A Young Man Without Magic (21 page)

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.

No one paid any attention to Anrel as he ambled away.

It was entirely possible that these watchmen had been given a description of the treasonous Alvos, or even been told Anrel's real name, and yet had entirely failed to recognize Anrel as their target because they were looking for someone running or skulking, not a well-dressed fellow out for a stroll. After all, he had done nothing to disguise himself except to behave as if he could not possibly be their quarry.

He rounded a corner, walked up to the next street, then turned left. He made his way up that street, turned left again, and a moment later was approaching the docks once more, but from a different direction.

He paused in a doorway, where he doffed his hat and coat; then he walked onward—or rather, staggered. He stumbled, and stopped when he came within sight of the docks—and of a watchman guarding them.
One
watchman; Anrel had positioned himself carefully. He leaned against the wall of a warehouse and made a noise, a sort of retching sound. The watchman glanced over and noticed him.

Anrel beckoned.

He could see the guard hesitate.

“Officer of the watch?” Anrel called—not too loudly, as he did not want an entire crowd of them, and keeping his voice ragged, as if he had been injured.

The watchman glanced back toward the docks, then turned his attention to Anrel. He drew his sword and came trotting up the street. “Is something wrong here?” he called. Anrel was pleased to see that the man was roughly the same size and build as Anrel himself.

“That man—he took my coat and my bag,” Anrel said, pointing back to the street he had just come from. He put a hand to the side of his head and winced. “He hit me with . . . with something.”

“Where?” the watchman asked. “Where did this happen, and when?”

“Just now, around the corner there. He caught me off guard, the little thief.”

“Show me,” the watchman said, turning a wary gaze up the street.

“Around the corner.” Anrel pointed again.

The guardsman trotted up to the corner and peered around the bricks as Anrel came up behind him.

“Where?” he said again.

Whereupon Anrel pulled the dagger from his boot and brought the pommel down hard on the back of the watchman's head, striking as hard as he dared. He did not want to kill the man, only to stun him.

To his surprise, the guardsman did not drop his sword, but he did stagger, somewhat dazed. Apparently, rendering a man unconscious was not as easy as the stories made it sound. Anrel hit him again, harder this time, and he went down.

Even as he delivered the blow, Anrel found himself marveling at what he was doing. He was not a violent man, and he had never thought of himself as a criminal, yet here he was, assaulting an innocent man—and not just any man, but a watchman. He had never done anything like this before.