Alis

12
Edge’s support did not make Alis any more popular with the others, but it was a comfort. It pleased Joel, too, and Alis felt closer to her brother. It was not that Edge was friendly: she said little and was prone to black moods when not even Joel dared to disturb her. But Alis knew that the ever-present knife would not be turned on her, and in the dangerous byways of the city, the fair-haired girl could be relied on.
One morning Joel and Dancer were out somewhere. Shadow and Fleet sat murmuring to each other in a corner, while Weasel and Mute bickered over a card game. With nothing to do, Edge paced the room until Shadow looked up and said irritably, “Go out, can’t you? It’s like being shut up with a mad beast.” She glanced at Alis. “And take her with you.”
Alis felt herself flush, but before she could respond, Edge swung toward her, saying flatly, “Come on. It’s time you learned your way around.”
They went through a part of the city Alis had never seen before, along narrow streets to a crowded market. At one end, farm women from outside the southern wall sat on the ground, keeping watch over small piles of parched-looking vegetables and fruit. Some of them had tiny pens containing three or four scrawny chickens with their feet tied together. The birds pecked listlessly at the dust as if they knew their time was nearly up. Farther on, there were dozens of rickety stalls selling cooking pots, lengths of cloth, needles and thread, knives—all of poor quality. There were food stands, too. And everywhere, a press of people—pushing, arguing, haggling.
Alis kept close to Edge as they made their way between two lines of food stalls. Some of these had fire buckets with bubbling pots perched on top, adding to the pungent mix of smells. Alis watched a stallholder wipe a used platter with a cabbage leaf and begin ladling out a fresh portion of the greasy mixture from his pot. A couple of skinny lads handed over some coins and crouched down between the stalls to share the food.
Suddenly, a hunched, ragged-looking man barged his way to the front. His face was flushed and his eyes bloodshot. He demanded loudly to know the price of the grayish stew, and when the stallholder named it, he turned away with a curse. As he did so, he jogged the elbow of one of the squatting boys. The platter tilted, and the remains of the stew slopped onto the ground. With a screech of rage, the lad leaped to his feet, fists up. The man swung his arm and the boy went down, howling. At the same time, the stallholder kicked out at a mangy dog licking up the spilled food. He missed, and his foot caught the ankle of a thin-faced housewife instead. The woman yelped in pain, and the man at her side—her husband perhaps—gave the stallholder a violent shove. Within seconds, blows were being exchanged amid a clamor of angry voices.
In the rapidly growing crowd, Alis lost sight of Edge. She was struggling against the throng to find her again, when a man in sailor’s clothes grabbed her arm. “No good, this. You come along wi’ me,” he said roughly, hauling her away. Panic-stricken, Alis jerked her arm in an attempt to free herself, but he held on firmly. A woman stallholder said doubtfully, “Here now,” but the sailor winked at her. “She’s mad wi’ me for not buying her a ring, see. Womenfolk!”
He clamped his arm around Alis’s waist and half lifted her off the ground. “You come along, my girl. I’ll gi’ ye more than a ring, don’t ye fret.”
He was holding her so tightly and she was so frightened that she had no breath to scream. Within a minute, they were away from the heaving market crowd and he was dragging her down an alleyway with washing strung between the upper stories.
Her voice hoarse with terror, she twisted in his grasp crying, “Let me go! Let me go!”
A couple of roughly dressed young men came toward them. They looked at her as they went past and laughed coarsely. One of them said, “You’ve got an armful there, sailor. Want some help?”
The sailor grunted. “I can manage this ’un, I reckon.”
He swung her round, pushing her into a short passageway that ended in a blind wall. He let her go then and stood still, blocking the exit. She backed away from him, giddy with terror, the blood thundering in her ears. “Leave me alone!”
She could hardly get the words out, her throat was so dry. He grinned and came toward her, a big man with sun-weathered skin and blackened teeth. Her back to the wall, she put up her hands to fend him off, but he seized her wrists in one great paw and stretched her arms above her head so that he could press his body into hers. He smelled of sweat, tobacco, and clothes long unwashed. Desperately, she attempted to heave him off, but he only laughed and put his face down to hers. She jerked her head sideways, but he got his mouth against her lips, pressing, trying to force his tongue between her clenched teeth. His breath was foul. Only the fear of opening her mouth prevented her from vomiting. After a few seconds, he leaned away from her and said coaxingly, “Come on, now. Be a good girl. I’ll gi’ ye a present for it.”
She tried to kick him, but there wasn’t room and it only made him laugh again. With his free hand, he took hold of the front of her shirt, pulling at it so that the fastenings began to tear away. As the thin material ripped, horror gave her strength, and she spat in his face. His head jerked back in surprise, and at the same moment a voice shouted urgently, “Alis! Alis! Where are you?”
“Here!” she screamed. “Help me! Help me!”
The sailor put his hand over her mouth but it was too late. From the end of the passageway, Edge said sharply, “You’d best let her go, sailor. She’s got a brother who won’t like what you’re up to. He and his mates are on their way. This is their patch.”
The sailor released Alis and turned round. Hesitantly, he stepped toward the exit. He was blocking her view but Alis heard Edge say, “That’s right, sailor. You keep coming. You’re in a trap now, and if I were you, I’d be out of it when the boys arrive. Nasty things knives, especially when it’s three to one in a little space like this.”
He took a couple strides and was out of the passageway. Edge shouted, “This way, you lot! Quick!” Alis caught a glimpse of the knife in her hand.
A pair of boots clattered on the cobbles. Then there was silence. Trembling and sick, Alis clutched her tattered shirt to her. She leaned against the wall, her legs shaking so much she did not think she could walk. Edge was still silhouetted in the opening, keeping watch. “Come on! We must get away.”
When Alis did not stir, Edge said urgently, “He might come back if he guesses he’s been fooled, and this is a bad place. Move, Alis.”
Shakily, Alis took a step, and then another, forcing herself forward. Edge grabbed her by the hand. “Straighten up,” she said tersely, “and try not to look as though something’s happened.”
Alis did her best to comply. Dazed, she looked round for Joel and the others, saying hoarsely, “Is my brother . . . ?”
“No, of course not! I was bluffing. Now let’s get away from here.” Alis hardly noticed the route they took. She clung to Edge, terrified that the sailor would reappear. No one troubled them, however, and after a while, they emerged from the twisting alleyways into a district of squares and ruined buildings. There were children playing in the dirt and women going to and fro with baskets. After a while she said, “I can’t go any farther.” She sat down on the pedestal of a broken fountain.
Edge looked round warily. “All right,” she said. “But we shouldn’t stay too long.”
Alis felt as if the ground were moving beneath her. The smell of the man was on her skin. She could taste him on her lips and feel the coarseness of his fingers on her breast. She leaned forward and vomited into the dirt. Over and over her stomach heaved and her throat convulsed. It seemed as though it would never stop.
When it did, her mouth remained full of foulness, though she spat into the dust until she could spit no more. At last Edge said, “Let’s move on.”


The tavern was down a flight of steps, in the cellar beneath a chandler’s shop. It was crowded, but Edge was obviously a regular. She made straight for the yard at the back, where there was a well. Alis splashed her face with cool water and drank a little to freshen her mouth. She was still trembling, and she felt exhausted.
When they went back inside, two old prostitutes sitting at the bar made room for them. A tankard of something cold was put before Alis.
“Try it,” Edge said. “You’ll feel better.”
One of the women, thick face paint clogging the creases in her skin, jerked her head at Alis and raised her plucked eyebrows. “What’s up with her?”
“A sailor tried it on,” Edge said. “We got away, though.”
The woman nodded. “Men,” she said without feeling. “All bastards.” She stared moodily into her drink.
Alis took a sip from the tankard before her. The bitterness of the dark brown liquid took her by surprise, and she thought she would be sick again. She drew a deep breath, and after a moment the feeling passed, to be replaced by an agreeable warmth in her belly.
She lifted her head and saw that Edge was looking at her without expression. She felt her eyes fill with tears. “You saved me,” she said tremulously. “If it hadn’t been for you . . .” She could not go on.
Edge shrugged in her usual way. “No point escaping from the minister man to be banged up by a sailor.”
The prostitute lifted her head from her drink to say to Edge, “Came to her rescue, did you? You’re a tough ’un all right. Friend, is she?”
The fair-haired girl hesitated briefly, then nodded. She caught Alis’s eye and looked away, flushing faintly. She lifted her tankard. “Drink up,” she said. “Time we were on our way.”


Back with the others, Edge merely said that they had been attacked but had gotten away. The girls and Weasel showed little sympathy, while Dancer fluttered round them uselessly until Edge turned on him. Joel looked grim and said they must take better care. His eyes rested on his sister anxiously, but he said nothing. Alis retreated to the room where she slept, feeling soiled and ashamed.


For a few days, she would not go out. She shivered with fever on her thin mattress, and in her dreams the sailor came toward her, his features monstrously enlarged, hands everywhere. Eventually, Edge, who had tended her for nearly a week, lost patience.
“Nothing happened, and you can’t stay here forever. I’ve brought you water to wash in and here’s a shirt you can have. You can burn the other one if it makes you feel better. Now get up!”
So the matter was ended. Alis felt herself harden toward the world. She looked about her distrustfully and thought that perhaps all men were vile. But Edge was her friend—there was no doubt of that—and she owed her a debt that could never be paid.