Prophet
For Alex/Zanna/whatever you're calling yourself today. Happy Midwinter
from
Em, December 2001
Jordan walked quickly through twisting alleys and unnamed streets, his
mud-spattered brown cloak flying out behind him. These were the places
not
even the King could get maps of - no one who knew them well enough to
draw
one would even consider selling their secrets. Thick mud and dust
covered
everything, and while the larger roads were lined with beggars, here
there
were only the children and the elderly, like living skeletons too weak
to
move. Long ago, he had numbed himself to the terrors of that hidden
world.
It was a necessity, as it had been necessary to increase the number of
knives hidden among his clothes.
Just staying alive was becoming more difficult, and the messages he
carried
in their waterproof envelopes went unsigned more often than not.
Something
big was going to happen soon - even the people on the streets could
sense a
tension in the air that hadn’t been there a year ago. Even in broad
daylight, very few people stopped to talk in the streets now, and in
the
rain men and women hurried to get wherever it was they needed to go,
only
stopping when it was impossible for them to continue forward. No one
dared
draw attention to themselves by tossing a few coins to beggars.
As the heavens truly opened up and the steady drizzle that had been
going
all night and morning suddenly became sheets of rain, Jordan stopped
thinking to himself and began to run; waterproof envelopes were
wonderful
things, but even enchanted ones weren’t indestructible. Soon, he stood
at
the mouth of an alley, the buildings to either side looming up to block
out
the meager sunlight. Checking quickly that the message he carried was
secure, he slipped a knife out of its hiding place and gripped it
tightly as
he plunged into the pit of shadows. An old man passing by a minute or
two
later heard a muffled thumping sound like a fist striking wood - three
times, then once, then three times again. He’d already passed, though,
when
two soft clicks echoed faintly through the alley, as a door opened and
closed on silent hinges.
Once inside, Jordan hung his dirty cloak on a hook by the fire. A
young man
moved ghostlike through the flickering firelight, bringing a number of
maps
and two mugs of hot cider over to the large, plain wooden table in the
center of the room. His voice was gentle as he murmured, “It’s good to
see
you, old friend. Nasty day for you to come and visit, but I appreciate
the
thought.”
This was the game they played, the game they’d always played, and it
suited
them both to act out the normalcy that was sorely lacking in their
everyday
lives. “I said to myself today, ‘It’s been too long since I visited
Simon,
and he could probably use some cheering on a day like this,’ so here I
am,”
Jordan replied. “Besides, everyone who’s anyone knows you’re the best
cook
this side of the Semme.”
“Oh,” countered Simon, grinning, “so there are better cooks on the
other
side of the Semme? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No,” Jordan laughed, but then his eyes seemed to dim. He studied the
top
of the wooden table for a moment or two and then looked up, his voice
now
quiet as he continued, “Lord Manderly - you remember him, across the
river?
- will need more soldiers soon, and good ones, if he’s to stay in
power. I’m
off to the Palace, tonight, to get a letter to the King, and then I
head
back. I may stay the night here if I think it’s safe, but I have to be
well
on my way by first light. The Duke will probably need me back over
there as
soon as possible.”
The air grew heavy, then, as each of the two men absorbed himself in
his
own thoughts. Years ago, Jordan had been on his first assignment in
Kenton,
and Simon had been Jordan’s contact. He’d been on many more assignments
since then, a number of them in Kenton, and in that time he and Simon
had
become friends. They trusted each other, and often Simon needed to help
get
Jordan into or out of the city. It was Simon who gathered supplies and
disguises and anything else his friend might need.
Finally, though, Jordan picked up his mug, took a gulp of cider, and
stood
up. “Let’s get to work - the ball starts in a few hours, and I want to
time
it so I get there right in the middle of everything.” Nodding, Simon
walked
over and the two men began studying the maps and discussing their plans
for
the next twenty-four hours.
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