The Burning City by Jerry Pournelle

here,” Pelzed said. “Lords do what Lords do.” He made it sound profound. “But tell us more about those kinless homes. What’s there? What can we gather?”
    Whandall described some of what he had seen, shops with pots and beads and cloth, clothing hung on lines, people sitting in the squares drinking from cups and talking.
    â€œNo Lordkin there,” Miracos said. “Maybe we could go live there.”
    â€œLords won’t let us,” Pelzed said.
    â€œLords always telling us what to do,” one of the guards said. “Like to show them my knife. Right up them.”
    â€œLords make the kinless work,” Pelzed said. “If you could do that, if I could, we’d have a roof! Whandall, go back. Take someone with you. Wanshig. Take Wanshig; bring me back something. Go learn the way.”
    â€œI heard three bands went to the Lordshills together to gather,” Wanshig said. “Three together, and none of them ever came back. Dirty Bird was powerful before that happened.”
    â€œYou scared to go with Whandall?” Pelzed demanded.
    â€œYes, Lord. Anybody would be scared. Whandall’s the only one I ever met who went into Lord’s Town and came out. Only one I ever
heard of
doing it.”
    â€œNot talking about inside the walls,” Pelzed said. “Lords are Lords. Leave Lords alone. But those kinless houses out there, that’s different. Go look, Whandall. When everyone’s carrying stuff, the way will be clear; you can bring things back. Go see what you can find. I’d like me a shirt like yours…”
    Whandall was glad of being small. His shirt wouldn’t fit Pelzed. But if a little Lord’s girl could keep what was hers, maybe a Lordsman could too.

C HAPTER
9

    Serpent’s Walk was coming to know a certain visiting looker. After the carnival, everyone knew his face.
    The boys knew his names: he was Tras Preetror of Condigeo. Tras fascinated them. He spent the whole day in idleness, like a Lordkin. The kinless liked him even when he was with Lordkin, because Tras paid for what he took.
    Not always, though. Sometimes he told stories instead.
    He would walk away from a fight, or run, but sometimes he
talked
his way out. Wanshig got close enough to see Zatch the Knife accost Tras. He reported that they were presently talking like brothers long separated; that Tras Preetror shared a flask with Zatch. Zatch took nothing else.
    Everything about Tras Preetror was exotic, peculiar. Whandall knew he had to see more.
    The boys of Serpent’s Walk kept getting caught because they went in bands. Bands could hide in the forest, because the forest was roomy. In the city people occupied what space there was. Getting caught got you laughed at. Whandall preferred to lurk alone.
    Others learned that Tras Preetror was staying with a kinless family in the Eastern Arc. The kinless had bought protection from the Bonechewers who owned that area, so the house was nicer than most. It also meant that Whandall risked more than being laughed at if he got caught.
    Three days after the carnival, the morning’s light found eleven-year-oldWhandall on the roof, just above Tras’s curtained window. He’d slept there, flattened on the slope of the roof.
    He heard Tras wake, piss, and dress himself, all while singing in the rolling Condigeano tongue. Tras’s footsteps went straight to the curtained window. His arm reached through with something in his hand.
    â€œCome down, boy,” he said, tormenting the syllables of normal speech. “I’ve got something for you. Talk to me.”
    Whandall flattened against the roof while he thought it over. He hadn’t gathered anything from the room. The teller couldn’t be angry about
that
. He was singing again…
    Whandall joined in the chorus and swung on in.
    â€œYou sing pretty,” Tras said. “Who are you?” He held out his gift. Whandall tasted orange wedges in