Plain Kate

Through the swaying trunks of the birch trees, light danced and flared. In a moment they could see men coming up the forest track, a party of men with torches. They were all dressed the same, in dark clothes with a yellow patch on the chest, and on that was embroidered a red boat beneath crossed oars. One even carried a flag. Kate had never seen uniforms before, but she knew what they were.

In the torchlight their faces were pale. Kate saw the dark pits of eyes turn their way. The girls drew close together. Cream stamped and snorted. But the men didn’t stop.

Drina was so close that Kate could feel the beat of her.“Soldiers,” she whispered. “The city guard.”

The cat had melted away into the darkness. In another moment he was back.“They go across the bridge. To the city.”

“They’re the ones—” said Drina. “They came for my mother.”

They stood looking out across the river. The city stirred restlessly in its sleep, sent them snatches of sound and flares of light.“This is too big,” said Drina. “We can’t do this.”

“Yes, we can,” said Kate, who suddenly saw how. “We’ll tell the guard…” She trailed off as the implications came to her, but braced herself and went on: “We’ll go to the guard and tell them he’s a witch. We’ll turn him in.”

Drina stood and Kate saw her start to shake as she too thought it through.“They’ll burn him.”

“Yes,” said Kate. “I know.”

***

They couldn’t speak after that, but somehow they slept, tight together in thevardo, with Behjet’s limp hand dangling down and resting on Kate’s back. That was uncomfortable, but a comfort too: Linay had killed. In drawing the rusalka, he’d murdered half the countryside. He’d killed Behjet, or nearly: The man’s skin was drawn across his skull like a drumhead, and he smelled of death. Linay had done that. He had killed the women hanging from the trees, the plowboy in the poppies, killed Stivo and Wen and little Ciri, and hundreds of others. He deserved whatever the city guard would do to him.

But he didn’t, said Kate’s little thoughts,because no one did.

And I helped him. What do I deserve?

She slept in fits and nightmares and woke just after dawn. Overnight, the weather had changed. The endless fog and drizzle had pulled itself up, and clouds crouched above them, low, green-black, rounded like the backs of river boulders: hail clouds that sent down swirls of cold air. Thin twilight slanted under them.

Lov looked bigger by daylight. Its huge walls were a muddy gray. Roofs and squat spires rose above them, tiled in slate the same color as the clouds. The whole city steamed and smoked in the chilly morning like fresh manure. Kate looked at it as she greased her feet and pulled on her socks. The road was muddy, and having enough socks that one pair would always be dry was the only way to keep your feet from rotting. She was glad she stolen Linay’s.

Linay.

Drina came out of thevardo. Her chopped hair stuck out in all directions; it made her look older, ravaged. Kate could see the slice in her ear; it had healed almost black with scar. Drina winced from her gaze and turned away, binding up her hair in a dark turban. Her long thin shadow stretched blue among those of the birches.

Then Taggle came back from his morning ablutions, dragging a half-dead, spitting mink.“Today,” Kate told him. “Today I’m going to kill someone.”

“I can live with that,” drawled the cat.

***

They had to leave thevardo. There was a fee, Drina said, to take a wagon into Lov, and they couldn’t pay it. Kate found her old pack-basket and filled it with what food they had, extra socks, and the blue cloth with the stars to cover her patchy hair. Drina washed Behjet and tried to feed him broth. She couldn’t: He had stopped swallowing. Tears sprang up in Drina’s eyes but she said nothing, just set the broth down at Behjet’s hand, and went out to tend to Cream. Taggle killed the mink and cleaned his whiskers like a gentleman. And then they went.

The city of Lov stood on a hump in the marshland. The Narwe, like a great moat, guarded three sides. From behind, the city looked peaceful: reeds like brushstrokes on the square stones, a town of storks nested among them. The huge white birds stalked slowly through the dark water.

A canal came out of the river and went into the city through a metal grille. A pool at the base of the wall was jammed with small boats of all descriptions. Among them was a little green barge, painted and carved in the Roamer fashion. Taggle pointed with one paw, looking like a human trapped in the skin of a cat.“He’s here.”

They stood looking, silent. Then they crossed the bridge where the river road joined the great road, and rounded the flank of Lov.

The huge gate was shut. And from it, like guts from a rabbit, spilled another city, a field of tents and hovels. The road vanished into a stew of mud and worse things. Flies swarmed, slow in the morning chill.