The Awakening (34 page)

The hardest thing, Leone thought, was the hunger. She could deal with the leers, the comments, the unseemly suggestions, even the occasional attack, but the hunger was the worst. Even sleeping on the ground was easy enough; the weather was still mild. Come winter, she’d have to reassess her situation. As she thought these things she realised how completely she had accepted her lot. This was her new life and she had to adapt.

Still, the hunger was hard to take.

One thing she had always taken for granted as a Soldier of the World was food. When in barracks she was always fed well, and when on the road she could easily acquire anything she needed. Now she had to beg, steal or somehow earn her meals. After begging and stealing a few, she knew that it was more than simple conditioning that made her reject this as wrong. She saw the others, here in the Widows’ Quarter, and knew that she was better off than most, even with her borrowed dress and one arm. She had her health, she was big and strong and she was skilled in any weapon. It would be easy for her to
take whatever she wanted, but these people were no challenge, it was no contest. It would be simple theft, taking advantage of people worse off than her. That left her with earning a meal. By the end of the first month or so, she had worked out enough of her situation to assess her saleable skills.

She was a woman, and that gave her the oldest way that all women had to make money. She dismissed that out of hand. She’d starve first.

Her army training, she discovered, opened many doors. Most obviously, she was deadly with any weapon; even left-handed she could best any of the common thugs she’d come across so far. The first one who had tried his luck with her left a rusted dagger behind, and got away with a lot more bruising than he’d anticipated. With some polishing and sharpening on a stone, the dagger revealed itself to be a quality piece of steel. The next thug left a sword; the one after that offered her money which she took.

Now she had a new choice. Her skills were becoming known, and a second-rate standover thug offered her work as an enforcer. Had the offer come when she was hungry, she might have taken it, but now, with a purse of coins and food in her stomach, she was able to say no.

Refusing closed one door, but it did not apparently open any others. The money ran out after a new dress and a few meals, so she was back where she started.

One thing was different, she realised, looking down at her dress. Before the Ettan woman loaned her a dress, Leone had rarely worn one. Her clothing consisted almost entirely of three uniforms—battle
fatigues, special cold-weather issue and a best dress uniform worn on ceremonial occasions. She’d had some civilian clothes but wore them so rarely that she had trouble remembering what they were. It was a conversation with a woman selling clothes in the market that changed her mind.

‘Army, eh?’ the woman asked.

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Leone.

The woman grinned a gap-toothed smile. ‘You’re big, you stand like a fighter, you’re looking at men’s clothes and you wear that dress like you’re afraid it’ll fall off,’ she said. ‘Not that it’s likely to, not with those holding it up,’ she added, with a pointed glance at Leone’s chest.

Leone glared at her, daring her to continue.

‘And that’s the point, isn’t it?’ the woman commented, returning the glare evenly. ‘That stare will not achieve what you want it to around here. You were an officer, right?’

Leone nodded.

‘Thought so. Around here that will frighten young girls and dogs. Boys will laugh at you and men will take it as a challenge. And if you dress like a man, they’ll feel the need to meet your challenge.’ She rummaged around in a pile of dresses, pulling one out. ‘Here, try this one,’ she said, offering Leone a modest, high-necked dress in green. ‘The colour will suit your eyes nicely and if you let your hair out, it’ll help to hide those scars a bit.’

‘My eyes?’ asked Leone.

‘Burn me!’ the woman burst out with a smile. ‘How long were you in the army, girl?’

‘All my life,’ Leone conceded.

‘I think you need a lot more than a new dress, child.’

Until the moment when the Thane had stripped her of everything, her life had been one of duty, honour and obedience. Now she was confronted with the anarchy of poverty and fear. Even when she was in battle she had not sensed so much fear. It seemed that everyone was afraid here in the Widows’ Quarter.

When it was first established, all those centuries ago, the Quarter had been well presented and well cared for, but as the years and the Thanes went by, it fell into the disarray that it presently endured. Once the Thane’s soldiers stopped their regular patrols, the thugs and enforcers moved in, setting up the kind of underbelly culture from which most large cities suffered. Like most who did not live there, Leone had dismissed it as not her problem, but now she was faced with it daily.

At first she tried to ignore the violence and thuggery, but it did not take long for them to wear her down. All her life she had lived in service to the Empire and she had taken that to mean following the Thane’s orders as given to her through the chain of command. Now, as she watched people suffer around her, she realised that the Army of the World served more than one purpose. Not only did it protect the Empire from threats without, it also protected from within. It was not an epiphany but it saved her life, not in the physical sense, but truly, nonetheless.

Military training is a powerful thing. Not only was she, even with one arm, a physical match for any
of the thugs she met but her tactical skills gave her an awareness that few could even begin to grasp. With years of training and experience at her behest, she planned her campaign.

First, logistics. She needed a base of operations, a supply source, money and weaponry.

Weaponry was the easiest; she already had the dagger and sword. A chance encounter solved the other logistical issues in a most unexpected way.

She was standing at the end of one of the small markets that dotted the Widows’ Quarter, waiting for the prices to drop as they always did at the end of the day. There was little left in her purse and she had waited as long as she could before spending the last coins. Leone intended they would be well spent.

A man she knew brushed past her. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him shoulder his way through the thinning crowd. Arden was a bully-boy. Big, strong and lumbering, with a mind that would be hard put to outwit a log, he enjoyed bluster and used his strength to take whatever he wanted. Leone’s eyes took in the scenario, assessing possible risks, weighing up options and determining possible attack scenes. In a flash of insight, she saw Arden’s target. He was making his hulking way towards a young man who was bartering with a stallholder. As she watched, it became clear that it was no young man, he was a boy, tall for his age, but with the gangling awkwardness of a growth spurt.

Without thought, Leone slid through the crowd, easing her way past conversations, slipping between small groups, until she was within easy sword’s reach of the boy. Her superior skills meant that she arrived
just heartbeats after Arden, and was a pace behind him, to his right.

Arden unsheathed a dagger and went to stab the boy but froze as a razor-sharp blade caressed his throat.

‘Put it away, Arden,’ Leone hissed. When he hesitated, she slid the blade lightly over his skin, drawing out a thin line of blood. ‘I said, put it away,’ she repeated.

Arden thrust the blade back into its sheath. ‘I know you, don’t I?’ he snarled.

Leone took her blade away, resheathing it. ‘Yes,’ she said, seeming to take her eyes off Arden.

He turned and, seeing her apparent lack of attention, took a clumsy swing at her. Leone’s attention was only apparently elsewhere, as Arden discovered when she easily dodged his wild swing. He staggered past her, unbalanced by his miss, and Leone helped him to the ground with a well-placed shove with her foot.

Roaring with anger, Arden surged to his feet, only to be confronted by Leone’s sword, pointing steadily at his eyes.

‘Stay on the ground where you belong, Arden,’ she said softly. ‘Unless you want to bleed, of course.’

He slumped back to the dirt, his eyes never shifting from the point of Leone’s blade. ‘What do you want?’ he snapped.

Leone frowned. ‘Nothing. I just stopped you killing a defenceless boy.’

‘Kill? I was never going to kill him, just cut him a bit,’ Arden protested.

‘Why?’ Leone asked.

‘His money,’ Arden said.

Leone snorted derisively. ‘Not today. Get up and get out of here,’ she said, sheathing her sword. Arden started to move, but Leone recognised the signs and kicked him back down again. ‘If you’re going to try to fight me, think again. I could kill you before you got to your knees.’

Arden glared at her but lurched to his feet without menace. She watched him leave through hard eyes. When he was out of sight, Leone turned to speak to the boy.

‘You all right?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Why did you do that?’ he asked.

She paused, unsure of the answer. ‘Because I could,’ she said finally.

The boy frowned, then shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said.

Leone nodded. He turned and scampered off through the nearly empty market.

Why did I do that?
she wondered.
He wasn’t threatening me. I still don’t even know the boy’s name.

‘You’re new,’ said a voice at her shoulder. She whirled around, whipping her dagger out and holding it at the throat of the speaker before he could blink. He was a well-dressed man of middle years, portly, with greying hair and a long, carefully tended beard. His eyes were wide with fear as he regarded the shining blade.

‘Not that new,’ said Leone. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Zatopek. I am a merchant from the Southern Province.’

‘Zatopek isn’t a Southern Province name,’ she observed, not removing her blade.

‘No, my parents were from Herath.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I could use someone of your skills and courage,’ Zatopek said.

Leone shook her head and put her dagger away. ‘Not interested,’ she said.

‘But you don’t know what I want,’ Zatopek protested.

‘I think I do,’ she said.

‘Will you at least come to my home to share a meal and let me tell you?’

Leone thought about the offer. By the look of him he ate well and he already knew she would not take any job offer.
Why not?
She shrugged.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Lead the way.’

Zatopek’s home was on the edge of the Widows’ Quarter, far enough out of the way to escape most of the beggars, but close enough to smell them. It was a modest home, but one that displayed the taste of the owner. Leone looked closely at the quality of the workmanship, then reassessed Zatopek. He was a man of considerable means. This house would have cost her several years’ wages.

‘Please enter my home and be welcome,’ he said as he opened the door for her. His words had the intonation of ritual greeting. On impulse Leone replied in the formal, ritualistic way used by Shanek on entering the house of an important dignitary.

‘May the Ways of Purity meet within your walls,’ she said.

Zatopek smiled. ‘I knew you were an educated woman,’ he said. ‘Please, come in.’

Inside, the house was a study in understated magnificence. Everything was of the finest quality, tasteful and elegant. Leone looked around, checking for any indication of hidden guards and defensible positions. She found none.

Zatopek led her through the entry hall into a library that opened out onto a small garden in a courtyard that would have been invisible from the street. A fish splashed happily in a pond that was set just off centre. Across the courtyard, Leone could see windows that looked down over the garden. Lights were glowing in two niches. It was a scene of tranquil beauty.

A discreet cough brought her back to the reason she was here. She turned to see Zatopek seated in a comfortable chair. He gestured for Leone to sit in its mate.

‘I see you like my humble home,’ he said without a hint of irony.

‘It is beautiful,’ she said.

‘Not only are you an educated woman,’ he observed. ‘You are also a woman of discernment.’

Leone sat still, wondering where this was going, acutely aware that the chair he had given her had its back to the courtyard. The space between her shoulder blades twitched uncomfortably.

‘And,’ he went on, ‘you have military training.’

‘What makes you say that?’ she asked, dismayed at how obvious it must be.

Zatopek wagged an admonitory finger at her. ‘Don’t be shy. It makes you a very attractive prospect.’

She stiffened.

Zatopek saw the response and hurried to reassure her. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Nothing like that, nothing like that at all. No, I want to hire you.’

‘I’ve already told you no,’ she replied.

‘But you said no to an offer I hadn’t even made.’

‘Make your offer.’

‘After we share that meal I promised you,’ he said. The door opened and a servant entered with a tray holding two drinks. ‘An extra guest for tonight, Mayenne,’ Zatopek said, taking a glass.

‘Very good,’ Mayenne said. She turned to Leone. ‘Are there any dietary requirements you need me to allow for?’ she asked. Her voice was soft and gentle, betraying only a hint of a Matrin accent.

Leone shook her head. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said. ‘I’ll eat anything.’ She accepted the drink Mayenne offered her.

Mayenne bowed and left the room.

When the door was closed, Zatopek fixed Leone with a questioning gaze. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he asked.

Leone shook her head.

‘Very well then, I’ll tell you about me,’ he went on. He sat back and steepled his fingers, staring up at the ceiling. ‘As I’ve said, my parents were from Herath. They were moderately successful merchants, trading mainly in cloth and exotic spices. Herath is not exactly the cultural centre of the Empire, so they moved, when I was about ten summers old, to the Southern Province. They were more successful there, dealing with the Children of Danan when they deigned to come to shore, and with other travellers. When I was about sixteen, they made a very bad deal with a rogue Child.