through running.
He rose from the makeshift bed he occupied in the attic of
the grain house and glanced over at Coil next to him, who was
still asleep. The others were already up and presumably down-
stairs in the main warehouse, which was closed until the begin-
ning of the work week. Gingerly he crossed to the tiny, shuttered
window that let in what small amount of light the room enjoyed
and peered out. The street below was empty except for a stray
dog sniffing at a refuse bin and a beggar sleeping in the door of
the tin factory across the way. Clouds hung low and gray across
the skies, threatening rain before the close of the day.
When he crossed back to pull on his boots, he found Coil
awake and looking at him. His brother’s coarse hair was ruffled
and his eyes were clouded with sleep and disgruntlement.
“Ho-hum, another day,” Coil muttered and then yawned
hugely. “What fascinating storage room will we be visiting to-
day, do you suppose?”
“None, as far as I’m concerned.” Par dropped down beside
him.
Coil’s eyebrows arched. “That so? Have you told Padishar?”
“I’m on my way.”
“I suppose you have an alternative in mind-to hiding out,
that is.” Coil pushed himself up on one elbow. “Because I don’t
think Padishar Creel is going to give you the time of day if you
don’t. He hasn’t been in the best of moods since he found out
he might not be as well-loved among his men as he thought he
was.”
Par doubted that Padishar Creel ever had allowed himself to
become deluded enough to believe that he was well-loved by his
men but Coil was certainly right enough about the outlaw chief’s
present temperament. His betrayal at the hands of one of his
own men had left him taciturn and bitter. He had retreated some-
where deep inside himself these several days past, still clearly
in command as he led them through the network of Federation
patrols and checkpoints that had been thrown out across the city,
still able to find them refuge when it seemed there could be
none, but at the same time had become uncharacteristically
withdrawn from everyone about him. Damson Rhee had come
with them, whether by choice or not Par still wasn’t sure, but
even she could not penetrate the defenses the outlaw chief had
thrown up around himself. Except for exercising his authority
as leader, Padishar had removed himself from them as surely as
if he were no longer physically present.
Par shook his head. “Well, we have to do something besides
simply hop about from place to place for the rest of our lives.”
He was feeling rather sullen about matters himself. “If there’s
a need for a plan, Padishar should come up with one. Nothing’s
being accomplished the way things stand now.”
Coil sat up and began dressing. “You probably don’t want to
hear this. Par, but it may be time to rethink this whole business
of allying ourselves with the Movement. We might be better off
on our own again.”
Par said nothing. They finished dressing and went downstairs
to find the others. There was cold bread, jam, and fruit for
breakfast, and they ate it hungrily. Par could not understand how
he could be so famished after doing so little. He listened as he
ate to Stasas and Drutt compare notes on hunting in the forests
of their respective homes somewhere below Varfleet. Morgan
was keeping watch by the doors leading into the warehouse and
Coil went to join him. Damson Rhee sat on an empty packing
crate nearby, carving something. He had seen little other during
the past several days; she was often out with Padishar, scout-
ing the city while the rest of them hid.
Padishar was nowhere to be seen.
After eating, Par went back upstairs to gather his things to-
gether, anticipating that, whatever the result of his confrontation
with Padishar, it would likely involve a move.
Damson followed him up. “You grow restless,” she ob-
served when they were alone. She seated herself on the edge of
his pallet, shaking back her reddish mane. “An outlaw’s life is