Alis

10
They passed along a paved street of fine houses—merchants’ houses, Ethan said—and then crossed the grand main square. Alis would have stopped to gape, but fear of Master Bartholomew drove her on. Leaving the square, they entered a district of tradesmen’s shops—carpenters, boot and harness makers, chandlers, glove makers, taverns and pie shops, places selling lengths of cloth, hat makers, bakeries, apothecaries’ shops. She was dizzy with it all. More houses, of a modest kind, and two rows of what Ethan called charity dwellings—built for the poor by merchants hoping for the Maker’s favor, he said.
“Do the people here worship the Maker?” Alis asked in surprise.
“Your parents would not think so, but there are places of prayer of all kinds, though they do not follow the ways of the Communities. The world has more in it than you have been taught.”
Alis was silent. She was beginning to feel that she knew nothing at all.
When at length they came to the bridge, it was still too early for the boy to be there. Alis leaned on the parapet to watch the choppy water slapping the bank.
“That way is the sea,” Ethan said, pointing. “There was a port here once, but the river’s been silting up for years. Now the seagoing ships unload onto barges downriver, on the coast.”
She savored the smell, a muddy wetness with a tang of fish somewhere. Gulls scooped the air above the water and dived suddenly at invisible prey. Their harsh cries mingled with the voices of boatmen and with the more distant sounds of cargo being unloaded at the dock farther down.
For a little while, Alis was content to be away from the tavern, but as time went on and there was no sign of the boy, she became nervous. Master Bartholomew might, even now, be on their track. The open spaces and the sunlight, which had been such a pleasure at first, now seemed threatening.
It began to grow cooler. People came and went across the river. Still the boy did not come. Ethan said nothing, his face gloomy, but just as they were giving up hope, a ragged child sidled out from behind a couple of passing workmen. He was no more than ten years old, small, and very dirty. He stopped in front of Ethan, saying in a hoarse voice, “Man for Joe?”
Ethan said, “Joel. A tall, fair man called Joel, or Jojo maybe. You know him?”
The boy did not answer but jerked his head in the direction of the bridge and held out his hand. Ethan said, “Where’s the other boy—the one I spoke to this morning? Did he send you?”
The child nodded. Ethan reached into a pocket and produced a single copper coin that he held out. The child looked at it but he did not move to take it.
Ethan said, “You’ll get another one afterward. You understand? When we find Joel.”
Almost before he had finished speaking, the child had snatched the coin and shoved it away inside a tattered shirt that had once been white. Then he set off at a trot across the bridge without looking back. Ethan and Alis followed him.


On the far side, the boy led them along the embankment, stopping from time to time so that they did not lose sight of him. Blocks of mean-looking houses and shops, separated by alleyways, faced them on the other side of the roadway. On one corner was an inn with a faded sign showing a crudely painted sail and a coil of rope. The boy darted across the road and gestured to them to follow. They turned down one of the alleyways.
Almost at once they lost sight of the river, and there was no more breeze to freshen the air. Ethan looked about him uneasily as they hurried along in the child’s wake. The narrow streets twisted and crisscrossed. Fearfully, Alis wondered whether they would be able to find their way back if they needed to. The late-afternoon sun was already too low to penetrate the narrowest lanes, and in places the upper floors jutted out over the cobbles, making a kind of early twilight that seemed full of shadows. The few people they encountered either ignored them or stared suspiciously. Already they looked out of place—clearly better dressed than the locals, and their bundles showing them to be strangers, too. Ahead of them, the boy was visible only as a blur of limbs and a flutter of tattered shirt. Alis kept close to Ethan as they were drawn deeper into the maze of cobbled lanes. On the corner of a square, a woman with a heavily painted face put her hand on Ethan’s arm and murmured an invitation. He shook her off and they hastened away down yet another narrow passageway in the thickening dusk.
The boy had halted for them at the next turn. Before he could dart off again, Ethan called urgently, “Wait!”
When they came level with him, Ethan held up another copper coin—out of the boy’s reach. “It is getting too late. You must take us back to the bridge. We will come again tomorrow, in the morning, when it is light.”
The child said in his strange, hoarse voice, “T’ain’t far now,” and made as if to go on but just then a man rounded the corner. He glanced at the little group and stopped abruptly, glaring at the boy. “Why you little—didn’t I tell you not to come round here again?”
He made a grab for the boy’s arm, but the child kicked out viciously, freed himself, and was off. With a roar of rage, the man charged after him. In seconds, he was out of sight. They heard the thud of his boots briefly, then there was silence.
They listened intently, but there was no sound of returning footsteps. Alis looked at Ethan nervously. “Do you think he’ll come back—that man, I mean?”
“I doubt it,” Ethan said quietly. “And maybe it’s best that we aren’t here if he does. Alis, we must turn back. I can go no farther without a guide, and besides, it will be dark soon. Come now. We will try again tomorrow.”
She did not protest, for of course he was right, but her heart was heavy. Surely they had been close to finding her brother, and perhaps now they had lost their chance. “Do you know the way?”
“No, but we’ve been heading south. We must go north again, find the river, and cross the bridge. We’ll not go to Moll’s. There are other inns.”
They turned back along a narrow street of crumbling houses. Walls bulged out or leaned at dangerous angles. Missing doors made mouths of blackness. There was no sound of human activity. Fearfully, Alis hurried along in the gloom.
Suddenly, a foot hooked itself round her ankle and she lost her balance. Someone caught her as she fell and a hand covered her mouth. At the same time a ragged figure came between her and Ethan. There was a thud and a groan as Ethan went down. A girl emerged abruptly from a doorway. She was no taller than Alis, but she was holding a knife whose blade glinted in the dull light. The newcomer joined the ragged figure who was kneeling over Ethan.
Panic-stricken, Alis struggled, trying to dig her elbow into her captor’s belly, but he was too strong for her. Still off balance, she could not prevent him dragging her away from where Ethan lay on the ground. Then the hand over her mouth slackened its hold slightly, and she bit hard into the soft flesh at the base of the thumb. With a curse he let go. She seized her chance and fled.
She was between high walls, stumbling on slimy cobbles. At once she was lost. Footsteps behind her urged her on. Left. Right. Back on herself. Right again. And again. She ran in blind terror. Down an opening on the left—too late she saw the blank wall at the end.
Trapped! But no. There was a passageway running along the wall. She turned right out of it. This time she really was in a dead end.
Sobbing for breath, she turned back. The knife girl barred her exit. She turned again. Yet another passageway, and at the far end, the silhouette of a tall youth. She swiveled round: knife girl one way; tall youth the other. Alis stopped. They would kill her, but she must breathe, she must breathe.
Her pursuers looked older than she was. Not one of them was out of breath. They watched her as she recovered, cutting off the escape routes but not coming any closer. The girl was nearest: thin, raggedly dressed, with spiky fair hair. The tallest of them was almost a man, with a pocked, battered-looking face and long dark hair tied back with a scrap of cloth. When she met his eye he grinned, revealing broken teeth. She looked away, frightened. A skinny boy, clothed in a colorful array of mismatched items, was performing an elaborate dance on his own on the cobblestones. His feet beat a pattern that ended in a pirouette and began again immediately. He stopped suddenly and stared at her. Then he held out his hand. “Dance?”
She stared back with a sense of nightmare. After a moment he began again, feet pattering lightly on the cobbles. The others continued to watch her in silence.
Someone came into the passageway from the far end, carrying bundles—hers and Ethan’s, Alis realized. The tall youth said at once, “Let’s go. It’s too light still, for ’angin round.”
“What about her?” It was the spiky-haired girl with the knife. Her voice was light and sharp.
“Leave ’er.” It was an instruction.
The dancer left off his routine and said protestingly, “Not safe, not kind.”
“Don’t be a fool, Dancer. She ain’t nothin’ to us.” His pockmarked face was ugly in the half light.
Alis said suddenly in a loud voice, “I’m looking for my brother.” She did not know why she had spoken. She felt giddy with fright. The one called Dancer said sorrowfully, “Not this side of the river. Only derelicts. Shouldn’t come this way. Not safe.”
“He’s called Joel.” Her voice seemed to have a life of its own. It would insist on talking.
The knife girl said spitefully, “Joel! Nobody gives himself a name like that this side of the river.”
“When I was little I called him Jojo.” Why was she telling them this?
They had turned away, but now they swung back and were staring suspiciously at her.
“She’s making it up,” the fair girl said at last. “It can’t be true.”
“What’s ’e do, this brother o’ yours?” the tall youth wanted to know. He seemed to be the leader.
Alis’s voice was shaking. “I don’t know. He came here years ago and now I’ve run away. I’ve got to find him.”
They were looking at each other uneasily. Finally the tall boy nodded. “Bring ’er along. We better be sure. We c’n always get rid of ’er.”
Dancer took her arm. He had a beautiful, heart-shaped face, half-hidden by ragged locks of dark hair. His voice was coaxing. “Come with us. Much safer. Bad place. Worse at night.”
In a sudden panic she pulled back. What was she doing? They had decided to leave her, and now she had made them change their minds.
“No! I must find Ethan. He’s hurt. You’ve hurt him. Perhaps he’s dead.”
The one with the bundles shook his head. He was dark and heavy, almost a man, his neck so thick and short that his head seemed to grow out of his shoulders. “Nah. He’ll be all right. He was coming round. We don’t kill unless we have to. Ain’t that right, Weasel?”
The tall youth grinned ferociously but said nothing.
Dancer held on to her and said soothingly, “Gone by now. Come with us. Much better. Danger in the dark.”
She let herself be led away.


The light was gone by the time they stopped at the entrance to a small courtyard. A torch flared in a wall-holder, giving off a smell of pitch. The fair girl went first, taking the torch with her. The gate was old and grass grew at its base. It would not open all the way, and they squeezed through the opening one at a time, Dancer pushing Alis ahead of him. The courtyard itself was very dark, the ground uneven underfoot. Following the flare of the torch they came to an opening.
A voice spoke out of the shadows. “You’ve been a long time. And who is that with you?”
The girl raised the torch and it lit up a pale face framed by long hair: behind him a dusty staircase disappeared up into darkness. Alis saw him only for an instant as he turned away saying curtly, “Bring her inside.”
Could this be her brother?
The room above was lit by a couple of reeking, smoky tallow lamps, and was furnished with nothing but a table and a few battered chairs. As they entered, voices called out greetings and questions.
Dancer pushed Alis forward. A hand lifted a lamp from the table so that it cast its light on her face, dazzling her. There was silence. Then the lamp was replaced on the table and she could see. He was older than the rest, lean and muscular, with the pale face she had glimpsed at the foot of the stairs. The others were quiet and still, deferring to him, except for the knife girl who said in her sharp voice, “This girl says she’s looking for her brother. Claims she used to call him Jojo. We thought we’d better bring her back.”
Alis was trembling with fright. Only Dancer’s grip was keeping her upright. The pale face swam before her. Someone was speaking: “Who are you?”
She made an effort to focus her eyes. The young man who seemed to be the leader was standing with his arms crossed, looking at her. Was it Jojo? She strained to find the remembered face in his features. For a moment she thought she recognized him, and then he was a stranger again. She said as firmly as she could, “My name is Alis. I am looking for my brother, Joel. He is here in the city somewhere, I am sure, and I must find him.”
She was afraid that they would kill her, or worse.
He said, “Perhaps I know him. Tell me about him.”
She did not think he meant it; he was playing with her, before they did whatever they were going to do. And what could she tell him? Half her life had passed since Joel’s disappearance and not a word from him in all that time. For all she knew he might be dead. And yet . . . surely there was something about the eyes, the shape of the brow. He spoke again. It was a stranger’s voice, quenching her hope.
“This brother—this Joel—what is he like?”
“I have not seen him for seven years, since he ran away. He had fair hair and blue eyes. He used to carry me on his back.”
He said dismissively, “He sounds like every older brother. Can you remember nothing more particular?”
Where memory should have been, there was only fear. Then a fragment of the past came back to her. “I bit him once when I was little. There was something I couldn’t do, and he said it was because I was a girl. I said I wasn’t going to be a girl anymore and he laughed at me. He was very good about it—it was bleeding, but he didn’t tell. My mother would have been very angry with me. Now I have told you enough. You are surely not my brother, so let me go.”
“Where did you bite him?”
Would he never leave off? What did it matter to him? “On the inside of his wrist.” She could remember the surprising resistance of his skin between her teeth.
“Where are you from?”
“I am from Freeborne, one of the Communities of the Book.” Too late it occurred to her that it might be a mistake to admit this.
“What is your mother’s name?”
She gave in to his insistence. “She is called Hannah.”
“And your father?”
“Reuben.”
“Who is the Minister?”
“His name is Galin. Please, let me go.” She heard the whimper in her voice. She had not meant to plead, but she could not help herself.
He held out his hand, palm up. On the inside of the wrist was a faint white scar. “You bit hard, little sister. I remember it well.” He was smiling faintly, and his features were suddenly familiar.
“Oh!” She felt giddy with joy and relief. “You are Joel.”
He said quietly, “My name was Joel once. And I came from Freeborne. My mother was called Hannah and my father, Reuben.” His expression hardened. “Have you been sent to tell me that the Maker forgives and that I should return home? Surely you have not come with the Elders at your heels to fetch me back after all these years!”
She shook her head. “I need help.”
“What help do you seek? I have nothing. I cannot go back there, whatever your trouble is.”
“I cannot go back there, either. They have driven me out and I thought to find refuge with you.”
He looked startled. “What could you have done that they should drive you out? And how have you managed to get here?”
The knife girl broke in impatiently, “Jojo, we’re hungry. You can ask questions later.”
He did not take his eyes off Alis, but he nodded. “Yes, we must eat. Dancer, fetch a chair, and one of you get her something to drink, and food, too.”
He held out his hand. “Come, Alis. You look exhausted. Sit down. Do not be afraid. I am very glad to see you again, and if you need refuge, you shall have it.”
Fear had killed her appetite, but she drank gratefully while the others talked and joked. Joel sat watching her, and she noted uneasily that he frowned from time to time. She glanced covertly at the others, remembering how they had attacked her and Ethan. Joel was their leader. No wonder he had not embraced her, or spoken the loving words she longed to hear. He was a different person now.
When they had finished eating, Joel demanded to hear her story and she complied. Her listeners were mostly quiet while she spoke, although Galin’s age drew a hiss of fury from the fair-haired girl whose name was Edge.
There was silence when Alis stopped talking, then Joel said, “You are right. You cannot go back. You must stay here.”
Before she could thank him, there was a voice from the shadows. “We don’t need no one else.” Weasel thrust forward into the lamplight, his face hostile. There were murmurs of agreement from some of the others.
Joel looked at him steadily. “She’s my sister. I will not turn her away.”
“She ain’t any good to us. Chuck ’er out now.”
Edge was playing with her knife, turning it this way and that, catching the light. Now she turned the blade so that it flashed in the speaker’s eyes. “Lay off, Weasel.” He turned his head away with a curse.
Joel looked at his Alis. Her face was white, and there were huge shadows under her eyes. “Put her to bed,” he said to Edge, and the fair girl led Alis away to somewhere dark and quiet.