Folks turned our way when we rolled through the outer camp. Families sat on small stools or on the grass, faces turned down, staring at the campfires. Not every tent had a fire, and those seemed the saddest of all.
Some of the people looked Baseeri, a few entire families with black hair and sad blue eyes, but we met a lot more folks with strong Verlattian features and clothes, and farmers with blonde hair who could have been from Geveg.
I’d seen similar faces after the Baseeri threw us out of our homes. Sad, scared, lost. My guts churned, my own memories tumbling through my head.
“Nya, where we gonna sleep?” Tali had asked, tears on her cheeks, fear in her eyes. No seven-year-old should ever be that scared.
“I don’t know, but I’ll find us someplace safe. I promise.”
No tents for us back then. Just hard ground under scratchy bushes. I’d wrapped my arms around Tali to make her feel safe, but it was years before either of us felt – well, not safe, but safer.
Ellis guided the wagon through the campsites. Folks were already moving towards us when we stopped at a large fire with a heavy cook pot hanging over it. A community pot just like the ones I’d eaten at in Geveg. People brought something in the morning, it cooked all day, and everyone shared it that evening. There’d been days when I’d eaten only because I’d sneaked a few handfuls of flour from the mill to thicken the stew. Wasn’t much, but it satisfied the rules.
Today’s stew simmered, bits of sweet potato and rosemary sticking out of the thickening broth. Cook glanced over at us, his face tough and lined from the sun. He smiled and waved.
“Just in time,” he called. “We could use some bread to go with the stew.”
“We have lots of that,” I said, a little guilty as I climbed off the wagon. None of it was as good as the bread Ouea made. No fruit or nuts, no spices. Just basic bread. But no one seemed to care. Food was food.
The children raced right for Aylin, holding out their tiny hands. She always filled one bag with treats – sugar nuts, candied fruit, even a few bricks of sweet brittle.
“News of the day?” Ellis asked while people lined up. Dinner wasn’t all you got at a community pot. Folks got to talking when they had no place to go.
“Nine new carriages rolled into Little ’Crat City,” Cook said.
Ellis chuckled. “You really shouldn’t call it that.”
“Bunch of aristocrats set up camp and keep everyone else out? What would you call it?”
“Rude.” She smiled and handed him another sack. “Want me to look into it?”
He shook his head. “Nah. No self-respecting Baseeri wants to bed down there anyway.”
Ellis glanced at me and winked. Wasn’t too long ago I thought no Baseeri had any self-respect, and she liked to remind me of that.
“Oh, you might want to send the Healers round,” Cook said.
“Is someone hurt?” I asked.
“Might not be serious, but three families came in an hour ago, and they look like they barely made it here. I told ’em to go up to the house, but they insisted they were fine. I said they didn’t have to pay, but it didn’t change their minds.”
“I’ll let Jeatar know.” We didn’t have many Healers, and most of them were apprentices or first or second cords only, but that was more than most folks had access to these days.
We finished up and headed closer to Jeatown and the nicer camps. Carriages, bigger tents, more dark-haired families. Baseeri aristocrats, even a few rich merchants. Dozens of servants still wearing their house colours hovered about, waiting on orders.
Joke or not, it really was Little ’Crat City. Just like in Baseer, they’d closed off their territory, using the carriages like a wall around the camp. They even had their own guards protecting it. Of course, the guards moved out of our way pretty quickly. Ellis had taught them the first day who gave the real orders around here.
They had their own community fire, but you’d never catch them sharing food, just gossip and opinions. We parked the wagon, and the servants lined up while the aristocrats stayed in their comfy chairs. I couldn’t imagine how they’d managed to get them out of Baseer, but I suspected more than one servant had hauled furniture out on their backs.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” a woman in red and blue silk scoffed. She sat around the fire with a few dozen others as well-dressed as she. They didn’t look at us or the food. “Was the Saints themselves. They reached down and crushed the palace with their hands. No living soul did what I saw happen there.”
My stomach twisted. They were talking about me. No good ever came of Baseeri aristocrats talking about me.
“Don’t be daft – it was an attack. Verlattian retaliation, probably.”
“I heard it was a girl,” said another man. “One of those quirkers.”
“The Shifter?”
“That’s right. Part of a Gevegian kill squad to assassinate the Duke.”
I was what? Danello slipped a hand to my shoulder and leaned close. “Easy, ignore them. It’s just gossip.”
Easy for him to say – they weren’t calling him an assassin. I glanced at Aylin and Quenji, both surrounded by children as they handed out the sweetcakes and cookies. She looked back, worry in her eyes, but Quenji had a sly smile like he approved of the story. Quenji liked to tell his own tales. On the streets, a good story told at the right tavern could get you a meal.
“She’s as bad as the Undying,” a woman said, her voice cracking. “They killed my husband. He wasn’t doing anything wrong! Just trying to bring the carriage round.” The young girl beside her started crying. She looked like the girl from Baseer. The one I couldn’t save.
“Fenda, no!”
Metal clanged against metal, then a girl screamed in pain.
“She’s just a child!” the man cried. “How could you?”
Anger chased away some of my fear. I wasn’t anything like the Undying. They’d murdered an innocent girl who’d only been trying to protect her father.
“We traded my wife’s jewellery for a gate pass.”
A man grunted. “I had a soldier ask me for my wife to get through.”
Some folks chuckled, but most looked around as if unsure if he was joking or not.
“Well,” a woman said, “we’re better off than those left behind.”
I pictured Tali and my guts twisted.
“I don’t know what that flash was, or who caused it,” she continued, “but things aren’t right in that city. They haven’t been right since Bespaar—”
Angry shouts came from behind the tents, then repeated orders to stop. Ellis jumped up on to the driver’s bench, her sword out a heartbeat later. Danello drew his rapier.
“What’s going on?” Aylin whispered. The children who had gathered around her moved closer, their blue eyes wide and scared. Quenji stepped in front and nudged them back.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but it doesn’t sound good.”
Three men burst out from behind some tents. Two were blonde, one dark haired. All wore old clothes and masks covering the bottoms of their faces. One man had a bag clutched against his chest, but it wasn’t one of ours.
“Thief!” someone cried, and the camp guards appeared, chasing down the bandits.
Ellis