“You think that’s a good idea?” Logen glanced nervously up and down the street. Several faces had turned towards them.

“What’s that?” asked the Navigator, still poking around in the purse. He pulled some coins out, holding them up to the light and peering at them, then pressed them into Logen’s palm.

“Subtlety isn’t one of your talents, is it?” Some of the shabby men in the alley began to move slowly, curiously towards them, two from in front, one from behind.

“No indeed!” laughed Longfoot. “No indeed! I am a straight-talking man, that is my way! Yes indeed! I am a… ah.” He had noticed the shadowy figures sidling towards them now. “Ah. This is unfortunate. Oh dear.”

Logen turned to the girl. “Do you mind if we…” She slammed the door shut in his face. Other doors up and down the street began to close. “Shit.” he said. “How are you at fighting?”

“God has seen fit to bless me with many remarkable talents,” murmured the navigator, “but combat is not one of them.”

One of the men had an ugly squint. “That’s a big purse for a little man,” he said, as he came close.

“Well, er…” murmured Longfoot, creeping behind Logen’s shoulder.

“An awful big load for a little man to carry,” said the other.

“Why not let us help you with it?”

Neither one of them had weapons ready, but by the way their hands were moving Logen knew they had them. There was a third man behind him too, he could sense him moving forwards now. Close. Closer than the other two. If he could deal with that one first, the one behind, his chances might be good. He couldn’t risk looking round, that would spoil the surprise. He’d simply have to hope for the best. As always.

Logen gritted his teeth and flung his elbow backwards. It hit the man behind in the jaw with a heavy crunch, and Logen caught his wrist in his other hand, which was lucky, because he had a knife out and ready. Logen smashed him in the mouth with his elbow again, tearing the blade from his limp fingers as he dropped into the street, head smacking against the dirty cobbles. He whipped round, half expecting to get stabbed in the back, but the other two hadn’t moved too quick. They had knives of their own out, and one had taken a half-step towards him, but he paused when he saw that Logen had the blade up, ready to fight.

It was a meagre kind of a weapon, six inches of rusty iron without even a cross-piece, but it was better than nothing. A lot better. Logen waved it around in the air in front of him, just to make sure that everyone could see it. Felt good. His odds were much improved.

“Right then,” said Logen, “who’s next?”

The other two moved apart, trying to get to either side of him, weighing their knives in their hands, but they didn’t seem in any great rush to come on.

“We can take him!” whispered the squinter, but his friend didn’t look too sure.

“Or, you can have this.” Logen opened up his clenched fist, showing the coins that Longfoot had given him. “And leave us be. This much I can spare.” He swished the knife around a bit more, just to add some weight to his words. “This is what you’re worth to me—this much, no more. What’s it to be?”

The one with the squint spat on the ground. “We can take him!” he hissed again. “You go first!”

“You fucking go!” shouted the other.

“Just take what I’m offering,” said Logen, “then we none of us have to go.”

The one that he’d elbowed groaned and rolled over in the road, and the reminder of his fate seemed to decide them. “Alright, you fucking northern bastard, alright, we’ll take it!”

Logen grinned. He thought about throwing the coins at the one with the squint then stabbing him while he was distracted. That’s what he’d have done in his youth, but he decided against. Why bother? Instead he opened his fingers and tossed the money into the road behind him, moving towards the nearest wall. He and the two thieves circled each other cautiously, each step taking them closer to the coins and him closer to escape. Soon they’d swapped places, and Logen backed away down the street, still holding the knife in front of him. When they were ten paces apart the two men squatted down and began to pick the scattered coins up from the ground.

“I’m still alive,” Logen whispered to himself as he quickened his pace.

That had been lucky, he knew. It’s a fool who thinks that any fight is too small to be the death of him, however tough he is. Lucky that he caught the one behind just right. Lucky that the other two had been slow. But then he’d always been lucky with fights. Lucky at getting out of them alive. Not so lucky with the getting into them. Still, he felt good about this day’s work. Glad he hadn’t killed anybody.

Logen felt a hand clap him on the back, and he span round, knife at the ready.

“Only me!” Brother Longfoot held up his hands. Logen had nearly forgotten the Navigator was there. He must have stayed behind him the whole time, perfectly silent. “Well handled Master Ninefingers, well handled! Truly! I see that you are not without some talents of your own! I am looking forward to travelling with you, I am indeed! The docks are this way!” he shouted, already moving off.

Logen took one last look back at the two men, but they were still grubbing around on the ground, so he threw the knife away and hurried to catch up to Longfoot. “Do you Navigators never fight?”

“Some among us do, oh yes, with empty hands and weapons of all kinds. Most deadly, some of them, but not I. No. That is not my way.”

“Never?”

“Never. My skills lie elsewhere.”

“I would have thought your travels would bring you across many dangers.”

“They do,” said Longfoot brightly, “they do indeed. That is when my remarkable talent for hiding is at its most useful.”

Her Kind Fight Everything

Night. Cold. The salt wind was keen on the hilltop, and Ferro’s clothes were thin and ragged. She hugged her arms and hunched up her shoulders, staring sourly down towards the sea. Dagoska was a cloud of pinprick lights in the distance, huddled around the steep rock between the great, curving bay and the glistening ocean. Her eyes could make out the vague, tiny shapes of walls and towers, black against the dark sky, and the thin neck of dry earth that joined the city to the land. An island, almost. Between them and Dagoska there were fires. Camps around the roads. Many camps.

“Dagoska,” whispered Yulwei, perched on a rock beside her. “A little splinter of the Union, stuck into Gurkhul like a thorn. A thorn in the Emperor’s pride.”

“Huh,” grunted Ferro, hunching her shoulders still further.

“The city is watched. Many soldiers. More than ever. It might be difficult to deceive so many.”

“Perhaps we should go back,” she muttered hopefully.

The old man ignored her. “They are here as well. More than one.”

“Eaters?”

“I must go closer. Find a way in. Wait here for me.” He paused, waiting for her to reply. “You will wait?”

“Alright!” she hissed, “alright, I’ll wait!”

Yulwei slipped off his rock and away down the slope, padding across the soft earth, almost invisible in the inky blackness. When the sound of his jingling bangles had faded into the night, she turned away from the city, took a deep breath, and scurried down the slope southwards, back into Gurkhul.

Now Ferro could run. Fast as the wind, hours at a stretch. She’d spent a lot of time running. When she made it to the base of the hill she ran, feet flying across the open ground, breath coming quick and fierce. She heard water beyond, slid down a bank and splashed into the shallows of a slow moving river. She floundered on, knee-deep in the cold water.

Let the old bastard track me through this, she thought.

After a while she made a bundle of her weapons and held them above her head as she swam across, forcing against the current with one arm. She flapped out on the other side and ran on along the bank, wiping the water from her dripping face.