life and offering up a silent prayer to Aroaril that everyone else would continue with their own loud prayers. She was also counting in her head, so she had an idea when the prayers would finish and the guards resume their duty.
She glanced down and saw the ground rushing up at her and had to stifle a cry of concern. But her pace slowed right down and she touched down lightly. The use of colored robes had helped here, for they had worked out when a red robe was getting towards Nula’s shoulder that Bridgit would be almost on the ground. She reached down with her left foot and stepped onto the cobbles, then slipped her right from the loop and tugged the rope twice.
Almost before she had finished the second tug, the rope vanished upwards, being whisked away at a fearsome pace. Without watching, Bridgit turned and strode swiftly down the street. The prayers were still going on and she was still counting, having reached fifty already. She had to balance silence with speed, and drove her legs hard, feeling her calves burn as the count went on and she strove to reach a corner.
She reached it as she hit a count of ninety, and turned to her right. She knew that way lay an alleyway they had used to return from the market and that it had usually been quiet at such times – but who knew what it would be like now?
She let out a gasp of relief when it proved empty and leaned against the wall, her heart pounding, while the prayers finished. She could hear the city slowly resuming its business around her but she stayed in the alleyway for a further count of two hundred, letting her heart calm down, before emerging and walking back slowly the way she had come.
The guards did not give her a second look as she strolled past, forcing herself to go slowly and not look up at the house, although she knew her friends would be watching for her.
After prayers, the city life was winding down, with people hurrying home and shops closing up for the night. The scarf and hood she was wearing not only marked her as someone who should be given room to walk – they also allowed her to look around without seeming to. This part of the city was worryingly busy now, although she hoped it would be much quieter when they attempted a similar trip in the dead of the night.
Still, seeing plenty of other women and children out on the street was reassuring. Obviously none had scores of children around them but they made it feel safer.
But this road came to an end and she turned left, heading towards the area where the field slaves were kept. Almost immediately the tone of the street began to change. There were fewer women and more men and unconsciously she lengthened her stride, aware that she was getting more people looking at her. Beneath the long robe she wore she held a sharpened piece of wood flat alongside her forearm. It was a chair leg the children had spent the best part of the day rubbing along stones to create a sharpened end. It was enough to make her wince if she jabbed her finger onto it but it was hardly a fearsome weapon.
On and on she walked, sometimes taking the wrong turn and having to make her way back, but it all looked possible. Late at night, when nobody was around, she was confident she could get the children through these streets safely. There were numerous little alleys where they could hide in darkness while others went past, and nobody had taken much notice of her.
It seemed as though Adana had been built piece by piece, bits added on all the time, rather than designed. Streets didn’t seem to meet up and rarely traveled in a straight line. She turned and headed down towards the docks, where the rest of her people were being held. At first the streets were quiet and peaceful but the closer she came to the water, the rougher things seemed. There were certainly no more women of quality around. It felt like the village drinking hall at the end of a long day, when decent people were thinking of calling for Fallon to come and keep
She glanced down and saw the ground rushing up at her and had to stifle a cry of concern. But her pace slowed right down and she touched down lightly. The use of colored robes had helped here, for they had worked out when a red robe was getting towards Nula’s shoulder that Bridgit would be almost on the ground. She reached down with her left foot and stepped onto the cobbles, then slipped her right from the loop and tugged the rope twice.
Almost before she had finished the second tug, the rope vanished upwards, being whisked away at a fearsome pace. Without watching, Bridgit turned and strode swiftly down the street. The prayers were still going on and she was still counting, having reached fifty already. She had to balance silence with speed, and drove her legs hard, feeling her calves burn as the count went on and she strove to reach a corner.
She reached it as she hit a count of ninety, and turned to her right. She knew that way lay an alleyway they had used to return from the market and that it had usually been quiet at such times – but who knew what it would be like now?
She let out a gasp of relief when it proved empty and leaned against the wall, her heart pounding, while the prayers finished. She could hear the city slowly resuming its business around her but she stayed in the alleyway for a further count of two hundred, letting her heart calm down, before emerging and walking back slowly the way she had come.
The guards did not give her a second look as she strolled past, forcing herself to go slowly and not look up at the house, although she knew her friends would be watching for her.
After prayers, the city life was winding down, with people hurrying home and shops closing up for the night. The scarf and hood she was wearing not only marked her as someone who should be given room to walk – they also allowed her to look around without seeming to. This part of the city was worryingly busy now, although she hoped it would be much quieter when they attempted a similar trip in the dead of the night.
Still, seeing plenty of other women and children out on the street was reassuring. Obviously none had scores of children around them but they made it feel safer.
But this road came to an end and she turned left, heading towards the area where the field slaves were kept. Almost immediately the tone of the street began to change. There were fewer women and more men and unconsciously she lengthened her stride, aware that she was getting more people looking at her. Beneath the long robe she wore she held a sharpened piece of wood flat alongside her forearm. It was a chair leg the children had spent the best part of the day rubbing along stones to create a sharpened end. It was enough to make her wince if she jabbed her finger onto it but it was hardly a fearsome weapon.
On and on she walked, sometimes taking the wrong turn and having to make her way back, but it all looked possible. Late at night, when nobody was around, she was confident she could get the children through these streets safely. There were numerous little alleys where they could hide in darkness while others went past, and nobody had taken much notice of her.
It seemed as though Adana had been built piece by piece, bits added on all the time, rather than designed. Streets didn’t seem to meet up and rarely traveled in a straight line. She turned and headed down towards the docks, where the rest of her people were being held. At first the streets were quiet and peaceful but the closer she came to the water, the rougher things seemed. There were certainly no more women of quality around. It felt like the village drinking hall at the end of a long day, when decent people were thinking of calling for Fallon to come and keep
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