“It would be a good job,” I said, although I wasn’t sure that was true. The spell should have kept me from lying, but … what if I didn’t know I was lying?
I found it hard to believe the spell could determine absolute truth or … I shook my head. There would be time to think about the implications later. I needed to learn the common tongue, then start studying. “I would be interested.”
“Good.” Captain Alder glanced at the sorcerer. “Thunder, I’ll see you later.”
The sorcerer – I tried not to snicker at the name – stood and left the room. I shaped a lie in my mouth, just to test if the spell was still working. The lie seemed ready to leave my lips. I didn’t dare say it out loud as Captain Alder stood and stared down at me. I was taller than him, I thought, but he had a presence that dominated the room. It was hard to escape the sense I was far too close to a wild animal, one that might turn on me at any moment. I wasn’t sure what I’d managed to get myself into, this time. Working as a guardsman might just land me in worse trouble.
“Kneel,” Captain Alder ordered. “Have you ever sworn fealty before?”
I shook my head. I’d taken the oath, when I’d joined the army, but I had a feeling Captain Alder meant something different. It was disturbing to kneel, let alone place my hands in his and listen to a string of words that bore no resemblance to anything I’d heard back home, even in period dramas. There was no mention of truth, justice or even law and order. Instead, I was told to obey orders from my superiors and little else. Back home, I’d been told policemen spent years training for the role. Here … the ability to wield a club or a whip was sufficient. I suspected there was no such thing as a written law code.
“Welcome.” Captain Alder relaxed, slightly, when he’d finished reciting the oath. He hadn’t asked me to recite it back to him, not even the important parts. “I’ll have you outfitted at once.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask questions so quickly –
Captain Alder would probably react badly – but I owed it to my conscience to take some risks. “Sir … the boy I caught … what will happen to him?”
“The street rat?” Captain Alder shrugged, as if the matter was of no importance. “He’ll be lamed, probably. Or sold into slavery. There are lots of people who’ll pay good money for a young worker …”
I felt my gorge rise. I’d caught the boy and condemned him to … I swallowed hard, cursing myself savagely. What the hell had I done? This wasn’t America.
This was … this was somewhere completely different. And I might have made a dreadful mistake.
Learn the rules, I told myself, savagely. There was nothing I could do to save the boy. Not now. And then you can figure out how to make things better.
Chapter Nine
“This is where we sleep,” Constable Horst said, indicating the barracks.
“That’s your bunk over there. Don’t sleep anywhere else or there’ll be trouble.”
I kept my face expressionless. The barracks looked uncomfortable, and the bedding looked as if it had been used for decades before it had been passed down to me, but I’d slept in worse places. Probably. The air was cold, but heavy with the stench from the washroom at the rear of the chamber. I grimaced in disgust as I peeked inside. My old Drill Instructor would have had a heart attack. The less said about the toilets – and washing basins – the better.
“Just hang with us,” Constable Fallows assured me. “You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
Or I’ll get hung, I thought.
I studied the pair of them thoughtfully. Horst was tall and thin, with brown skin and dark hair; Fallows was short and fat, although he moved with a grace that suggested he was stronger than he looked. His skin was surprisingly pale, but his eyes were – somehow- darker than mine. I couldn’t have guessed at his origin, not on Earth. Here … I reminded myself it probably didn’t matter. I was the only person who’d so much as ever heard of Earth.
“We’ll get you changed, then take you on patrol,” Horst said, opening a cupboard and thumbing through the racks of clothes. “And then we’ll take you on patrol.”
“Unless you want something to eat first,” Fallows said. “Or take a nap.”
Horst snorted. “He’ll have plenty of time to nap when night falls,” he said, darkly. “He won’t be going on night shift for a while.”
I kept my thoughts to myself as they found me an ill-fitting uniform with a hat that was suspiciously heavy. A quick check revealed the seamstress had concealed a metal helmet under the cloth. My tunic was heavier than I’d expected, designed to provide at least some protection if someone tried to club or stab me. I doubted it would turn a bullet. Or a sword. I dressed quickly, concealing my pistol under the cloak before making sure I could draw it in a hurry. I was trained in unarmed combat, but only a fool or a movie star would use his fists when a weapon would do. I’d seen trained men brought down by unarmed mobs in my previous life.
“This is your club,” Horst said, holding out a gleaming weapon. It looked more like a wooden truncheon than a club. I took it and hefted it thoughtfully.
“And this is your whistle.”
Fallows produced his and put it to his lips, but didn’t blow. “You hear this on the streets, you come running,” he said. “One of your fellows is in trouble.”
“You blow it, every guard on the streets will start running towards you,” Horst added, curtly. “Do not blow it unless you’re in real trouble.”
I nodded, wordlessly. I understood the principle. False alarms would eventually – inevitably – convince people that it wasn’t worth heeding the distress call. The boy who cried wolf had been a bloody idiot, but so too had his parents and the rest of the townspeople. Their willingness to tolerate his
stupidity had cost them dear. I guessed I’d regret it if I blew the whistle without good cause. The guardsmen wouldn’t come running if they believed it wasn’t desperate.
“I get the idea,” I said. I was going to have to learn the rules before I did anything. Back home, it took years of training to become a policeman. Here …
they were threatening to put me on the streets within a day. “What sort of authority do we have?”
They looked at me as if I’d started speaking in tongues. “… What?”
“I don’t know the rules,” I said. There would be rules, unwritten if not written. “What are we meant to do on the streets?”
“Follow us,” Fallows said. “You’ll pick it up as we go along.”
I winced, inwardly, as I changed into my new uniform and stowed my old clothes under my bunk. I had no idea if they’d be safe, but there was nowhere else to put them. Horst and Fallows looked me up and down, then nodded curtly. My heart sank. Standards were clearly lower than I’d feared. The white uniform was so baggy I suspected I was going to have to do some needlework myself, just to make it fit a little better. I certainly didn’t look very intimidating. It was easy to wonder if I’d just made myself a target.
My two companions led me down the corridor, pointing out chambers and compartments along the way. I looked from side to side, mentally noting the kitchens, the dining hall, the armoury and washrooms. I’d lived in worse places, although even in the sandbox there’d been a certain understanding of basic hygiene. The toilets were something out of a medieval nightmare. The stench was appalling. I thought I’d caught something just by looking through the door.
We stopped in an office, Horst standing beside me while Fallows went to speak to the officer on the desk. A handful of other guardsmen came and went, glancing at me as they passed. I suspected it would be a while before they warmed up to me. I didn’t take it personally. No one was ever fully trusted, not in the military, until they proved themselves. The guardsmen probably felt the same way. They wouldn’t befriend the FNG until he proved himself a good man, someone who could be relied upon in a pinch. I didn’t blame them.
Horst, perhaps a little more understanding than Fallows, pointed o
ut detail after detail as we waited. There were only three real ranks in the guard –
Constable, Captain and Adjunct – and seniority was determined solely by time in grade. It wasn’t easy to tell who’d served the longest, but I didn’t need to worry about it. I was right at the bottom. Horst seemed to find that amusing.
I had the feeling the guardsmen were permanently short of new recruits. No wonder they’d been so quick to snatch me up.
Fallows rejoined us. “We’re going on patrol,” he said. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir,” I lied. I wasn’t remotely ready. “I’m ready.”
“You don’t have to do anything, but watch and follow our lead,” Horst said. “It isn’t as if we’re putting you on the gates!”
He laughed, as if he’d just cracked a joke. Fallows scowled at him and led the way outside. The warm air slapped against my face, the scent of the city tickling my nostrils. It looked like mid-afternoon, although it was hard to be sure. Horst and Fallows motioned for me to stay between them as they started to walk, heading down the streets in a manner that suggested everyone else would get the hell out of their way. It rapidly dawned on me that they were right.
I kept my eyes open, watching the crowd. It was hard not to see – or feel – the sharp glances aimed at us, the hints of resentment and fear hanging on the air.
I hadn’t felt anything like it since I’d been on patrol in Baghdad, where even the locals who liked us had feared what we might bring in our wake. I tensed, one hand dropping to my club before I forced myself to relax. Horst and Fallows weren’t stupid. We wouldn’t be walking down the streets, in the open, if there was any real danger. The crowd didn’t like us, but that didn’t mean they were going to attack us.
“Keep your eyes open,” Horst muttered, as we turned the corner and headed down the market street. “There’s a reward for each and every thief you catch.”
“The merchants are always grateful,” Fallows agreed. “And the captain will be pleased too.”
I nodded, eyes scanning the row upon row of stalls. There were dozens, perhaps hundreds, selling everything from basic clothes to food, drink and weapons. The stallkeepers didn’t seem too pleased to see us, even if we were deterring crime.
Behind them, I could see nooks and crannies and alleyways that could have concealed anything and everything. It reminded me of the marketplaces I’d seen in the Middle East, although there were more women in plain view. They were careful not to meet my eyes. I didn’t really blame them.
My eyes narrowed as I spotted the street children. They scattered the moment they saw us, scrambling under stalls and fleeing into the alleyways. Horst and Fallows snickered as the children vanished, making no move to chase them. I felt my stomach heave. I didn’t want to think what life must be like for a child, on the streets of a very rough city. I doubted anyone cared enough to set up shelters for them, let alone try to offer a better life. I suspected the only people offering to help them would want something in exchange. Children made excellent pickpockets …
Horst kept up a quiet running commentary as we reached the end of the marketplace, crossed the street and walked straight into another marketplace. I forced myself to listen as he pointed out street markers, showing me how to find my way around the city. It was a confusing mess. Whoever had designed the city, if indeed anyone had designed it, had tried to lay out an orderly pattern, but had rapidly been overwhelmed by the original inhabitants and their heirs.
Some parts of the city were easy to navigate – and if one walked down a main road one would reach either the walls or the city centre – but others were a nightmare of narrow streets, dark alleyways and homeless encampments that had taken on an air of permanence.
“Don’t go in there, not alone,” Fallows warned, darkly. “You won’t come out again.”
I eyed the encampment and nodded. It looked small, from the outside, but it had enveloped a sizable chunk of the city. The stench was unbelievable. I saw a handful of children playing in a puddle of filth and shuddered, feeling my stomach churn again. Behind them, there were a couple of men watching us with unblinking eyes. The naked hostility in their gaze was terrifying. They were men who had nothing to lose.
“If you have nowhere else to go, you’ll wind up there,” Horst said, as we walked around the edge of the camp. “And you won’t come out again.”
I tried not to shiver as we kept walking. Horst and Fallows didn’t seem to have any regular patrol route, as far as I could tell. Or maybe they were just showing me the city and using it as an excuse to goof off. I walked through a red light district – prostitutes were everywhere, some holding out cards covered in illegible scribbles – and then through a more upmarket section that was so great a contrast I wondered if we’d walked into a whole new city. It wasn’t precisely the suburbs I’d come to know and love, but … it was clear the locals actually took care of their district. The streets were clean, the people looked happy and well-fed and … I frowned as they stared at us as if we were something a gentleman’s gentleman might scrape off his master’s shoe. I’d known blatant
racists and insurgents who’d stared at me with less hostility. I didn’t understand their attitude. Surely, they should be glad of our presence.
“They despise us,” Horst commented.
Fallows snorted, but said nothing. I frowned, puzzled, as we kept walking towards a giant mansion. It looked thoroughly weird, as if someone had taken the White House, squashed it down until it was a little smaller and then painted it in sandy colours. The guards on the gates, wearing fancy uniforms covered with gold braid, sneered at us. Horst and Fallows waved their fingers back at the guards, then turned away. I guessed it was their way of giving the finger.
“That’s Lord Seed’s residence,” Horst explained, once we were out of earshot.
“The men on the gates work for him personally, not for the rest of us. Don’t expect them to come to your aid if you get into trouble. It’s not what they’re paid to do.”
“Private guards,” I said. “Fuck.”
Fallows snorted. “Everyone who can hire private guards does,” he said. “And if they’re wealthy enough, the guards can do whatever they like.”
I blinked. “Whatever they like?”
“Sure.” Horst made a dismissive motion with his hands. “Anyone who can hire a small army of guards, like him” – he pointed behind us – “can afford to bribe a judge, if his men get into trouble.”
“If he isn’t already the judge,” Fallows said. “The landlord might find himself judging his own men. He won’t judge very harshly.”
I frowned. “How does the government actually work?”
They stared at me. “What …?”
“I’m new here,” I said. If nothing else, it was a good excuse for asking dumb questions. “I don’t understand how the government works. Who makes the decisions?”
Horst and Fallows exchanged glances. “It’s complicated,” Horst muttered, finally. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“It’s really very simple,” Fallows snapped. “If you own property, you’re a landlord. If you’re a landlord, you get a vote. You can run for office, if you can convince your fellow landlords to vote for you, or get appointed to a government office. If you’re not a landlord, you don’t get a vote. It’s as simple as that.”
I frowned. “And what percentage of the population are landlords?”
Fallows gave me a sharp look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, how many landlords are there, relative to the rest of the city?” I had the feeling I’d gone too far, but it was too late to stop now. “How many landlords are there?”
“It’s hard to be sure,” Horst said. “It gets complicated.”
“There are landlords who own tiny plots of land, barely enough room to bury themselves,” Fallows said, coldly. “And landlords who own vast chunks of the city. And their families.”
I listened to the explanation as we resumed our patrol. The landlo
rds owned the city. They paid taxes, which paid for the guardsmen, the army detachment
outside the walls – apparently, the soldiers weren’t allowed inside the city itself – and the local government, such as it was. The idea of everyone having a vote was unthinkable. It was easy to deduce, reading between the lines, that the system was massively weighed against the common citizen. As long as they were landless, they were powerless. I supposed that explained why the wealthy citizens were wary of us. They might be wealthy, but as long as they were landless they had no real power. We were the club that kept them in line.
We, I thought, sourly. Are you already thinking of yourself as a guardsman?
“The magicians live down that way,” Horst said, pointing to a wide – and completely deserted – street. “Don’t walk there unless you want to be turned into something – or worse. The magicians have nasty senses of humour and they don’t like intruders. Most people just avoid the street completely unless they have an invitation. They have a bunch of shops on the far side, if you want to buy some magic for yourself, but don’t waste their time. They’ll get mad.”
I frowned. “What do you do if a magician is also a criminal?”
“We find something to do on the other side of the city,” Fallows said, bluntly.
“There’s a bunch of sorcerers who work for the guard. Let them handle it.”
“They normally keep their own rules,” Horst said. “And there’s no point in trying to do anything about it.”
“I see,” I said. I wanted to condemn them for cowards, but I’d seen enough magic to know it could be very dangerous. “I think.”
I peered down the street as we walked past, feeling my hair trying to stand on end. Something hung in the air, a weird sensation that reminded me of the hours before a thunderstorm … I looked up, half-expecting to see clouds forming overhead. But the skies were clear.
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