Things begin to fall into place

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Disclaimer:

The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended.
This story is copyright © 2020 Julia Phillips. All rights reserved.

It uses some of the associated characters and situations that arise from the world called ‘Anmar’ created by Penny Lane, whose stories
are also copyright © 2010 - 2020 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

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A fresh dawn brought another day. High scudding clouds were passing, driven by a brisk breeze. The air was yet cold after the night.

… … …

Orlet’s heart sank as she began to understand the full extent of everything she was going to have to do. These people with whom she would now have to spend her life, no matter how different it might be from that which she knew previously, were very serious.

She could die if she was found out.

And here in this family, in this town, in this nation, in this very day and age, she couldn’t even get dressed without help!

She would have to rely on her inner strength, on the pride she could garner from her family history.

And shove to the back of her mind questions like: Where am I? How did I get here? What are the rules of behaviour here? What…

“Now, now, Orlet. No daydreaming. You’ve only just risen from your bed. And we haven’t really begun to scratch the surface of what we are going to have to do. Of course, your health has priority, but we must also assess what you must learn in order to become invisible in the role we have all agreed.

“Let us start with a light breakfast.”

… … ...

Brid woke on that next morning feeling fully refreshed. He had not been attacked in his sleep by the missing Kalvo, about which he had been certain before his head had hit the pillow. He went to do his ablutions and returned to his little mansard room, his home for these past few months; he looked around, studying it.

“Today, possibly - tomorrow, probably – day after, mayhap,” he thought as he started packing up his belongings into his kitbags. He left out a change of clothes for today, just in case, and another for the morning. His washkit was left neatly to hand. Today was the day the bedclothes were usually changed so he made the bed with a military precision and left the fresh bedsheet on the top.

Dressed, groomed and mentally prepared, Brid strapped on his sword, picked up his other weapons, his notebook and writing implements, picked up his helmet last of all. He stiffened his back, sucked his stomach in and puffed his chest out. Let the day begin. He marched down the stairs.

He turned right out of his door and headed for the fiveway junction at the centre of his patrol area. He was due to meet Marsel there in a hand of moments.

He had barely gone ten strides when ‘his’ first local appeared. Wallis shuffled down the street towards him, muttering away as was his wont. The two men nodded as they acknowledged each other. As they crossed, Wallis muttered something that sounded to Brid like “Job one”, so Brid simply replied: “Enjoy it then.” They passed a stride apart. Brid vaguely wondered just how many jobs Wallis had.

“Good morn, Brid,” called Marsel as soon as his senior colleague came into sight.

… … …

“Good freshness, young Frang,” called Oggar from where he was fetching a camp-pan of water from the river.

“Errrrm. Good morn to you, Oggar,” replied a puzzled Frang who had been creeping about for the past quarter, maybe even half, bell since the skies had lightened; he had not wanted to wake the older man. After their chats last night, Frang knew he could not be so rude as to depart without taking his leave. But he had rolled up his blanket and stowed it aboard already.

“Oh aye,” laughed Oggar. “’Tis our way here in Faralmark of starting the day. We are wishing one or more things: for example, that our correspondent shakes off the glooms of the night, enjoys the start of yet another day, does not have a boring existence, finds some novelty in what they are about to do, gets a whiff of some fresh flowers, or a freshet of cooling rain after a hot night and so on and so on and so on.”

“I like it,” said Frang. “Good freshness,” he practised, moving his lips and mouth as though tasting the words.

Frang had enjoyed the last evening, enjoyed being able to actually relax with another human and speak his heart. His suspicions had early on been suppressed and the two men struck up a firm friendship. Frang told him the entire story and actually took a little pride from Oggar’s whistles of amazement, and his quite frequent congratulations.

Oggar also gave him some valuable information and even suggested a place in which to rest up for the following night that would be both safe and deserted. As far as he was aware, only four people knew about it, and the other three had left to take some goods upstream.

“… and when you get to Bibek, I know just the place you can moor your craft and leave it safe whilst you complete your mission on foot. As you approach Bibek, which will be on your right being as how ’tis a Left Bank town, you will see at the far end of the town the influx of another large river, which is the Faral. As soon as you can see up that, keep a look out on the right for a quiet lagoon which is situated at what will be the near end of the buildings. It will be deserted. They are the first buildings of the town, the downrivermost ones.

“That lagoon has three boathouses in it, each belonging to one of three companies that are all in trouble due to those wretched Yodans and their war-hunger. As you enter the lagoon, then the right hand one belongs to the largest of the three companies and you should be able to make out the name ‘Yussuf’ above the double doors. That one looks the best of the three from outside. The next one, the middle one, belongs to my cousin. Tie up on the left of the building, go round the back and hanging on a hook on the building side of the sixth step is the key. Let yourself in, open the water doors, and pull your craft in. Just lock up and leave the key in the place you found it when you leave.”

After a quick bite together and a mug of pel, Frang was ready to leave their mutual temporary home and Oggar urged him to do so, saying: “Off you go, young lad. Best of luck in your mission. If you leave now, stay tight to this shore all the way round the large bend that will leave you pointing in the opposite direction to this one. Today’s wind will then speed you up the next stretch of the river. Once you get to the bend that takes you a quarter way round a circle to the left, then my rest spot will appear after a further bell on the right. Remember, look for the three tall ozal trees atop the brush, next to a bare trunk covered with white avian droppings. Slide in there and you shall find near-slack water, a gentle beach and a safe haven. And firewood. Now off you go, before the wind gets too hard to go against easily.”

A brief handshake, a sketched salute, and Frang was waterborne once more. Saddened at leaving a friend even though he had known him less than a day.

… …. …

“Right then, Orlet. Whilst we do the exercises to help your right shoulder which is still very weak, run through your family names once more.”

Sigh. “Must I?”

“The exercises or the family?”

“Both”.

“Yes,” said Chara firmly. “And this afternoon, we must walk the streets and show you to the Yodans. Establish your presence here. Become part of the furniture of this district, if you like.”

Another sigh. “I know it makes sense, and I know you all said this would be hard work, but I have had scarce three bells sleep with all that I have discovered, that you have revealed. Surely it can wait a day.”

“No-one can say what will happen in a day and a night. You need far more training as you found out earlier this morn. Remember, you have a long way to go to be convincing in all respects as you are going to have to be. Mama will have to sew some more dark hairs into another headcloth so all will be persuaded that you have another hair colour than is yours naturally. ’Twould be suspicious if you always had the same headscarf on. Both these headscarves shall have the same coloured hair of course – as will any others we fashion for you. You must appear as a typical local woman whenever you go outside. Which is why we must needs have at least three more dresses for you as well.”

“These dresses are impossible to put on alone; now that I am mostly recovered, at least in my mind, what are we going to do when I have to change?”

“I shall continue to help you, and you shall help me likewise.”

“But ...”

“Oh tush! I know you said things were different where you grew up, but just who do you think has been washing you down there ever since you arrived in your coma? And if you are truly going to be a girl based in this community, then you shall have need to see my, and possibly other women’s breasts ... nether regions even. You must become accustomed to such normal womanly behaviour, normal that is here in the Great Valley. We explained all this last night, even while explaining your … appendages … on your chest and your bottom. Now stop finding groundless objections and start relating our family tree while raising your right arm up sidewards.”

… … …

“Halt right there, you! Stand by the wall, hands raised.” Brid’s voice rang out.

Brid turned to Marsel. “Keep watch behind me while I check out this fellow’s pockets. That collision with the old lady there looked suspicious to me. I wager he has stolen her coin.”

Marsel drew his sword and held it somewhat nervously as he guarded the entrance to another narrow alleyway in which the encounter was taking place. A few strides behind him, the apprehended youth muttered away viciously about false arrest, and pox-ridden Yodans and the like. Just a lot of noise that Marsel had swiftly learnt to ignore; he already knew to just let it wash over him. Although this one had a particularly irritating whine.

This was at least the tenth suspected arrest the pair of them had made yesterday and today. Some of these stoppages seemed to Marsel to be a little harsh, but then Brid himself sometimes displayed a harsh side to his nature. Marsel grinned as Brid growled back to the youth, knowing that the youth would be terrified into silence very soon.

And so it transpired.

After this arrest, though, Marsel noticed an indefinable change in Brid’s manner. He seemed just a little less careworn somehow, though Marsel couldn’t quantify it in any way. He didn’t worry at it though, for he listened intently as he picked up yet more pearls of wisdom from Brid, filing it all away to ponder over later, to fit it all together, to become an efficient patrolman like his mentor.

The two had, of course, talked together as the duty wore on. Yesterday, Marsel had started by querying everything that Brid had done “… so I can become efficient at this unwanted task. Why did you just go over and inspect the corner of the wall there?”

“Unwanted task? Are you saying you would rather not be out in the fresh air, driving me to despair with your incessant questions?” But Marsel saw him half grin and knew he wasn’t really serious.

“I would much rather be back at home, studying and tilling my father’s fields, and driving my mother to despair with my incessant questions. But I was conscripted and dragged up here, to trail round a foreign town with a grumbly old curmudgeon.”

Brid very nearly laughed out loud at that response.

But then he had turned serious: “So you are really a reluctant recruit?”

With open honesty, Marsel replied: “Indeed so. My father was dragged off the Maker only knows where. We haven’t had a word from him, nor from the authorities. My mother and two sisters are now all that are left to run the farm. They feel very bitter. Doubly so now I too have been dragged off.”

“What about your neighbours?”

“’Tis the same with them.” He dropped his voice and, glancing round, he told Brid: “It wouldn’t surprise me if the entire district rose up in protest and kicked out the administrators and their strongarm men. They just take a large section of any profits and ...” here his voice turned bitter “… rape whichever girl they fancy that day.”

That seemed to put the young man into a black mood, so Brid had dropped the conversation promptly.

Today, Brid was glad the younger man had regained his usual almost cheerful mood.

As for Marsel, he noticed a sort of brooding tension sitting on the district that day, but couldn’t say, due to inexperience, if this was normal and he was just getting used to things as they went on around here.

They found their way to the riverside and stood for a while watching the river, leaning on the railings strung along the outer edge of the wall that loomed above the wooden walkway that served the dozen or so small fishing boats tethered down there. Marsel learned that the wooden walkway was called a pontoon.

“Why is this roadway so far above the pontoon?” he asked aloud. “It must be about ten strides to drop down there.”

“You exaggerate, young Marsel. Surely not as many as ten. As for why, then the Rains come each year and the river shall rise those several strides. In that season, the pontoon shall be banging about roughly where our knees are now. Look around you, observe the watermarks on the buildings around here. See that this roadway is atop a selection of stilts. The entire town has been built above the flood level, which is why we have these steep slopes up to where the majority of the buildings are. Normally ’tis distance that protects towns from the floods, but here, originally, there was a string of substantial dunes. So they dropped deep wooden stilts into the dunes, created areas they filled with stones and rocks – and look there, they even used bricks – from the side valleys, to prevent the dunes being washed away. They ended with a huge mound as solid as if it were a rock. Then they built a town atop it.”

“But how do you know that?” asked Marsel.

“The evidence is before my eyes,” shrugged Brid.

Marsel looked around, opened his mouth to query that statement, then decided to try to work it out himself. His concentration was deep on that task when he was jerked back into the present by a strange, almost vicious, laugh from his partner.

Two other men were leaning there too but they had edged gradually further away from the patrolmen. Marsel thought he recognised them but he knew this edging away was because they didn’t want to be seen to be associating with the enemy. Brid made that laugh suddenly, then grinned to his partner. He swapped sides round Marsel, bringing Brid nearer the men. Who promptly shuffled more obviously away. Marsel nearly laughed aloud as the scene developed with much so obviously ‘said’ and yet not a word had been exchanged.

Marsel’s attention then focussed upon one of the tethered craft for it was plainly equipped differently to the others. So he asked if Brid knew why.

“Indeed I do,” came the unhesitating reply. “I was, before being conscripted, a catcher of brakkis. And, though it should not be me who says so, I was very good at it. That boat there is equipped for brakkycatching, all the others are equipped for fishing.”

“I have heard that a brakky is a one of the tastier things that can be found in the river.”

“Not just in the river. Most do but some brakkis live under the surface of the rivershore sands. There is even a variety that builds its home in the mud!”

“I also hear that they have a hard shell on their backs.”

“That they do. Especially hard near the back end, where they grow their babies. They have six legs, the front two of which are used much as we use our arms, except they have pincers there rather than our fingers. The other four legs keep their balance and enable them to shoot forward and backwards quite quickly, but going sideways is tricky for them.” His voice seemed to grow a little louder as he turned once more to the row of boats moored there. “Yes, of all the boats here, the only one I would consider would be the brakkyboat.”

… … …

Frang was pleased with his boat. Proud of it even. And secretly amazed and suspicious of it. He had built bits of it at home. Put those bits together to make bigger bits. Carried them in secret to a remote cave. Put those bigger bits together to make a whole.

And here he was, sailing on the wings of a benign wind, many, many marks away from where the craft was launched.

And with important messages for well-known people, messages that he knew might affect happenings all around.

Is this all really real?

He leant back and enjoyed the afternoon sunshine.

… … …

“Straighten your back, that’s right. Raise your chin slightly. Now turn just your head to the right. Lay your right hand on its back in your lap. Excellent. Stretch those muscles and sinews. VERY good.”

Orlet wanted nothing more than to stop all this torture, but had to admit she needed to regain some of her muscle tone. She suppressed a sigh as she heard the bells announce that there was still a half bell until their supper. Chara was cooking that for them tonight, whilst Eginet was acting as her torturer.

“Relax for a moment, recite the family names and relationships, then tell me what you did as a little girl growing up in my sister’s household.”

Orlet rolled her eyes but complied, stumbling over only a very few of the made-up details.

“Very good. Now we have to wash our hands for our supper. Let us combine that with something else your muscles need to learn some more. Put your feet together, ankles together, knees together. Thank you. Now the next bit might be awkward for your poor shoulder but try anyway. Lean slightly forward and just sweep upwards onto your feet. As you go up, slide your hands down your bottom, just like you are smoothing your skirts down. Do it as far downwards as that shoulder will allow.”

Orlet was more than a little strained at first.

“Oh dear, that was rather awkward. Try to be a little more elegant when you do it again this time. You may be injured but you are still a lady. I want lady-like in everything you do, even if in pain. You have some rapid growing-up to do young lady.”

It took four tries before Eginet relaxed and allowed her to rest. Her shoulder was aching tremendously from such a simple exercise; it was scarce believable.

Just then the door opened and Berm came in. It had been a shock to Orlet when Berm and his brother had been revealed as part of the ‘deception committee’ as she thought of it. For several reasons.

Mayhap one of the biggest ones was that he was married to Eginet.

And then that BOTH brothers were in no way simpletons; that was THEIR deception constructed for the unwelcome presence of the overlords. The two men were both intelligent and decisive. And they were almost telepathic, the one often finishing the other’s sentences.

The entire deception committee had all sworn their oaths, so Orlet had done so as well. She was now absolutely committed to learning everything she would need to to project a believable and consistent image as a young female member of this family. No-one would from now on refer to her other than by the name Orlet.

And she had a full and demanding set of physical exercises to do as well.

AND learn a full family background of which she had had no idea a week ago.

Plus all the rest.

Her head was spinning when she eventually lay back and laid it on her pillow.

… … ...

As was Brid’s head when he too allowed his pillow to cushion it that night. He had gathered certain information during his rounds that day and needed to make a decision. It was a decision that was not going to be easy to arrive at.

When they had signed off for the day, Marsel declared he would go carousing with some of the other patrolmen of his age. Brid was left haunting the barracks. He casually wandered down towards the officers’ rooms when he overheard something that made him think furiously.

His head invented ever more complex solutions; so much so that he wondered if he would ever get any sleep that night. And yet he knew he needed to sleep. He would need to be as strong as possible in the next day or two.

Still he fretted.

… … …

Frang had no such problems. Oggar’s descriptions had been spot on. The weather had been exactly as predicted. The resting spot was precisely where and as described. He could have gone on a bit further, the light would have indeed permitted it, but he decided against risking another unresearched landing in the dusk or even dark; particularly as Oggar had promised him ’twould be an easy day’s journey from here to his desired destination in Bibek. Conscious of normal waterwayfolk habits, he made sure to leave a supply of cut wood ready for the next traveller to use.

The night had been comfortable, so much so that he vowed to return sometime. Sometime when the pressures on him were not quite so great.

… … …

The dawn broke, the sun reflected off the mountain tops, some of which were visible – just – above the Great Valley walls.

… … ...

As he sailed further upriver first thing that next morning, Frang realised that he looked forward to resting once more in a town and wondered what sort of accommodation his meagre supply of coin might afford him. He was aware that it might take a while there to actually arrange a meeting with the person he needed to see.

But he was enjoying himself which still felt wrong somehow.

He aimed to pull into the lagoon Oggar had told him about just about dusk, hoping that there would not be too many people around to wonder why a Pakmali craft was pulling in there. By doing so at dusk, he would be able to claim that he was getting desperate due to the failing light.

… … …

Brid’s morning routine was the same as yesterday’s. Just the thought that it would be all happening on the morrow now was uppermost in his mind as he prepared for this day. He found himself warming to his new partner, something he could never have done with his last one.

Is that contrast making young Marsel seem nicer than he actually is? What can I show him today to keep him out of trouble or is this the day the whole thing collapses on us?

He shrugged his thoughts back into his head and set out for yet another day on the job.

… … …

“Thank you Chara,” said Orlet as the other finished tying her into her dress. “Let me do yours now. Then we can break our fasts. I was hungry in the night!”

“We have much to do this day, my dear!”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” replied Orlet drily. Chara looked at her sharply.

… … ...

Marsel was getting used to the changing moods his mentor displayed. Sometimes brooding and thoughtful, sometimes almost light in tone; but never a laugh or a joke with the ‘natives’ as he sometimes called them. Brid stopped several youngsters who were acting ‘too boisterously’ and once he was angered by one man, not of the neighbourhood, who seemed to be lurking furtively. Again they met the two simpletons, separately, and Marsel was getting used to the shoulder slaps and the handshakes upon parting.

… … ...

Orlet continued to exercise both her mind and her body and really enjoyed an infrequent excursion outside, walking around the neighbourhood. She tried to keep from grinning as she concentrated upon making sure she always limped slightly on the same leg; this was a ruse dreamt up by Eginet to allow her to assume a more hunched profile, thus distracting from her injured right shoulder. She met the two Yodan patrolmen on this walkabout and nearly laughed as the young one looked up to the overhanging trees as she passed under them. The older one scarce looked at her, concentrating as he was at something behind her.

… … ...

Meanwhile, more than several marks upriver, Frang had made such good progress that he decided to cross the river to the far bank on the Zebrin side where he felt his sail would be less out of place. At one point he saw a small rowing boat drawn up with a man squatting not too far away. He soon realised that the man was simply just squatting contemplatively, not actually emptying his bowels or anything. The man seemed to examine Frang closely but still raised a companionable hand when the lad did his. They parted without speaking. Without getting closer than a cast or so.

… … ...

It was after everyone’s normal supper time, just close to the actual sunset, that each person’s world, in its own way, exploded.

… … …

Frang sailed across the Sirrel from the Zebrin side, aiming most of the way for just upriver of the mouth of what he knew to be the Faral River. He could then, if he judged it right, allow the currents to sweep him the short distance downriver and thus gain the entrance to the lagoon without having to make too much headway against those currents. He naturally kept a watch out for other craft and was surprised to see how few there were around. He found himself slowly converging on a course being taken by a man rowing with smooth, powerful strokes across towards the Faralmark side. That man was making surprisingly rapid progress. Frang glanced back to the Zebrin shore and saw it was now empty. Could this rower be the squatter I saw over there? If so, should I be worried about that?

As the angles opened up, he was temporarily distracted by the volume of little boats he could now see, all crowding the lower waters of the Faral, jostling to gain the shelter of what looked to be a sizeable river port. He spent a fair few moments gazing up there, fascinated by all the moves being made.

He switched to watching a larger craft speed down towards him on the current of the Sirrel. Then this one swung to its left and into the mouth of the Faral, joining in with the little ones crowding into the port.

When he checked round once more nearer to his own craft, he was startled not to see that rowing boat any more. He scanned around swiftly to see if he could spot anyone in distress or an upturned boat or similar but he couldn’t. However, he dare not spend too much time on that problem for he now had to enter his long curving approach to the mouth of the lagoon, which mouth he could ever increasingly define against the background.

He allowed himself a smile of pride as he swept into the haven with scarce an abrupt movement, judging the currents perfectly.

It was just as Oggar had described. The right hand, downriver that is, boathouse had faded lettering spelling out the name ‘Yussuf’. The other two were slightly more dilapidated than that first one. He tied up where Oggar had told him, he found the key where Oggar had told him and he did everything that Oggar had told him to. He sent silent thanks.

He decided to scout out his next steps first, find out where the man he needed to see lived and so on. After some little jobs inside the boathouse, he locked it behind him, replaced the key onto its hook and walked down the steps, his eyes already searching for the pedestrian exit to this little enclave.

“Hold there! Are you a spy?”

… … ...

Brid knew that every night has a thousand eyes but felt he had managed to fulfil his mission without drawing undue attention to himself. Of course, anytime he entered an inn on his own and out of uniform, he was left in splendid isolation and was very much the centre of attention.

The clientele in the Gogon’s Fin had been no different. He had, however, managed to find someone to summon an urchin to do his bidding. Which had taken quite a bit of persuasion. So Brid had casually wandered back out onto the street without purchasing anything to drink or eat for himself. He had deliberately not wished them all a good night as he left.

He met the urchin out in the dark and eventually sent that lad on his way. The lad, named for whatever obscure reasons ‘Striker’, had needed very careful coaching. Brid had wondered once or twice if the lad was going to be too young for his needs. But subsequent behaviour told Brid the lad had done his task well. He himself walked up the road and then simply seemed to fade into the shadows.

When Brid eventually returned to his room, he was most anxious. This had to have been the riskiest episode he had undertaken, he felt.

He spent the next bells going over everything he had done, and all that he would have to do in the morning. He doubted he would sleep easily and yet the opposite occurred. He didn’t bother to change the bedsheet before collapsing into bed.

… … …

“Can I not unload the strain on my shoulder from these … hangers?”

“Perhaps ’twould be a good idea, but you must needs learn to have them at all times, learn indeed to almost love them. Let us retire for the night in a half bell, then I shall allow you to ditch your burden. We may yet have visitors and all have now come to expect you to have larger breasts than your natural ones and ...”

Eginet broke off as a knocking on the door, in a strange but strict sequence, indicated ’twas one of the brothers wishing to gain access to their rooms. Eginet raised an eyebrow and Orlet shrugged her good shoulder as best as she could. Eginet held a hand out towards Orlet, inviting her to be the one to speak. It was totally natural now that Orlet had gained this aura of easy command.

“Come,” she called out.

As it happened, both brothers came into the room, not just the one they had initially expected. The women all looked from one of the brothers to the other.

Berm it was who started: “Good e’en Mil... er ... Mistress … I MUST remember ‘Mistress’ ... Orlet. Good e’en Eginet and Chara.”

In a teasing, almost flirtatious voice, which visibly shocked both Berm and Eginet, Orlet said: “And would you rather address me as Milady?”

Wallis laughed and rumbled: “’Twould be easier, given these circumstances.”

“But not in Yodan hearing,” snapped Eginet, annoyed. “We must NEVER lapse from the deception, even amongst ourselves. The slightest thing could slip us up. She is Mistress Orlet.”

She paused briefly before she emphasised: “Mistress.”

All immediately sobered up.

“So,” continued Orlet after a further short pause, “what should we know before resting this night?”

“A number of things,” started Berm. “One is that that Kalvo is now fish food and all his possessions, except his weapons and this box, have been consigned to the waters.” Berm tossed the box that contained Kalvo’s mementoes onto the bed next to Orlet. “Some of those contents can probably be returned to their natural owners – eventually. ’Tis not a priority at this very heartbeat.”

In a cold voice, all traces of levity now missing, Orlet asked; “Who killed the bastard? I would reward them.”

Berm and Wallis grinned mirthlessly at each other. Wallis replied: “We don’t exactly know.”

Orlet just looked at him balefully.

Which made Wallis hasten to expand upon that answer when Orlet then turned very reproachful eyes upon him.

“We were eight; Berm and I tied him up and gagged him. Then the six women, each of whom he had molested to varying degrees, along with us two, took it in turns to stab him. One of us must have killed him with one of our stabs but this was all designed so that none of us know which stab was exactly the one to finally do him in. We each had three goes. The two patrolmen turned up only heartbeats after his body had been dragged on its tarpaulin into the nearest hallway. His kitbags were still lying on the ground, but the women moved so that they obscured a direct view from the alleymouth.”

Orlet’s eyes flashed to lock onto Chara’s. Then Orlet pointedly looked at the hem of Chara’s skirt. “Now it makes sense. I noticed that mark earlier, when it was a little fresher.” Chara grabbed the hem and studied it. She soon found the dried bloodstain. Her face drained. But she raised her chin and said coldly: “It was a pleasure!” Eginet nodded.

Berm dragged the discussion back: “POINT TWO,” his loud tones grabbed all the attention, “is that it is tomorrow, at the third bell that we shall all rise up against the Yodans.”

“So soon!” said a surprised Orlet. Then she grinned. “It seems that my disguise might not be required all that much longer. I shall be able to return to me. Get used again to a … less heavy bustline.”

There were sympathetic grins all round.

“We expect the Yodans to draft in forces from outside, which should then give the Faralmark forces encouragement to invade us – just to send the Yoda...”

Just then, there came a further knock on the door, this one just a normal series of taps. But still somehow conveying a sense of urgency.

Eginet hissed to Orlet: “Smooth your skirts beneath you, and find it difficult to speak, as if you have a sore throat! Just fold one hand inside another in your lap. Look innocent. Keep your eyes downcast. Chara, the same.”

There was a bustle of everyone settling themselves into an innocent-looking domestic scene.

Just as the knocking started again, Eginet flashed a look round the room and was satisfied that nothing was out of place. “Come in!” she called, her tense nerves making her voice catch slightly.

They all relaxed slightly as one of the local urchins, an older one called for some reason ‘Strongarm’, opened the latch and entered. He looked around and wished everyone a good evening.

Then he went over to Berm. “Berm, message from a gent who din’t wanna be seen proper so it all came out a bit complicated like. Apparently, it seemed to me, ...”

“Good e’en, Strongarm. Never mind all that conjecture lad, what is the message?”

“It were a strange one. I were summoned by ano...”

“The message?” growled Berm, his impatience clear.

Strongarm swallowed, thought back in his head, and blurted it right out, obviously just as he had been coached to do: “Fifth better than third. Convoy leaving at fourth. Half will be gone.”

“Maker!” exclaimed Berm, obviously thinking furiously. “Anything else?”

“Two brakkis will be cooked for the third bell. Their shells are their homes, so items that need carrying go with them.” He stopped at that point, but then decided he should make something clear: “And that’s all.”

“You sure?”

“Let me see, fifth rather than third, fourth convoy, half gone. Two brakkis at the third, shell, homes and belongings.”

Berm flipped the lad a coin and ushered him out.

Chara muttered aloud: “I hate numbers! As soon as they appear, my brain shuts off.”

Berm bustled back in and started issuing orders. “Wallis, you need to get over to the Waggoner’s Line and tell them to delay the uprising by two bells. As fast as you can, you know who to speak to. Tell them our informant has only just urgently told us the news. Taken risks to get the message to us.

“Chara, can you and Megmet go down to the warehouse area and find Leewal, probably in the Chizzen Pot? Tell him that a convoy will take half the Yodans away at the fourth bell tomorrow, so we need to start it all off at the fifth bell and NOT the third.”

Orlet and Eginet both said “Ah!” in understanding at the same heartbeat.

“All of you, get the ones you tell to spread the news. Fifth bell not third!”

“I will have to spread the news into other areas too. Right then, off we all go. Oh and Mistress Orlet, I fear that you might be in disguise for some time yet. I shall explain first thing in the morning, but I deem the morn shall be the last peaceful one for quite a long while. You are still in the gravest of danger. Even if we drive the Yodans out, there will still be turmoil as a new leader is sought.”

“But what was the bit about brakkis?” demanded Orlet.

“Later, later,” said Berm as he waved the question away and shot out onto the street.

“And how do you know all this is right?” she called, but quietly, after him. After all, the whole street didn’t need to know their business.

But the question never reached his ears.

And the anxiety in Orlet’s belly set in.

… … …

Frang silently thanked the Maker for his precautions. He had not unloaded the boat entirely, but he had found a good hiding place for the documents so he was confident that they would not go missing in his absence. And there was adequate space for him to stretch out overnight, and the roof looked sound. He would light a cooking fire outside on the hard-packed sort of courtyard he had seen as he made his way in. All in all, it was a good place to stop.

But he was struggling in his conversation with this strange man dressed in a long sweeping robe. In fact, he was debating with himself as to whether or not to just brush past the man and ignore him. It had become obvious that the man was alone. But on the other hand, there was a possibility, if he was clever, to learn where to find the other man, the one he had travelled all this way to see. But then, if he just brushed past this man, he would have to find some other spot to hole up in.

He decided to be polite and guarded in his replies.

But he was put on the back foot immediately: “So why does a Faniran boat bear a Pakmali sail and tie up for the night in a Faral refuge?”

“I … errrrm … I … am not sure what you mean!”

The man smiled. “Yes you do. You’re just buying some time to think. I know that you are intelligent, for you sailed in here almost as perfectly as I could have done; it was a very good example of boat handling. But I am intrigued as to how you knew of this place. My guess is that you are Faniran, probably from Upper Fanir. You tried to disguise your vessel with a Pakmali sail. I ask myself why you would want to do that? I deem the only logical answer must be that you wanted to escape from under the noses of the Yodans that control your country.”

Frang felt his mouth drop open. He tried to close it again, but was shocked even more as this strange man continued.

“But why would you come upriver to a particular lagoon in Bibek, having effected your freedom? That needed a little thought but then it occurred to me. You bear messages, mayhap parcels and/or documents to the Representative from your land, such parcels or documents that are NOT to be seen by Yodans, who could intercept them at any time if they were sent overland. But they are of sufficient urgency to risk a dangerous passage. I deem they have chosen their message bringer well. Your Representative, by the way, is named Olva, in case you have not been told, and he lives just to the west of the Fortress up there. That house with the red roof tiles.

“But I must know how you knew of this deserted spot, perfect for your purposes. THAT point escapes my reasoning.”

Frang felt breathless as he studied the man.

“Errrm … Master … ???”

“Yussuf is my name. As painted on the boathouse there.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “My wife Dab wants me to make that more prominent again, but, frankly, coin is scarce at the moment. The Yodans have crippled many of our waterborne businesses here.” He thought a little. “ALL of them.”

Frang once again had to make an important decision. In a hurry.

He weighed all the facts. Yussuf patiently waited, a faint smile on his face and totally non-threatening in his posture.

Frang COULD trust this man, he felt.

His name was painted on a boathouse, and it was faded. So it had not been put there just for my arrival. Oggar could not have got a message up here in time for them to prepare this place to fool me.

The man must have been accidentally over there on the Zebrin shore, not deliberately waiting for me. I myself had only gone along that side as a last minute decision, to use up some time.

With a nervous gulp, Frang decided to open up again, maybe not the whole way this time, but he would tell the truth - mostly.

“Very well,” he sighed. “It was like this ...”

… … …

The sun heaved itself once more above the Valley’s shoulder. There were very few clouds about and the day had started clear but again cold. So the sun’s rays were welcomed once they struck the pair of involved towns.

… … …

“But why must we?”

“You do not need to know right now, you just need to do it. Make sure it is all done at least a quarter bell before the third. I really must dash now.”

“Shall we do both, or just one while Chara and Megmet do the other?” asked Orlet.

“Just sort it out yourselves. But just do it. I am relying on you. I have too much to do this morn.” Berm shuddered as the first ray of sunshine hit the window curtain. “Davikto,” he swore. “Already! Time is fleeing this morning. If the events pass smoothly, I shall be able to explain all tonight.”

With that he scuttled off on yet another errand leaving behind a sense of wonder, anticipation and excitement, all tinged with apprehension. And several unanswered questions.

He had arrived almost before the sky had lightened off to the east. He had not spent the night here in his home, with his wife and daughter and the new ‘cousin’ (or ‘niece’ with reference to himself and Eginet). It was clear he had been up all night.

His first words had really grabbed their attention: “Let us be clear, my ladies three, it could happen that I am killed today. We rise against the Yodans at the fifth bell. The Yodans have those wonder weapons, but a message told us that nearly all of those weapons shall be leaving at the fourth bell as well. They’re wanted to turn the tide of battles downvalley. I want all three of you here behind a bolted door from just before the fourth bell. Stay inside and try to keep a thick wall between you and any Yodans you see.

“Orlet, I shall need you to do some things outside before this all starts to get nasty, so you must maintain your disguise this morn. If we fail in our uprising, then the Yodans shall be vicious with their reprisals. If we succeed, then civil war will break out as various factions vye for control of the entire nation. Either way, you are at grave risk. Your story, the one we concocted, would do well enough to fool the Yodans, but we Fanirans will spot anything not quite right and worry at it until it unravels. I have a plan for the future which I deem shall cover you sufficiently, but first we must needs find out what happens later today. If my plan transpires, then you shall need to maintain the deception for as long as it takes for this country to settle down once more.”

A sobered Orlet said in a very small voice: “I had hoped to abandon the deception this morn, but I am aware that you know far more than I. I must hear you and allow myself to continue to be guided by you.”

“Your words relieve me, knowing as I do now that you shall not undermine my efforts. I am immensely grateful for that.”

Eginet broke in then: “Can you tell us how you know all these things? And what was that curious message last e’en about brakkis?”

Berm stroked his chin as he looked at his wife, thinking furiously. “I cannot reveal all, as I am sure you will fully understand since others’ lives are at stake, should you be captured or tortured. Several lives are at risk, not just one. But we have had an informant with limited access to Yodan plans. He has passed us messages with information and sometimes with suggestions. Sometimes we have had verbal messages, but mostly we have had written ones. The wa...”

“But you can’t write!”

“My dear wife, I have been able to do so these past three years. Someone in the Count’s household showed me.” He flicked his eyes around all the women sitting there. “And, if the future permits, I shall ensure that you all learn such a skill as well.” He had to raise his voice slightly for that last bit, since Orlet had succumbed to a sudden coughing fit. “Are you alright, Mistress?”

She waved a hand at Berm, nodding furiously as the last few coughs erupted.

Eginet looked annoyed at having such a secret kept from her. But she knew that now was not the time to make a fuss about it. But nevertheless she felt hurt. Very hurt.

Berm continued, ignorant of his wife’s anger: “But back to business. Last night our … spy, I suppose ... took a grave risk to let us know the best time for our attack. He is resourceful in his attentions. And I have some shocking news for you - we have to thank Kalvo for much of the information we receive from this man who must continue to remain unidentified.”

The expected gasps of both surprise and disgust interrupted his discourse for a few heartbeats.

“Our ‘spy’ was so disgusted by that Kalvo that he swore to me that, and I quote, ‘the little whoreson shall never leave Upper Fanir alive’. Yesterday he sent me a message telling us that Kalvo was suddenly being transferred and suggested that we deal with the disgusting patrolman ourselves. We had two bells, he said, when no-one, and when he said no-one he meant that Brid person, would be guarding over him; two bells when Kalvo would be out of the knowledge of any other Yodan.”

“Aaaah!” breathed Chara. “You arranged everything so well, Papa. And yet you had so little time.”

“Wallis is a reliable partner in many of my, nay our, dealings.”

“So what has any of this to do with brakkis?”

“I was merely setting the scene so as to speak. There can be no direct connection with the brakkis message and what I have just said, but I just wanted you to know that there are many things going on that I have had need to keep secret. I don’t want you harbouring any resentment because I have not divulged all to you. I wanted merely to reduce the amount any of you could tell anyone if the worse was to happen.

“I shall now explain the brakky references.

“There is a brakkyboat tied up amidst the fishing boats down at the riverside pontoon. Deliberately, so no mistake with the identification of which boat can be made. This boat must be laden with various things ready for a quick departure at the third bell. The use of the words brakky or brakkis in our messages simply serve to identify which boat we must prepare, and indeed also identify the details of this plan. Just a mention of brakky or brakkis tells each of those involved in a single word just which plan we are all talking about.

“I shall need to have you three girls and Megmet sneak into a house or two and remove stuff, then deliver it to the brakkyboat, hiding your burdens from sight in the bottom of the boat, under a cover that is already there, just casually tossed in to seem unplanned. I suggest you disguise your burdens as laundry. I know not for certain, at this moment, if this is going to happen but shall send a message here just after the second bell when all has been confirmed.

“Now I must be off. Don’t forget, be awaiting a message at the second bell. The boat needs loading and you are the only ones I can trust to do it.”

“But why must we?”

… … …

Frang thought the Representative looked very tired and drawn. He was apprised of the reasons by the Representative’s first words.

“I must thank you, young Master Frang, for bringing me these very important documents, at some considerable risk to yourself. I have been awake all night perusing them, much to my wife’s disgust. Now I have several questions for you. The first of which is: Have you yourself read anything of the contents?”

“Your Honour ... Milord ... sorry, however ’tis you should be addressed! I regret that my reading skills have not been developed. I have a basic level of reading and writing, but no more. I have not even extracted the documents from their protection. I have no idea what they contain. I am really just a simple fisherman from a fishing family.”

“Ah! That answers many of the subsequent questions I had prepared.” He broke off to gather his thoughts into a slightly different direction. “To answer YOUR question, Milord would be the correct term of address for me.” But Olva was obviously thinking of other things as he said that.

“Now to continue with these matters precipitated by your arrival. Your verbal message to me about the young Count told me more than you can imagine. First of all, just by mentioning his name and his title, you have told me that his father has died, probably killed, but nevertheless is dead. The lad would not have ascended to the title of ‘Count’ had the title not been made free.

“Reading between your words, some local citizenry have caused the Yodans some confusion by hiding Count Darkwin from the Yodans. I find I must agree with them in that the young Count would be an ideal figurehead for any future Faniran government. I say this objectively even though he is a distant relative. Do you actually know for certain if the young Count is still alive or not? My many other informants say that he is in fact dead. They also, incidentally, tell me that those who managed to get away to the Uplands at the time of the invasion contain no-one with any great credentials to become our next leader once our country regains its independent nationhood.”

Frang found that he understood many of the implications in what Olva had just said. “I myself cannot say with any certainty whether the young Count survived the Yodan attack on their mansion. A relative of my mother’s, some remote cousin I believe, a servant in the household named Berm, claims that the lad’s body was spirited away from under the nose of the Yodans to foster some consternation amongst the occupying forces. It seems to me that all this happened some three or so months ago and that the Yodans have actually succeeded in their aim of removing the focal points for any future government, in their belief that such a leader would also be a focal point for any rebellion and/or resistance.

“I have formed these opinions from discussions with others at home. Also not just Fanirans, as I have travelled across the Sirrel often and spoken with Pakmalis too. Some Faral fishers have crossed my path, not just on my journey up here. But I am, I repeat, a simple fisherman, one who was licenced by the Yodans only because they wanted their own supplies. I am not privy to the mentality of nations’ leaders. But, to answer your question directly, I deem the lad is no longer alive.”

Olva’s eyebrows had risen during this speechified reply. “Your choice of words would normally indicate a level of education in advance of that of a simple fisherman. Some of your word choices are frankly surprising.”

“Milord, as a youngster, I accompanied my mother to her work in a local landowner’s household, being too young to be left unsupervised. The wife of that landowner insisted that I be included in the lessons that her children were then undertaking at home.”

“You did not then pursue a more … intellectual career than that of a simple fisherman?”

“Milord, it is not a wise thing to do to stand out when under Yodan rule. I confess to belittling my abilities somewhat. I also had early training in my father’s tasks aboard his fishing craft, so chose to recede into the background as it were.”

“I see. Talking of which, that local man, Yussuf, the Faral citizen who introduced you to me, suggested that you have exceptional boat handling skills. He is a renowned bargeowner in these parts, so his word carries weight when it comes to matters afloat.”

“My entire spare time, since I was old enough to be trusted to go alone, has been afloat. It is kind of Master Yussuf to say what he said, but I find it simply natural. Common sense if you prefer.”

“Hmmm,” commented the Representative, obviously deep in thought. Frang was wise enough to leave him to it.

The silence stretched into the realms of awkwardness before Olva spoke once more. “You said last night that the Yodans wouldn’t miss your boat as it didn’t actually exist before you built it. So does that mean you could return and no-one would be aware of this meeting? I’m sure I could smuggle you across the border back into Upper Fanir, then you could make your way overland back to Faralan. But ’twould take a week or more to arrange.”

“That would be extremely helpful, Milord. Otherwise, I had planned to return down the river and come ashore secretly; but was worried about the boat – it would break my heart to damage or even destroy such a valiant accomplice.”

“Very well, I shall arrange things accordingly. In the meantime may I suggest that we account you one of the household here, tasked with keeping us supplied with a good supply of fish. I shall draw up appropriate charters of association that will give you immunity from Faralmark authorities. You may overnight here, in this house, and I shall arrange with that Yussuf as to what we should do with your faithful craft.”

“I thank you Milord! And now I have one final instruction from that Berm man I mentioned. He told me to tell you, when all our arrangements are made, that there is a remote dialect in which the word Olvar – that is your name but with an ‘r’ on the end – refers to plants rather than animals. And that one species of tree these remote folk worship is a giant spreading tree whose branches spread out and protect all below. Berm made me learn the following words by heart: ‘Particularly in the time of the Dark Wind, which the tree tames and guides before letting it go on with its task.’ He said to be sure you got that message before I parted.”

Frang wasn’t sure if he detected a sudden sharpening of interest on Olva’s part, but the Representative explained that possibility by saying: “Ah! Your Berm knows of my interest in remote words so please be sure to thank him for expanding my knowledge.

“Now, let me show you to what will be your room, then I suggest you retrieve your personal items from your boat.”

… … …

Brid hailed Marsel’s back as they both approached the fiveway junction from the direction that led to the barracks. Brid was a cast or so behind the other and almost trotting to catch up.

Marsel stopped and turned round, even as Brid was calling out: “Good morn, young partner. I have a special order for us today.”

Marsel raised a hand half in salute, half in acknowledgement. “Oh yes? What’s that?”

“I’ll explain as we go along. First let us see if all our good boys and girls are still all being good boys and girls. It lacks but a quarter before the second bell, so they shouldn’t have had time enough to get up to very much mischief.”

The two reached the fiveway and headed uphill along the narrowest lane. They had gone a cast up there when Brid tugged on Marsel’s tunic and indicated he wanted to speak privately. With many a glance around for anyone who could overhear, Brid pulled Marsel to one side, next to a high fence.

“The officer told me that a small boat has crashed into the shore about two marks down the river on the outside of a bend. We must go down and see if it could have been the one we investigated the other day. We shall amble about our usual patrol area just so everyone can see we’re here, and then we will take one of the boats that are tied up down at the riverside and scoot down to do our job there. We should be away maybe four or five bells but shall get back in time to do a last quick patrol before dusk. The locals here probably won’t even notice we’re gone. At least we shall get a change from our normal boring routine.”

He saw Marsel’s eyes light up. He issued a warning though: “Don’t let anyone know, though, that we’ll be away and that there shall be no-one here for half the day. They may be tempted to do something … unruly. So let’s make the appearance of a normal patrol.”

They passed time patrolling up and down and around, looking official and fierce. Brid growled at some of the people they passed and Marsel wondered if they could tell it was a false growl; he felt he was beginning to know Brid quite well now. He had to suppress a grin when the older man did it.

… … …

“This is all too much for my shoulder. I couldn’t manage to carry these bags down the steps,” complained Orlet.

“Do what we did,” said Chara. “We lowered them down the ramp on the end of a rope. You wait up here. Mama, Megmet and I can finish off the job.”

“Very well.”

So Orlet was sat alone at the top, whilst the other three women carried the items to the brakkyboat.

“Good morn, Mistress Orlet.”

With a gasp, Orlet swung round. A young and blushing face was looking diffidently at her, a face she recognised. What was his name? Oh Maker! Let me see.

With a gasp of relief, she said: “Strongarm. You startled me. What may I do for you?”

Then she realised the lad was squirming with embarrassment. She tried to smile to put him more at ease. It seemed to make it worse somehow.

“Errrrm … Mistress Orlet, I was … no … errr … sorry … no … my sister told me to be honest.” He swallowed and straightened his spine. “My brother tasked me with finding out if you have any understanding with anyone. If not, he would like to get to know you better.”

’Twas Orlet’s turn to blush.

… … ...

Brid timed it so that they reached the railings up above the riverside pontoon just about a bell, maybe a little more, after they had met. He led them along the pathway that overlooked the boats and studied without seeming to the vessels all lined up below, bobbing on the uneven water. The two strolled comfortably down to the end where, glancing around, Brid said quietly: “There are four equipped with oars. The green one just two along from here, then four more to the orange one, skip one to get to the brakkyboat, and finally the blue one three from the end.

“I see no-one about, so let us examine them a little closer. We’ll take the first one we can. It must have two oars, not just one. A bonus would be if it also had a mast and sail. I’ll get in, then you untie the ropes at the pontoon end and step in with them as well.”

The two quickly descended the vertical steps next to the steep ramp and walked swiftly to their first target. Marsel rejected it as the oars were chained tightly to the thwart. Brid leant over the next one they had identified and said: “I deem we can fiddle the oars out from under their chains. They are not so tightly bound.”

“Hold,” said Marsel. “I see the outline of a mast and sail in the brakkyboat, under a cover, as well as oars. Nothing seems chained down, it’s almost as if it has been prepared for use.”

Brid jerked upright. “Do you say?” He ran over to where Marsel was pointing. “I deem you are right. Then we shall take the brakkyboat. That will scupper whatever plans these people have laid. And we can investigate these events when we return this e’en.”

So saying, Brid jumped lightly into their chosen craft and held onto the neighbouring one as Marsel cast off the ties that bound them. Using hands on the neighbouring craft, they pushed backwards into the river. Brid swiftly dropped his swordbelt and settled into position, first shipping the oars into their slots, then taking the handles of the two oars familiarly into his hands. Facing backwards, Brid saw a group of people all run down towards the pontoon, waving their arms and gesticulating wildly. He laughed. With a dozen powerful strokes, he pulled the boat out into the main river current.

---