CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Waking Up in Tume
Ash awoke feeling better than he had done in weeks. His chest seemed less constricted, and he was able to breathe a deep lungful of air without feeling the need to cough it back out again.
He touched his scalp and winced at the painful lump there.
Tume, he told himself. I’m in Tume.
His bladder felt as though it was about to burst. Up, he thought, and rose swiftly from the bed, his bare feet slapping down against the cool boards of the floor. He reached beneath the bed and dragged out the chamber pot, and sat there making water as he scratched his armpit and yawned.
There was tin of dried chee in the kitchen, he recalled. Ash stood and swayed for a moment, a little light- headed. He felt as weak as a kitten.
He trod across to the window with the chamber pot in his hand. He threw the curtains aside and squinted against the flood of daylight, then fumbled half blind with the window latch until he pushed it open. Fresh air tumbled into the room, cold and smelling of eggs. He inhaled it deeply, feeling his sinuses clearing instantly. Another yawn split his face wide open. His bones cracked as he stood there naked and stretching.
When he opened his eyes he caught a glimpse of movement in the street below. A Mannian soldier was ambling past the house, picking over the lakeweed of the island shore.
Ash pressed himself against the wall out of sight. He counted four heartbeats before he chanced another look outside. The man had passed beyond view.
Ash ran for the door.
‘Whuh!’ Che exclaimed as he cleared the young man’s bed with a single bound.
Ash peered through a gap in the curtains there. A squad of Imperials were marching along the street, crossbows over their shoulders. Further along, more soldiers were ransacking the houses of the neighbourhood, piling goods onto carts, breaking and wrecking everything else. All across the city, columns of smoke tilted into the sky.
‘You’re still alive, then,’ came Che’s thick voice from the bed.
Ash rounded on the young man. A girl was lying naked in the bed next to Che, and she sat up and rubbed her sleepy eyes. Che’s face held the pale tint of someone who was soon going to vomit.
‘Anything you would like to tell me, Che?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like why there are imperial troops walking past in the street outside?’
Che rolled to his feet and rushed to look out the window. His face grew even more pale.
‘You did not notice the fall of the city. You were too busy having sport.’
The Diplomat scratched his fingers through the stubble of his hair. ‘I was drunk,’ he said, defensively, and then he held a hand to his stomach, and belched. ‘I see you slept through it well enough yourself.’
Ash handed the pot to Che just in time, and Che retched into it loudly as he held it to his mouth. He spat, looking down at what he was using, then gagged again and rushed to the door with it still in his hand.
His retching faded down the stairs.
The girl was peering at Ash with bloodshot eyes, marvelling over his body. He supposed she had never seen a naked black man standing before her before.
‘Morning,’ he said to her with a nod, and strode off to fetch his clothes.
‘I don’t believe this,’ Curl was hissing as she scrambled under the bed for one of her boots. ‘I need to find out what’s happening out there. Holy kush! ’ she exclaimed as her head came up with the boot in her hand. ‘What if they’ve all left already?’
Together they dressed in a hurry. Che watched the girl as she watched him.
He was suddenly aware that he would probably never see her again. It seemed a great shame. They had connected in their time alone together. Even though he hardly knew her, Che had felt comfortable enough to drop his guard a little, to be more his real himself. Laughter had come eagerly to his lips; affection to his touches. For the first time in his life, he’d wanted to please more than be pleased.
She was remarkable, and he wanted more of her.
‘Last night,’ he said quickly as she made for the door. She paused, breathlessly, and turned back. ‘Last night,’ he said again, but then faltered, unable to find the right words. He shook his head lightly. ‘Thank you.’
She placed a hand on his face. ‘No need. It was fun.’
‘Wait!’ he called after her as she stepped through the doorway. He grabbed his pack off the floor. Something skittered away from his foot, though he paid it no mind as he hurried after her. He was still reeling with the pain of his hangover.
She was already at the front door of the house as he came hobbling down the stairs.
‘Curl, wait! You’re not thinking straight. Your people must be gone by now.’
‘You don’t know that,’ she said with her hand on the door handle. ‘They could still be holed up in the citadel. I have to find out, at least.’
He pressed his palm hard against the door. ‘If they were still holding the citadel,’ he commented, ‘we would be hearing the sounds of fighting.’
She ignored him, and stubbornly tugged at the door while he pressed to keep it shut. She cursed him then, looking tearful.
‘This is your fault!’ she hissed with her fists clenched.
‘My fault? If you hadn’t forced so much drink down my throat, I dare say I might have noticed what was happening.’
‘Me? Force drink down your throat? Are you-’
‘ Hush,’ exclaimed Ash as he bounded down the stairs with his sword in his hand. He glared once at Che as he darted past into the kitchen.
Through the front door, Che suddenly heard the gate rattle open.
Curl looked at him in alarm.
In silence he drew her after him into the kitchen. The old far-lander was already halfway through the open window. Che bundled Curl through it after him. She was still annoyed enough to slap his hands away in indignation.
Even as he scrambled out behind them, he felt the windowframe quiver in his hand as the front door crashed open.
They crouched down in the back garden, and listened to the scuff of boots inside the house, and the sound of irregular gunfire to the south. ‘I told you,’ whispered Curl. ‘They’re still fighting somewhere.’
Che ignored her as he loaded his pistol. Ash motioned with his hand, then set off for the back gate. They followed.
A squad of imperial infantry were breaking into a house at the western end of the street. A zel-drawn cart sat in the middle of the boardwalk with a single soldier slouched against it, smoking a cheroot. A few captured civilians stood leashed behind the cart; young men, their heads hanging in resignation.
Ash waited until the soldier’s head was turned the other way, then led Che and Curl in the opposite direction. He pressed against a fence as he chanced a look north into the next street along. He turned to go that way.
Curl ignored him and took off south towards the sound of fighting.
‘Curl!’ Che hissed after the girl. But she didn’t look back, let alone stop. ‘Curl!’ he tried one last time, and perhaps it was the concern in his voice, for she glanced back then, and flapped her hand for them to follow.
The farlander simply shrugged when he looked at him. Together, they set off after her.
‘You Diplomats,’ panted Ash by his side. ‘You are softer than I imagined.’
She was a fast runner, and by the time they’d caught up with her Che was feeling sick again and Ash was gasping for air. They ran along a row of tenements, large blocks of wooden buildings with narrow alleyways in between them. A squad of Imperials ran past the end of the street, not looking in their direction.
At the mouth of an alley, they crouched down on the boardwalk and listened to the sporadic pops of the guns. A Red Guard jogged past their position. Curl was about to call out to him when Che clamped a hand over her mouth. She jerked it free in anger, was about to curse at him when a trio of imperial soldiers charged past in
