Alis

11
When she woke she was lying on a thin mattress under a woolen cover that smelled faintly damp. She could feel the floor beneath her, and her shoulder ached. Across the room a bundle of blankets and a dented pillow showed where someone else had slept. Groggy, and desperate to relieve herself, she staggered across the bare boards to the half-open door. The corridor outside was silent and empty, but a shutterless window halfway along looked down into a courtyard where a girl was drawing water from a well.
Outside, she realized that it was one of the girls she had seen the previous night—a tall redhead called Shadow. She gave Alis a sour look.
“I need . . .” said Alis.
“Over there.” She jerked her head toward the far side of the court.
“And make sure you use the ash to cover. It will stink otherwise.”
When Alis returned, the girl said grumpily, “I suppose you want something to eat.”
They went back up the splintered staircase. The room where they had eaten the night before was empty except for its battered bits of furniture and a scattering of clothes. Shadow brought her a hunk of bread with some strong-tasting cheese, and ignored her while she ate. When the meal was done the other girl said, “I have to go out. Jojo says I’m to take you with me.”
Alis was glad to be away from the stale rooms. As they crossed the courtyard to the gate, she looked about her. The building ran all the way round. There were open stalls at ground level, like stables without doors, and a single story of rooms above. The place was in poor condition, with gaping holes in the roof at some points, and it seemed to be unoccupied. Alis wondered why aloud.
“Fever,” Shadow said tersely. “Whole city had it four years ago.
Worse on this side of the river, of course. Emptied the place out. Won’t last, though.”
They made their way through narrow streets to a kind of market, a few poor stalls selling cooking pots, bits of cloth, knives, and some food. Shadow bought here and there, spending only in small coins that she took from a belt round her waist. Later they searched musty shops full of old clothes and battered pots until Shadow found someone willing to give a good price for Ethan’s jerkin. Poor Ethan. Alis wondered what had happened to him and longed to know that he was safe. It was her fault if he was not. But he was used to the city, and the boy they called Mute had said he would be all right. Surely he would find his way back to the inn where the horses were stabled, and the woman Molly would look after him.
Over the evening meal, Alis learned that there were seven in the gang, including three girls. There had been eight but one of the boys had been killed the previous month. No one seemed to care much except Shadow, who pushed her food away when the death was mentioned.
Edge was making tiny punctures on the back of her forearm with the point of her knife. Weasel, sitting next to her, was arguing with Joel about something. After a while Edge stopped what she was doing and looked at him sideways. Then she reached across and rested the knife on the back of his hand.
He stopped speaking and looked down. She was pressing hard with the flat of the blade. Everyone went silent. Weasel sat quite still, his face tight with fury. Joel said warningly, “Edge,” and after a moment she put the knife away. Dancer flapped his hands and said reproachfully, “Not nice, not safe,” and some of the others laughed. But Weasel looked murderous. Later Alis watched them cross the courtyard in the evening sunlight. Edge was throwing the knife up into the air and catching it as it fell: the others left a wide circle around her.
Left alone, Alis wondered anxiously what she should do. Her first joy at finding Joel was turning to dismay. Her brother was a leader of thieves. Perhaps they were killers, too. She could not stay in such a wicked place, and the girl Edge terrified her. But she could not go out into the city alone. Even Ethan had not been safe. She had been taught to pray to the Maker, but over last few the months she had not dared to do so. Hesitantly she began: O Maker of the world, hear my prayer and help me in my trouble . . . She paused. Was anyone listening?
She did not try again.
The next day was hot. Shadow sat in the sunny courtyard with another girl, Fleet—slender, dark-haired, with an elfin face and long dark lashes. They had taken a blanket and spread it on the tussocky ground, propping up a couple of moth-eaten parasols for shade. There they remained all day, sometimes sleeping, sometimes talking with their heads close together. Lonely and fearful, Alis did not dare join them.
When evening came, the two of them—plus Dancer, Weasel, and Edge—prepared to go out. Hours afterward, lying sleepless, Alis heard them come back. From the room down the corridor, there was laughter and the sound of money being counted.
For a week or two, Alis spent most of the days sitting in the courtyard or wandering through the endless neglected rooms. Sometimes she went with Shadow on her domestic errands. Then, one evening, as Weasel and the others prepared for their night’s work, Joel gave instructions that Alis should go with them. To her he said, “You’re going to have to learn to be useful so you’d better see how we work. But stay well back; don’t get in the way.”
As they were leaving, he said softly so that the others could not hear, “Take care, Alis.”


Under their wraps, Fleet and Shadow had on only the skimpiest clothing. Dancer wore a pair of loose green trousers, with a grimy waistcoat of red silk over a ragged shirt. When they stepped from the courtyard into the street, he bowed extravagantly to Alis and offered her his arm. Fearful of offending him, she took it.
The heat of the day lingered in the air as they made their way through the warren of lanes and alleys. In places the cobbles were slimy with filth, and the central gutters ran with foulness; Alis was glad of Dancer’s arm. Nearer the river there were crowds of people, and among them, some who were obviously visitors from the north side—groups of men conspicuous by their clothing and a certain bravado. There were stalls set up along the embankment, and the sound of laughter and shouts was in the air. Fiddle players and jugglers vied for attention under flaring torches. Now Dancer went ahead, leaving Alis with Weasel and Edge. Fleet and Shadow wandered along arm in arm, giggling and exchanging banter with the stallholders: the others stayed back a little, always keeping the two girls in sight.
Farther on, Dancer had stopped to watch two men trying their skill at hoop and stick: three hoops on a stick and you got a thimbleful of liquor. The girls stopped also, and Shadow let her wrap slide off her shoulder. Soon they were throwing hoops and laughing loudly at their own inaccuracy. A thickset middle-aged man, who might have been a tradesman or a master craftsman, was paying for everybody and was already flushed with drink. His arm was round Shadow’s shoulder. Once more her three hoops missed the pole and she wailed in mock dismay.
“Have another go,” he said, pulling out a purse attached to his belt by a cord. She shook her head.
“Put it away, fool. You’ll be robbed. Don’t you know thieves come specially when the fair is on?”
Fleet was holding hands with the other man, looking up at him lasciviously from under her long dark lashes. He had a dazed smile on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. They all moved on, followed at a careful distance by Dancer and the rest. The group ahead stopped to buy sweetmeats, and Shadow, sitting on her escort’s lap, had her fortune told by a grubby old woman who turned over cards and promised her riches and long life. Now they had gone the whole length of the fair. Fleet detached herself and tugged Shadow’s arm. They ought to go, she said, it was getting late. Shadow nodded and turned sadly to her companion. He protested at once. Surely she didn’t want to go home. She must know the area well. Couldn’t she suggest somewhere where they could eat and drink, enjoy themselves? The girls conferred. Then Shadow took her companion’s arm again.
Away from the fair, the crowds thinned out. Down this street, under that archway, through this passage—a shortcut, just a little farther, nearly there. The streets were quiet now. Shadow drew her companion into the shadow of a doorway and put her arms round his neck. Fleet’s partner stopped.
“Never mind them,” she whispered. “She knows where we’ll be.” She took him by the hand and they disappeared round the corner.
A few moments later, Shadow gave a sudden cry and pushed the man away from her. At once Weasel, Dancer, and Edge surrounded him. Weasel grabbed him from behind with an arm round his neck, Edge kicked his legs from under him, and almost before he was on the ground, Dancer had found the fat purse and cut it free. Alis, watching in horror from the corner, could not believe the speed of it all. The others were up and running at once, Shadow catching her hand and pulling her along. Seconds later they were joined by Fleet minus her man. A few dark passageways and they slowed to a walk. Alis had no idea where they were.
“All right?” Shadow asked Fleet.
“No trouble.” She laughed softly. “He’ll think he dreamed me.
And see!” She held up another purse—not stuffed like the first but clinking agreeably.


The summer weeks passed and Alis struggled to become used to a new life that appalled her. Joel, seeing her expression once when they were planning a raid, said sharply, “Do you want to starve on the streets? It’s easy enough.” So she kept quiet and learned to mask her feelings. She did not want to die, and she had nowhere else to go.
To her horror, she found that she was to be the gang’s lookout, taking the place of the boy who had died. It was not easy. She did not know the streets and alleys as they did and was terrified of being left behind. Each time her brother said she was to go with them, her stomach churned and she could not eat. Joel ruled the group strictly, insisting that the knives were for purse cutting and intimidation only, unless they were used in self-defense. Nevertheless, Alis was haunted by the thought of blood, and learned to be grateful that Mute was so handy with his great fists. To see a man felled by a blow to the head was bad enough, but it was better than knowing he had a blade between his ribs.
The weather grew cooler, and Alis wondered how long she would have to stay with her brother. Ethan had spoken of finding honest work for her, but he had not thought it safe for her to remain in that part of the city where she might have found it. Even if she had been brave enough to risk venturing out on her own, she knew no decent person would employ her. Already she looked ragged, and though she drew water for washing every day, she could not keep her clothes clean as she had done at home. She told herself she would wait until she was more familiar with the city, but she felt her hope fade with the days.
Joel did not ask about their parents, and he was reluctant to talk about the past. Only once, when she wanted to know whether their mother had driven him away by harshness, he paused.
“Harshness? No, not really. Just, there were too many rules. And the dreariness. All that studying of an old book, and then the future stuck in one place. Our father would have had me work with him, but I wanted to see more of the world, learn something different. I meant to go back to see them, and you, when I had made my fortune.” He grimaced.
“So you are not . . . glad? It isn’t a better life?” She spoke hesitantly, fearing he would resent her questions, but he only shrugged.
“I do as I please, at least. And I needn’t stay here if I don’t want to.” He looked at his sister. “And what about you, Alis? Is it a better life for you?”
She did not answer at first. Then she said slowly, “I could not bear to marry Galin. I have been saved from that.”
He nodded. “Well, I am glad to have you here, and while I am leader, there is a place for you. But don’t expect too much. I can’t protect you from what we have to do, and it’s not always pleasant, as you’ve found out. Besides, the others already think I favor you. If I lose their loyalty, there’ll be nothing for either of us.”
She nodded. “When you first came to the city, did you look for . . . work of a different kind?”
He laughed briefly at her expression. “Well, I was set upon as soon as I arrived, and what little I had was stolen from me. I lived rough for a while. Then I met Dancer and he taught me how to pick pockets. It’s as good a living as any.”
“You didn’t miss home?”
He made no answer and she could not help adding, “I missed you.” She had put it away long ago—the misery of those first weeks. Now it came back to catch in her throat so that her voice trembled when she spoke.
He looked uncomfortable. “I thought of you often. And I kept the name Jojo. No one but you had ever called me that.”
She wanted him to say more, but the others came in and the moment passed.
Often a feeling of desolation came over her. There was nothing to look forward to, and only a hard, dangerous way of life to learn. Dancer was kind enough in his strange fashion, but Fleet and Shadow were unfriendly, and Weasel openly resented her presence. Edge never took any notice of Alis, but she was unpredictable and the ever-present knife was alarming.
In the small dark hours, afraid and sleepless, Alis could not escape the thought that Ethan might never go back to Two Rivers. And even if he did, he could not bring her any news, not knowing where she was in the city. Most likely he was glad to be rid of her after what had happened. Luke was lost to her: it was punishment for her wickedness. The Maker had turned his face from her, and there was nothing before her but to die eventually and go alone into the dark.
Slowly, however, she became used to her new life. Her brother was kind to her when he was sure no one would notice, and if the others disliked her, they did nothing about it.
One night, having successfully relieved a lost stranger of his money, they stopped to catch their breath in a shadowy doorway. Suddenly Alis noticed that Edge was no longer with them. Nervously she pointed this out to the others. Weasel merely shrugged, and Shadow said tartly, “Edge can take care of herself, as she’s always telling us. Come on, let’s go. I’m cold.”
“But she always comes back with us,” Alis said.
“Well, this time she ’asn’t.” Weasel sounded irritable. “We can’t do nothin’ anyway.”
“Something might have happened to her.” Edge knew the city better than anyone, but Alis could not bear the thought that they might be abandoning the fair-haired girl when she needed their help. Her own dread of being left behind in the dark squares and alleyways had not diminished. “We could just go back and look.”
Dancer, who was performing a neat sidestepping routine to and fro on the cobbles, broke off to say, “Quick look. No harm.”
Alis added quickly, “Then if she doesn’t come back, we can tell Joel we tried.”
That decided them. They retraced their steps cautiously, catching sight from time to time of other stealthy figures like themselves or a lone person slinking by.
Then they saw her. Light spilled for a moment from a tavern door, and there was Edge, limping slightly and clutching her jacket close about her in the chill night air. Weasel whistled softly and she looked up, startled.
They joined her, Shadow saying, “Why are you walking like that? Are you hurt?”
Edge shook her head. “Turned my ankle, that’s all. I couldn’t run. Didn’t expect you lot to come back, though. You needn’t have. I can manage on my own.”
“See!” Shadow gave Alis a hard shove. “We could’ve been back home instead of out here in the cold.”
Dancer made a little sound of protest. “Can’t run is dangerous. Bad people like us about.” The others laughed and Alis felt foolish, wishing she had kept quiet.
But the next day, Alis was drawing water from the well when Edge came through the grass-choked gateway. The other girl stopped and then made toward Alis. She was carrying something wrapped in a piece of cloth. “Do you like plums?”
Alis nodded, surprised. Edge sat down with her back against the stone well, motioning Alis to join her. She opened the cloth. “Three each,” she said.