Keeping the Fire: A Piece in Five Movements

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From their door steps, high windows, or in company of the cobbled street the people of Dehali watched the lady's progress. She walked slowly and her cloth was fine, though certainly not of royal sort. She wore a veil as the Flinish do when in morning so the folk were careful not to speak to her. It was just sundown and the people of the city were on their way to their homes or pubs, some sat at their tables trying to catch the last light of day, others traded words in the streets. The lady ignored them all and kept to the center of the street. Folk in Dehali, as with any place, know it is best to leave such folk to their own business.

As she walked down one of main streets of Dehali, one of the few to be fully cobbled, the Duchess shivered. To Tavya, Dehali felt as foreign as the roaring of the ocean to a landlocked shepherd. Every person here was of common blood. They seemed to care little for their conduct, less for their appearance, and least at all for their space. Offal and sewage were cast into the alleys behind the houses. Each house had a little covered porch and each of these had a table that was used for everything from the butchering of meat to the sewing of a child's clothing. The only merit she drew from this was that the folk must be as ignorant as any of slave, for not one of them accosted her or even so much as spoke to her. Though she was tense with fear she could not help but smile a little to think of her wit to be passing undetected among these common folk.


From where he watched, a stoop beside a narrow alley Dama could see the lady walk. He knew at once she was from the Fortress. She stuck out to his trained eyes as clearly as a flower amid the grass. He had to pay dearly to get inside the wall and were he to get this right it would be worth the toll. The Dorrishman had paid him half up front to get him the lady in the veil, and after he failed to take the Luminary Polena he would have too prove his worth if he were to get back into the Fortress. It is rare for anyone to get a second chance with the Weatherclock. He stepped up, ready to make his move, but there were already others moving up on her. Just where the men had come from he did not know, but the certainty and coordination of their movements, told him he was over his head. They were professionals.


Antebrote had planned the movement so many times, both in his mind and in practice with his three men that when they began the action of it he had to remind himself that it was really happening. Two behind, himself in front, one to the side to watch, the steps were as poised as a courtly dance. He could not see her face but the shock in her eyes and the dart of her head told him she was quick to realize she had been entrapped. Now that the fear was there it was time to give the bait.

“Lady Tavya,” he said, “we have come ahead of you at the behest of the Whale. This city is not fully in the hands of the Watch and we are to take you to a safe place.”

“I do not know your face.” She replied

“But I know your's,” he answered, “as does the assassin sent after you.” He permitted himself a glance to Ormede, the one on watch. His repeater crossbow was barely concealed beneath his parn, he had warned him about that before and would have to bring it up again afterwards. He wanted nothing less than perfection.

“Where is it?” Tavya asked.

“A short distance,” Antebrote replied, adjusting his cloak as he did so to “unintentionally” show her the broach he wore on his chest, a fair imitation of the one's worn by higher ranking members of the Watch. She nodded, the group moved around her, and like that, they were off. As smoothly as he had planned it.

The water was still at the Fountain of the Young Mare. It played only when a brazier before the statue of the reclining horse was lit and the mood of that water, dark and still, fit the mood of the crossroads it was built at. Gabre had been waiting for his lady to come. He had known her despite her clothing and that thought brought a simple joy to him. How good a servant he must be to know her by her walk alone, she whom he loved and served so well. He had let her approach rather than give sign of himself. But at about a hundred paces from him she had been quietly accosted and taken away. Panic rose up in him and he wanted to cry out. But there would be nothing for that. Either these men were sent by the Whale or the Weatherclock, and either case would mean the Watch here would do nothing. He breathed deeply, swallowed the shame and self doubt that always plagued him, and started off the way the men had left. He would follow them from a distance, find out where they were taking her, and then get Uhen. He would know what to do. Not a street away was he in his chase when he realized that he was not alone. By his walk too he knew the other that followed, Dama. His lady had ordered him to follow this man before when he was spying on Polena, he had been close enough to intervene when that thug had tried to kidnap her. Now he was again a spy following a spy.


From their door steps, their high windows, or in the company of the cobbled street the people of Dehali watched the last travelers of the day slip through their streets. Though many of them knew some mischief was afoot, not one of them was fool enough to get in its way. Not in Dehali, and especially not in times like these.

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