‘It’s life that you’re full of.’ Barathol frowned and then shook his head. ‘I’m not very good at saying what I mean, am I?’

‘Keep trying.’

‘You can be… overwhelming.’

‘Typical, put on a little fat and suddenly I’m too much for him.’

‘You’re not.fat and you know it. You have,’ he hesitated, ‘shape.’

She thought to laugh, decided that it might come out too obviously hurt, Which would make him feel even worse. Besides, her comment had been little more than desperate misdirection-she’d lost most of the weight she’d put on during her pregnancy. ‘Barathol, has it not occurred to you that maybe I am as I am because behind it all there’s not much else?’

His frown deepened.

Chaur dropped down from the crate and came over. He patted her on the head with a sticky hand and then hurried off into the yard.

‘But you’ve lived through so much.’

‘And you haven’t? Gods below, you were an officer in the Red Blades. What you did in Aren-’

‘Was just me avoiding a mess, Scillara. As usual.’

‘What are we talking about here?’

His eyes shied away. ‘I’m not sure. I suppose, now that Cutter’s left you…’

‘And Duiker’s too old and Picker’s a woman and that’s fun but not serious-for me, at least-I’ve found myself in need of another man. Chaur’s a child, in his head, that is. Leaving… you.’

The harsh sarcasm of her voice stung him and he almost stepped back. ‘From where I’m standing,’ he said.

‘Well,’ she said, sighing, ‘it’s probably what I deserve, actually. I have been a bit… loose. Wayward. Looking, trying, not finding, trying again. And again. From where you’re standing, yes, I can see that.’

‘None of that would matter to me,’ Barathol then said. ‘Except, well, I don’t want to be just another man left in your wake.’

‘No wonder you’ve devoted your life to making weapons and armour. Problem is, you’re doing that for everyone else.’

He said nothing. He simply watched her, as, she realized, he had been doing for some time now. All at once, Scillara felt uncomfortable. She drew hard on her pipe. ‘Barathol, you need some armour of your own.’

And he nodded. ‘I see.’

‘I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep. Still, it may be that my waywardness is coming to an end. People like us, who spend all our time looking, well, even when we find it we usually don’t realize it-until it’s too late.’

‘Cutter.’

She squinted up at him. ‘He had no room left in his heart, Barathol. Not for me, not for anyone.’

‘So he’s just hiding right now?’

‘In more ways than one, I suspect.’

‘But he’s broken your heart, Scillara.’

‘Has he?’ She considered. ‘Maybe he has. Maybe I’m the one needing armour.’ She snorted. ‘Puts me in my place, doesn’t it.’ And she rose.

Barathol started. ‘Where are you going?’

‘What? I don’t know. Somewhere. Nowhere. Does it matter?’

‘Wait.’ He stepped closer. ‘Listen to me, Scillara.’ And then he was silent, on his face a war of feelings trying to find words. After a moment, his scowl deepened. ‘Yesterday, if Cutter had just walked in here to say hello, I’d have taken him by the throat. Hood, I’d have probably beaten him unconscious and tied him up in that chair. Where he’d stay-until you dropped by.’

‘Yesterday.’

‘When I thought I had no chance.’

She was having her own trouble finding words. ‘And now?’

‘I think… I’ve just thrown on some armour.’

‘The soldier… unretires.’

‘Well, I’m a man, and a man never learns.’

She grinned. ‘That’s true enough.’

And then she leaned close, and as he slowly raised his arms to take her into an embrace she almost shut her eyes-all that relief, all that anticipation of pleasure, even joy-and the hands instead grasped her upper arms and she was pushed suddenly to one side. Startled, she turned to see a squad of City Guard crowding the doorway.

The officer in the lead had the decency to look embarrassed.

‘Barathol Mekhar? By city order, this smithy is now under temporary closure, and I am afraid I have to take you into custody.’

‘The charge?’

‘Brought forward by the Guild of Smiths. Contravention of proper waste disposal. It is a serious charge, I’m afraid. You could lose your business.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Barathol said. ‘I am making use of the sewage drains-I spill nothing-’

‘The common drain, yes, but you should be using the industrial drain, which runs alongside the common drain.’’This is the first I have heard of such a ihing ‘

‘Well,’ said a voice behind the guards, ‘if you were a member of the Guild, you’d know all about it, wouldn’t you?’

It was a woman who spoke, but Scillara could not see past the men in the door way.

Barathol threw up his hands. ‘Very well, I am happy to comply. I will install the proper pipes-’

‘You may do so,’ said the officer, ‘once the charges are properly adjudicated, fines paid, and so forth. In the meantime, this establishment must be shut down. The gas valves must be sealed. Materials and tools impounded.’

‘I see. Then let me make some arrangement for my helper-somewhere to stay and-’

‘I am sorry,’ cut in the officer, ‘but the charge is against both you and your apprentice.’,,

‘Not precisely,’ said the unseen woman. ‘The blacksmith cannot have an apprentice unless he is a member of the Guild. The two are colluding to undermine the Guild.’

The officer’s expression tightened. ‘As she said, yes. I’m not here to prattle on in the language of an advocate. I do the arrest and leave one of my guards to over-see the decommissioning of the establishment by a qualified crew.’

‘A moment,’ said Barathol. ‘You are arresting Chaur?’

‘Is that your apprentice’s name?’

‘He’s not my apprentice. He’s a simpleton-’

‘Little more than a slave, then,’ snapped the unseen official of the Guild. ‘That would be breaking a much more serious law, I should think.’

Scillara watched as two men went to the yard and returned with a wide-eyed, whimpering Chaur. Barathol attempted to console him, but guards stepped in between them and the officer warned that, while he didn’t want to make use of shackles, he would if necessary. So, if everyone could stay calm and collected, they could march out of here like civilized folk. Barathol enquired as to his right to hire an advocate and the officer replied that, while it wasn’t a right as such, it was indeed a privilege Barathol could exercise, assuming he could afford one.

At that point Scillara spoke up and said, ‘I’ll find one for you, Barathol.’

A flicker of relief and gratitude in his eyes, replaced almost immediately by his distress over the fate of Chaur, who was now bawling and tugging his arms free every time a guard sought to take hold of him.

‘Let him alone,’ said Barathol. ‘He’ll follow peacefully enough-just don’t grab him.’

And then the squad, save one, all marched out with their prisoners. Scillara fell in behind them, and finally saw the Guild official, a rather imposing woman whose dignity was marred by the self-satisfied smirk on her face.

As Scillara passed behind the woman, she took hold of her braid and gave it a sharp downward tug.

’Ow!’ The woman whirled, her expression savage.

‘Sorry,’ Scillara said. ‘Must have caught on my bracelet.’And as Scillara continued on down the street, she heard, from the squad offi-iri: ‘She’s not wearing any bracelet.’

The Guild woman hissed and said, ‘I want her-’

And then Scillara turned the corner. She did not expect the officer to send anyone in pursuit. The man was doing his job and had no interest in complicating things.

‘And there I was,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘about to trap a very fine man in my messed-up web. Hoping-praying-that he’d be the one to untangle my life.’ She snorted. ‘Just my luck.’

From rank superstitions to scholarly treatises, countless generations had sought understanding of those among them whose minds stayed undeveloped, childlike or, indeed, seemingly trapped in some other world. God and demon possession, stolen souls, countless chemical imbalances and unpleasant humours, injuries sustained at birth or even before; blows to the head as a child; fevers and so on. What could never be achieved, of course (barring elaborate, dangerous rituals of spirit-walking); was to venture into the mind of one thus afflicted.