Through the Darkness

“All right,” she said, and left the flat without the shiver of terror she would have felt undisguised. When she got down to the street, what was she? As far as the eye could tell, just one Forthwegian among many. She wished she could go out as a Kaunian among Forthwegians, but that hadn’t always been easy even before the Algarvians overran Forthweg.

When she walked into the Forthwegian apothecary’s shop, he nodded to her from behind his high counter. “A good day to you, Mistress Thelberge,” he said; Vanai had taken to using the name Ealstan gave her. “And what can I do for you so early?”

“Since you seem to have a way of doing such things, sir,” she said, “you might want to pass word to ... people who may be using dye to use it on ... all their hair.”

She waited to see if he would understand. If he didn’t, she intended to be as blunt as she had to. A couple of years before, when she was still living with her grandfather, embarrassment would have paralyzed her. No more. She was a great deal harder to embarrass than she had been.

After a moment, the apothecary nodded. “I know what you’re saying, mistress, never you fear.” He paused, ground a powder with mortar and pestle-- and with quite unnecessary vehemence--and added one more word: “Algarvians.”

“Aye.” Vanai nodded. “Algarvians.”

“Well, I will pass it along,” he said. “I think it may save a life or two. And as long as you’re here, can I try and sell you anything?”

Vanai smiled. “No, thanks, unless you’ve got some particularly fine mushrooms. I’m just out enjoying the morning air.” Being able to come out and enjoy the morning air felt very fine indeed.

After the words had left her mouth, she realized she’d all but told the apothecary she was a disguised Kaunian. She worried about it less than she would have with any other Forthwegian save Ealstan, but she couldn’t help worrying some. Then the apothecary said, “As a matter of fact, I’ve got some Kaunian Imperials here--a customer who was short of cash gave them to me to pay for a bottle of eyewash.”

He reached under the counter and brought out the splendid orange mushrooms. Vanai’s mouth watered. “What do you want for them?” she asked, bracing herself for a hard haggle.

“Take a couple,” the apothecary said. “It’s not always easy to get out of the city.” Aye, he knew she was a Kaunian, all right.

She bowed her head. “My thanks,” she said softly, and put two of the splendid mushrooms in her belt pouch. “That’s not the first good turn you’ve done me.” She took the mushrooms and left the shop.

A couple of Forthwegians who looked as if they were getting paid in spirits were pasting broadsheets on the walls. When Vanai stepped up and read one, she winced. The Algarvians hadn’t chosen to go yanking down everyone’s drawers, at least not yet. Instead, “in the interest of internal security,” they were making the manufacture and possession of black or dark brown hair dye illegal.

After a moment, though, Vanai started to laugh. She thought the redheads were likely to blaze off their own toes with this edict. Kaunians weren’t the only ones it would hurt. Plenty of vain and aging Forthwegians would want to keep the frost from showing in their hair and beards. She doubted whether Mezentio’s men would be able to make the prohibition stick.

Indeed, before she got back to the flat, she heard several Forthwegians--at least, she presumed they were Forthwegians--cursing the new ordinance. That made her laugh again. Sure enough, if the Forthwegian majority rejected this law, the occupiers could make as much noise as they chose; they wouldn’t change anything much. And if Forthwegians got dye, Kaunians who looked like Forthwegians would be able to get it, too.

With those things on her mind, Vanai paid less attention to what was going on around her than she might have, and got caught by an Algarvian clipping patrol. She queued up with the Forthwegians (and, for all she knew, other Kaunians) to wait for Mezentio’s men to finish their duty. With the hair on her head and that between her legs freshly dyed, she was safe unless they had a mage with them.

They won’t, a small, cold voice inside her said. They need their mages to make weapons of war or to kill my people.

And she proved right. An Algarvian constable, looking bored with the whole business, snipped off a lock of her hair. Thanks to the dye, it stayed dark. The redhead nodded and jerked a thumb down the street. “Going on,” he said.

Vanai went on. She would have to jeer at Ealstan: the Algarvians hadn’t thought to start checking people’s secret hair yet. But then she realized jeering wouldn’t do. Ealstan was right; that was something the redheads would come up with, and they probably wouldn’t take long. She muttered something vile. She didn’t look forward to dyeing herself there every couple of weeks.