So after she serves off a quick dribble, he blasts one at her head. She drops to a knee to avoid it and scowls. The crowd laughs. They’re still on his side.
When the lovers are brought back to camp, he’ll show his men the Aydeni and make her watch the soldier do his final duty: die for his crimes. They’ll appreciate that. Nothing brings a group together like a good execution. He won’t give her to them, though. He’s no Ynessi.
Herse’s stomach burbles. Nevertheless, he thinks, this is a disgusting business. Where did the soldier even find an Aydeni woman? Most Aydeni left the city long ago, encouraged by the interrogations of those the army picked up. And he’s no prize. He might have a dozen teeth. Why has he made Herse do this to him?
Herse almost smiles. His soldier couldn’t resist.
The general serves.
The woman returns the ball sharply off the wall. His return is weak, and she puts away her fourth point. A half minute later she gets her fifth.
She isn’t stopping between points, serving as soon as the returned ball touches her hands. So he slows the game down, volleying not to win the point but to push her increasingly off balance. He won’t try to overpower her as she expected. He’ll wait until she makes a mistake. He feints to one side, and she gives just enough for him to get the ball past her on her other side. The crowd sees she’s lost the advantage. He tries the same ploy again, an insult really, and she counters, but twice more he does it, moving her farther to one side, then practically rolls it past her to the other. With the slightest smile, she appreciates his change in tactics then responds in kind. The crowd leans forward, waiting for one to strike fatally. For a long time, they’re tied at five.
As the lovers, tied up and hooded, are dragged through the broken door into the hallway, Herse pictures the soldier begging for her life. Rego, ever measured, responds, “She won’t be killed. She’ll be questioned.” Rego turns to the Aydeni. “And afterward, you’ll be released. You aren’t a spy, are you?” The bag tips up and shakes. “Good,” he says. She’s reassured. The soldier doesn’t say that “afterward” never has a set date. From that point, they come quietly.
Herse is about to put away his point when the painter cries out, “Ho!” and Herse mishits the ball. The woman charges and fires it past him, and she keeps running at him. Does she have something in her hands? Herse grabs her wrists, locks them together, and swings her around to use her as a shield in case the painter is coming at him from behind. He isn’t, and the crowd is preoccupied with the faceless figures being led out of the lodging house to the wagon.
“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’m not like you. Lots of people aren’t.”
“Let’s see,” he says, letting her go.
One of the boys has started to cry. Herse squats beside him. Many are asking, “What have they done?” but the boy puts it more simply, “Are they the bad people?”
“Yes,” Herse says. “We try to keep them outside the walls, but they’re sneaky. Like rats. Sometimes they get inside, and what do you do when a rat gets inside?”
“Eat it!”
“Exactly,” Herse says. “We gobble them up.” He makes a chomping motion with one hand. This amuses the boy. Herse clasps the boy’s shoulder.
The crowd jeers the lovers. The boy’s brother retrieves the ball and winds up to throw it at the soldier. Herse plucks the ball from his hand. “No need for that, though. If you want to help, keep your eyes open. See something. Say something. That’s how we caught them, one of our own soldiers ensnared by an Aydeni. Do your duty better than he did.”
The boys salute. Herse stands and returns it smartly. He tosses them the ball and they run off as the lovers are locked in the wagon’s windowless cabinet.
The woman is still there. She says, “You’d eat your own to survive?”
“No,” he says. “I’d eat our own so you’d survive. And everyone here.”
The crowd approves and turns its jeering on her. He whispers, “You might run off as well. I’d eat you too, if you were worth eating.” He jogs to the wagon, waving good-bye, and climbs up beside Rego on the seat in front of the cabinet. The driver snaps the reins. The other soldiers walk alongside.
Rego scans a side street. “No patrols. Our information was good.”
Herse says, “Did they surrender or resist?”
“Neither,” Rego says. “That information was bad. The landlord was wrong. They weren’t there. Left yesterday. So we grabbed these two, who were squatting.” Herse gives him a look. “We had to grab someone,” Rego says.
“They’ll do,” Herse says. “Just keep the bags on. If the other two are smart, and we’re lucky, they’re already halfway to nowhere.” Good for them, he thinks. “Let’s go over the script for the Council.”