the one below that. Halfway down the stairs, Nish paused. ‘I can smell something.’
‘So can I,’ said Vim. ‘Frying onions.’
It had not occurred to Nish that there might still be people living in Thurkad. He’d assumed that the lyrinx would have driven them away, or eaten them all. But unless the enemy had become vegetarians, there were people below.
‘Where’s it coming from, do you think?’
Slann sniffed the air. ‘Can’t tell.’
‘Be as quiet as you possibly can. If they find us, they’re bound to want a ride to somewhere safe.’
Nish shuttered his lantern to a slit and crept around the corner onto the next level. He slid open the door, shone the light around and could have wept for joy. The whole floor was packed with rolls of cloth.
‘Come on,’ he hissed, running to the first stack. It proved to be cotton, and so did the second, but the third was silk. Beautiful silk.
Nish sorted through the rolls. It didn’t have to be the finest cloth but it needed to be strong. All the rolls at the top turned out to be too fine, no use for anything but scarves and nightwear.
‘The best stuff is right down the bottom,’ said Nish. ‘Pull that one out, would you?’
The soldier, whose name he could not remember, hauled at the roll. It did not budge. ‘We’ll have to shift the ones up top first.’
Vim climbed the end of the stack, which was a couple of spans tall, and began hurling rolls down from the top. They thumped onto the floorboards.
‘Don’t do that!’ Nish waved his arms frantically. ‘If there are people below, they’ll come up to see what’s going on. Hand the damn things down.’
They were all panting by the time they’d uncovered the bottom of the stack, and the dust was tickling their noses. Nish resisted the urge to sneeze. ‘Help me unroll this one.’
They spread it out along the floor. It was good strong cloth, better than anything they’d been able to obtain at Fiz Gorgo. There were no flaws, no rat or moth holes. He paced out the length and width, calculating, then rolled it up again.
‘We’ll need eight of these to make three airbags. Vim, Slann, take this one. Leave it upstairs at the rope and come straight back.’
‘It’s bloody heavy,’ said Slann, a weedy man, as they heaved it to their shoulders.
‘Just get on with it.’
They went out, the cloth sagging between them. Scarcely had they turned the corner when there came a cry of rage.
‘Hoy! Put that down, you. Neahl, Roys, they’re stealing our cloth.’
The other four soldiers pelted to the door. Nish drew his sword and followed with the lantern. Opening the shutter wide he flashed it down the stairs.
About three flights down, a crowd of at least thirty people, ranging in age from dirty children to withered oldsters, had gathered. A good few of them looked fit, though they were only armed with an assortment of knives.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Nish.
‘We live here,’ replied a snaggle-toothed old man.
‘But the lyrinx –’
‘Don’t bother us and we don’t bother them, any more’n the rats do.’ The oldster gave a squeaking kind of laugh.
‘Well, we’ve just come for some of this silk.’
‘Can’t have it,’ said the old fellow. ‘It’s our’n.’
‘You’re not using it.’
‘We will one day, now clear orf.’
‘We can pay you for it,’ said Nish, feeling the ground sinking beneath him.
‘Get lost! Can’t eat yer stinkin’ money.’
‘You fellows get your crossbows ready,’ Nish said in a low voice.
‘They are,’ a soldier replied. ‘Just give the word.’
‘Don’t shoot unless there’s no choice.’ Nish raised his voice. ‘Whether you accept the money or not is up to you, old fellow. We’re taking the cloth anyway – for the war.’
Fingering a small bag of silver out of his pocket, he tossed it down the steps. It landed halfway and burst, scattering coins everywhere.
The old fellow did not look down. Nor, to Nish’s surprise, did anyone else. Not even the children scrambled for the silver. The cold feeling in the pit of his stomach grew colder.
‘We don’t give a damn about the war,’ said the old man. ‘The lyrinx leave us alone.’
‘Raise your weapons, lads,’ Nish said softly. Then louder, ‘Come any closer and we’ll shoot.’ Nish drew back to give the soldiers with the bows a clear shot, though he still hoped that they could intimidate the crowd into running away. To the others he said, ‘Take it up, Vim and Slann. You two, get the next bolt. And