She regretted that. She liked most other companions; some were from respectable
families, for there were no schools here apart from temple schools whose priests
had the bad habit of stuffing children’s heads with myth and legend as though
they were to live in a world of make-believe instead of fending for themselves.
Without learning to read and write at least their own language they would be at
risk of cheating by every smart operator in the city. But how could she befriend
those who had led soft, secure lives, who at the advanced age of fifteen or
sixteen had never yet had to scrape a living from gutters and garbage piles?
Captain Aye-Gophlan was in mufti. Or thought.he was. He was by no means so rich
as to be able to afford clothing apart from his uniforms, of which it was
compulsory for the guards to own several – this one for the Emperor’s
birthday, that one for the feast of the regiment’s patron deity, another
for day-watch duty, yet another for night-watch duty, another for funeral
drill… The common soldiers were luckier. If they failed in their attire,
the officers were blamed for stinginess. But how long was it since there had
been enough caravans through here for the guard to keep up the finery
required of them out of bribes? Times indeed were hard when the best disguise an
officer on private business could contrive was a plum-blue overcloak with a hole
in it exactly where his crotch-armour could glint through.
Seeing him, Jarveena thought suddenly about justice. Or more nearly, about