had provided the spark that set it ablaze, triggering an uprising that the city watch had not yet entirely suppressed.
It occurred to him that a good many watchmen must be employed in guarding the gates, rather than trying to put down the riot; he wondered whose decision that was, and whether it was a wise one.
Then he came within sight of the docks around the basin, and discovered that there were several watchmen here, too, keeping an eye on the activity. How many men, he wondered, were in Naith’s city watch? Where did the burgrave find the money to pay them all? Why did he think he needed them?
No wonder the citizens of Naith felt themselves ill-used, to be taxed heavily enough to fund such a force.
Anrel did not allow himself to hesitate at the sight of uniforms; that would have drawn their attention immediately. Instead he ambled on toward the docks, where several sturdy wooden cranes were hoisting bundles out of a line of barges. He came to a bridge across the canal, just above the highest lock, and walked up onto it, then turned and leaned upon the rail.
A guardsman glanced up at him, then turned his attention back to the barges.
Anrel watched for a few minutes, taking in the situation. The head of the canal was a modest basin, about as wide as four barges side by side, and long enough for three to pull up to either side. Three sides of the basin were straight, and low enough for people to climb easily in and out of the barges, while the fourth tapered into the top lock, ending just at Anrel’s feet, and was somewhat higher. The surrounding streets and lots were higher, as well. The cranes were mounted on these higher surfaces, but their arms were long enough to reach out over the basin. There were several other structures and mechanisms here, most of which Anrel did not recognize; the whole thing was a triumph of modern imperial engineering.
At the moment there were four barges in sight, two on each side of the basin, and four of the six cranes were in use, heaving the cargo up from the barges, then swinging around to deposit the bales or bundles on the surrounding pavement. Each crane seemed to have a crew of four, hauling on various ropes and levers, while each barge held anywhere from two men to half a dozen.
Eight or nine watchmen strolled around, watching the laborers but doing nothing to help. A few other people stood about, as well, talking or watching or dealing with their own business; some of these appeared to be merchants, presumably the owners of the arriving or departing cargoes.
No one paid any attention to Anrel. The guards seemed to be focused entirely on the barges, and Anrel guessed that they were there to make sure no one left the city by barge other than the legitimate crews of those barges.
One of the barges had been completely emptied now, and men were shouting orders back and forth. Anrel watched with interest as cargo began to be loaded; he had not realized that the barges carried finished goods from the town’s workshops out, as well as bringing food and fuel and raw materials in. This particular barge was receiving roll after roll of fabric, presumably the products of the city’s weavers. He wondered where it was bound.
He also wondered just how much room there was inside one of those big rolls. That might be his way out. The fabric seemed to have been hauled out of a warehouse just across a broad pavement from the docks. Anrel straightened up and began walking again, toward that warehouse.
No one paid him any attention at first, but when he reached the warehouse door he found a man standing guard—not a watchman, but a big man in a black broadcloth coat, holding a good-sized bludgeon. Presumably the owner of the goods being loaded on the barge was concerned about the possibility of theft.
This fellow watched Anrel approach, and nodded to him as he drew near. Anrel nodded in return, and kept walking; asking any questions would draw unwanted attention. He did glance into the warehouse as he went past, though.
There were several people in there; it wouldn’t be practical to wrap himself up in one of the bolts of cloth.
He heard shouting—not the distant sound of the brawl in and around Aulix Square, but something calmer and closer at hand. He turned to see one of the barges, fully loaded, pushing off. The shouting was instructions from the tillerman to the other members of the crew, who were propelling the barge with long poles that ended in big leather pads. They pressed the pads against the walls of the canal, then pushed, driving the barge out and forward.
Anrel watched with interest. While most of the bargemen stood along the left-hand side—port, was it?—one man was waiting in the starboard bow, his pole ready to fend off when they came within reach of the far side.
His leather pad thumped against the wall, and the prow of the barge swung back to port, aiming directly into the uppermost lock. Anrel watched as it slid into place, the bargemen quickly repositioning themselves to keep the barge from bumping into the sides of the lock, or the downstream gates.
Four of the men who had been loading cargo were now up on the walls of the lock, two on each side; they leaned against the massive wooden beams that were mounted to the upstream gates, heaving them closed.
The huge wooden doors thumped together, closing the lock off from the basin; then one of the men on each side ran to the downstream end of the lock, and each of them threw his weight onto a rope, pulling up the hatches on the spillways. Water began to drain from the lock, lowering the barge. In just a moment, far faster than Anrel had expected, the barge and its crew were entirely out of sight of everyone except the four lockkeepers.
Those four, however, were watching the descent, moving slowly into position to open the downstream gates. If Anrel were to get onto a barge he would need to hide; those lockkeepers would see him if he stood there with a sword at someone’s throat, and could simply refuse to open the gates.
The four of them began heaving at the second set of gates, opening it to allow the barge into the second lock. As they did one of the watchmen came strolling up onto the lock wall, peering down into the lock.
No, threats were not going to work.
“Excuse me, sir,” one of the lockkeepers said. The watchman’s foot was in the path of the huge lever that worked the gate on that side.
The watchman glanced at the lockkeeper and stepped aside, allowing the gate to be swung open, but it was notably out of time with its mate by then. Anrel didn’t suppose it really mattered, but it seemed less elegant to have the doors so uncoordinated.
He heard the thump of leather on stone as the bargemen began poling their craft forward into the second lock. A moment later the lockkeepers had come around to the other side of the levers, ready to close the doors—or rather, three of them had; the watchman was in the fourth man’s way, and in no hurry to move.
Anrel half expected the lockkeeper to say something rude, but he did not; his manner was deferential as he said, “Pardon me, sir.” The watchman glanced at him as Anrel might glance at a rat in the gutter, then moved out of the way.
That disdainful glance gave Anrel an idea. He was accustomed to keeping company with the nobility, to whom watchmen were just another category of servant, or with students, for whom watchmen were a despised nuisance. The workingmen of Naith, however, seemed to consider the city watch their betters. That automatic deference was something he could use.
Anrel turned and walked away, doing his best to look casual.