street and none of us know when we’ll be next. We live in holes and hope the Man
gets back….”
“He’ll settle with them when he does. If we keep it all together. If-“
“If. If and if. Have you seen that lot that’s moved in on the estate? Jubal’ll
never go back there. He won’t face them down. Can’t. Did you hear the riders in
the street? That’s permanent.”
“Shut up. You’re stiffed.”
Mor-am walked over to the wall and pulled his cloak off the peg.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Out. Where there’s less noise.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He slung it on and headed for the door.
“Come back here.” She grabbed at his arm, futile: he had long ago outweighed
her. “Eichan will have your head.”
“Eichan doesn’t care. He feeds us pennies and gives silver out with our names
for the asking.”
“You won’t go after him. Eichan said-“
“Eichan said. Stay out of my business. No, I won’t cut the bastard’s throat. Not
tonight. I’ve got a headache. Just let me alone.”
“All right, all right, I won’t talk to you, just stay inside.”
He pulled the door open and went out it.
“Mor-am?” she hissed.
He turned and held up a coin. “Enough to get me really drunk. But only enough
for one. Sorry.”
He whirled and left, a flurry of a ragged cloak. Moria closed the door, crossed
the room, flung herself down to sit on the cot with her head in her hands and
the blood pounding in her temples. She was scared. She wanted to hit something.
Anything. Since the raid had scattered them with half their number dead, it was
all downhill. Eichan tried to hold it together. They had no idea whether he had