Lorkin was glad that the slave master didn’t hang around to watch, but there were plenty of other slaves coming and going, some pausing to look at him and Tyvara. Thankfully, she did seem to know about packing carts, and had him wedge them together in a self-supporting arrangement. But there were a lot of bundles, and he’d had little sleep during the last few nights. Though he had healed away his weariness each time it started to impede him, it was coming back faster each time.
The bundles were all the same, yet somehow they grew heavier as he worked. He had to toss the last of them up to Tyvara, who was balancing at the top of the pile in the cart. Then he heard footsteps right behind him, jumped in surprise and threw one badly. Tyvara’s hands slipped and it dropped, bouncing off the side of the cart. Lorkin stepped backwards to catch it but instead stepped on something.
“Fool!” a familiar voice bellowed. A hand came out of nowhere and whacked Lorkin’s head, setting his ears ringing. He pressed a hand to his head and scrambled away. Figuring it would be more slave-like to stay crouched on the ground than to stand up, he hunched his back and waited.
“Don’t sit there and sulk. Pick it up and finish the job,” the slave master ordered.
Lorkin got to his feet and, bent double and avoiding looking at the man, ran to the last bundle and picked it up. He looked up at Tyvara. She was frowning with worry, but held out her hands to show she was ready. He tossed it and sighed with relief as she caught it and efficiently pressed it into place.
The slave master, apparently having forgiven Lorkin’s trampling of him, pressed ropes into his hands and helped them bind the piles of fleeces securely to the cart. When they were done he nodded in approval.
“I’ll send the kitchen boy out with food and blankets. You can sleep in the store. Be ready to leave early.”
And with that he turned and stalked away. As Lorkin watched the man leave, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. He resisted the temptation to look for the source. The courtyard was no longer lit by the glow of the late afternoon sky, and the shadows under the verandas were almost impenetrable. Pretending to examine his hands in the fading light, Lorkin looked beyond them and made out a female figure standing within a doorway. She was watching him and Tyvara with narrowed eyes.
“Ork,” Tyvara called. He turned to look at her. She was standing beside the cart. “Come help me straighten this up.”
He moved to her side. She was tugging at one of the bundles, which appeared to be perfectly positioned.
“My usual contact hasn’t appeared,” she murmured. “I didn’t see another door to the store. Let’s stay out here for now.”
“There was a woman watching us,” he told her. “Did you see her?”
She frowned and shook her head. The crunch of footsteps made her peer around the cart, and she smiled.
“Food!”
Lorkin followed her as she stepped out to meet the boy approaching them. His eyes widened, then he looked down quickly and held out two fist-sized bread buns, still steaming from the oven, and two mugs. The liquid inside the latter quivered as the boy’s hand shook.
Tyvara took the food, handing Lorkin his share. As soon as he was divested of his burden, the boy turned, ran back to a door and threw himself inside.
“He was terrified,” Lorkin murmured.
“Yes,” Tyvara agreed. “And he shouldn’t be.” She moved back toward the cart. “And he brought no blankets. Follow me.” Passing the cart, she headed for the store. Lorkin followed, taking care not to spill the contents of his mug. A single lamp now lit the room, throwing complicated shadows against the walls. Once inside, she took the mug and bun from him and set it aside, with hers, next to a bucket that smelled strongly of urine.
“We can’t eat them,” she told him as she began to examine the room. “They could be drugged.”
“Drugged?” he looked at the food. “They know who we are?”
“Possibly. Ah! Good. Come here.”
“But how could the news have travelled here that fast?” he asked, following her toward the far wall.
The look she gave him clearly showed she thought him an idiot for asking.
“Don’t Kyralians use blood rings?”
“Yes, but—”
“Even so, surely you know that travelling on horseback is faster than in a cart.”
“Well, yes …”
She rolled her eyes, then turned away and slipped behind some boxes filled with wax-stoppered pottery jars. As he followed, he saw a small doorway that had been fixed permanently closed with boards. She glanced at the lamp, then at the boxes of jars. Stepping back, she stared at the boxes. They began to move, swaying precariously as they slid forward to block the view of the doorway.
Then she turned to stare at the boards fixing the door closed, and they began to flex themselves away from the frame.
“Put out the lamp,” she ordered without taking her eyes off her work.
