‘Damn,’ Patrick muttered. He sat up on the poor pallet that served him as bed, chair, and table. ‘It is you. Did you have to come calling in the middle of the bloody night? You know we have to be in the fields before dawn.’
There was more than accusation in his fellow Midkemian’s tone. Having already made one mistake concerning another’s feelings that night, and sobered by that into sensitivity, Kevin chose tact. ‘Something wrong, old friend?’
Patrick sighed and ran a hand over his bald head. ‘You can bet on that. Very wrong. And I’m glad you didn’t wait until tomorrow to come, really. I suppose you heard about Jake and Douglas.’
Kevin drew a careful breath. ‘No,’ he said gently. ‘What’s to hear?’
‘They were hanged for trying to escape!’ Patrick leaned forward, distressed and bitter. ‘We heard about the imperial decree from a tradesman passing by. You weren’t here to dissuade them. God, I tried. They pretended to listen, then sought to bolt the next night. Keyoke, the old fox, knows our ways well enough by now that he guessed somebody might attempt to run for the hills. He had warriors waiting for our boys, and both of them dead before dawn.’
Kevin felt a sting as an insect sampled his calf. He slapped it away with a fury he withheld from his voice. Carefully, weighing this news from the beginning, he said, ‘You mentioned an imperial decree. What was it?’
‘You didn’t hear?’ Patrick laughed incredulously, with a heavy underlying sarcasm. ‘You were in the Holy City, in the company of gods’-almighty nobility, and you didn’t hear?’
‘I didn’t hear,’ Kevin snapped. ‘Now will you kindly tell me?’
Patrick paused, scratched at a scab on his knee, and sighed. ‘Damn me, but you’re telling the truth, at that. That’s maybe not surprising, seeing as slaves mean no more than needra bulls to the runts of this accursed land.’
‘Damn it, tell me, Patrick! If there’s been an imperial decree concerning slaves, I want to know about it.’
‘Simply this,’ said the bald man, who over the years had nearly become a stranger. ‘That the slaves freed from the arena by that Midkemian magician, Milamber, were a freak. Milamber’s been tossed out of the Assembly for what everyone says was not doing his duty by the Empire -- he’s an outlaw for fair reasons, they say, and has a death price on his head. And the Emperor has set his hand and seal to a document posted in every city that no other slaves, ever, can be freed. That does tend to wreck the hope you held out to us, old son. Poor Jake and Douglas lost their stomach for waiting, and there are others as impatient that won’t hang on here much longer.’ With a bitter note, he added, ‘They were so ruined by the word, I believe they knew they were going to be caught and didn’t care.’ He sighed. ‘It’s hard to think how all these-years we’ve been hoping one way or another we’d get home. I guess the prospect of doing this slave work every day until we’re dead . . .’
A silence developed as Kevin absorbed the implications of the news his countryman had related. Patrick caught up in his thinking and realized that his two dead companions had not been the reason for Kevin’s sudden visit.
‘You had a fight with her,’ he accused abruptly.
Kevin nodded ruefully, his lover’s feelings less raw since he had learned of Milamber’s disgrace. Mara’s odd reticence since Kentosani at least had an obvious cause. Upon sober reflection, in a clammy hut full of stinging insects, he saw he had been a fool to let his fur get ruffled. She had never been a woman given to hysterics. And indeed, she must feel as frightened of losing him as he was of being parted from her. If he could not, by her orders, return to mend matters until morning, at least he could give the difficulties of his countrymen long-overdue consideration.
‘I had a bit of a tough night,’ Kevin admitted ruefully. ‘But that’s no reason to lose hope.’
‘Damn you, man, the rift is closed,’ Patrick interjected. ‘That means no return for us, and our only chance is an outlaw’s life in the mountains.’
‘No.’ Bitten by another insect, Kevin slapped his breeches and politely asked for a place on the pallet.
Patrick grudgingly moved over.
‘The rift is closed now, very true.’ The blankets were rough, and Kevin wondered which was the more evil of two irritants, his companion’s bedclothes or the bugs. The mattress was sweat-damp and lumpy, no fit place for a man to spend his nights. Kevin sighed, torn inside between his love for Mara and his responsibility as the only Lord’s son with a chance to find help for his countrymen. As always, he sought comfort in humour. Rather than rail over Tsurani injustice, he regaled Patrick with a jocular account of Mara’s visit to the Keeper of the Imperial Seal.
He managed to coax a dry laugh from Patrick, when he got to the part about the bribe. But the central issue did not pass unnoticed.
‘You don’t know what was in that dispensation,’ the bald man pointed out. it may have nothing whatever to do with us or even slavery at all.’