Stealers' Sky

"I don't know, Commander Walegrin, but I think she's telling the truth."

Walegrin was, to say the least, unconvinced.

The other woman eased forward with her children and the infant. "Please, lord, I didn't know. Berge said we could make silk, and silk would make us rich. She said she learned how from her husband's people. I didn't know it would reek like this. It's not my fault. Punish her if you must. Take her away before my husband comes back. It's not my fault."

Walegrin didn't doubt Theudebourga was the driving force behind this debacle. Still, families shouldn't cast each other to the winds, or wolves, or soldiers. He scowled down at her, and the infant stared.

With a lamentable lack of tact Walegrin stared back. "It's almost a fish," slipped past his lips.

It was inevitable. In all other respects Beysib men were no different from any other. They frequented the Street of Red Lanterns and the Promise of Heaven. The marvel was that Walegrin had never seen a darkhaired, round-faced, staring child before.

The woman covered her baby's face with her shawl. Walegrin noticed that none of the other children had Beysib eyes. He looked at everything a second time. That wasn't dirt on their faces. Regrettably, it was all starting to make sense.

"When will your man be back?" he asked.

"Sundown, maybe later."

"Maybe never?"

The woman shook her head. "He'll be back. Dendorat comes back." A world of bitterness underlay her words.

"He'll beat you all when he finds this."

The commander's thoughts turned inward. It was easy to imagine Dendorat, because he could imagine himself feeling as Dendorat must feel. A man leaves his hearth and home to find a better life for them. He comes to the tail end of the Empire and, to his amazement, he finds a better life sweating on the walls of Sanctuary. He sends money to bring his wife and children to the promised land. The next thing he knows she's breeding, and he's the gods' happiest father waiting for a son who will never go hungry. But the son isn't his ...

What can he do? What else can he do? He turns against his wife. He begins to wonder about the other children hung about his neck like millstones. The doubts gnaw at his gut, driving him to despair. Maybe he never beat his wife before, but he beats her now because she wears the face of his pain ...

"Commander?"

Walegrin blinked. He wasn't half-S'danzo like his sister; he didn't have the Sight. But he'd wager next month's pay that he had the story right.

"Commander, what are we going to do?"

They were all looking at Walegrin. The commander knew what should be done. Of course, he was condemning these women and the children to misery, not to mention losing the money he had inadvertently invested in this lame scheme.

"You ca

Theudebourga pointed at the courtyard well. "But we need fresh water."

She took Wedemir's hardening mess and washed it in the bucket. When she was finished the water wasn't fit to drink, but the white-gold fibers clinging to her wet fingers had begun to look like silk. She rubbed them dry in a comer of her shawl, then held them out for Walegrin to examine. The breeze in the courtyard wasn't enough.to rustle a left or turn a hair, but it was enough to lift the wisps out of her hands.

"Clean, clear, fresh water," Theudebourga said as her palms emptied. "Anything less-the schappe clings and the silk is ruined.

Wisps tangled in the stubble on the commander's upper lip. He twitched, blew, finally caught them in his fingers. Softer than a whore's breast, soft as silk ... Walegrin twirled them between thumb and forefinger, and let them spin away. He began to suspect he was throwing away a lot more than a few silver coins.

Wedemir interrupted again. "What can we do?"

Walegrin shook his head. The complaints they were getting about the smell would seem trivial when the gutters started ru

"But it doesn't last," Theudebourga insisted. "Only another day ... Once the schappe is gone we must spin it into floss, then the floss has to be woven. Surely no one would complain about spi

The commander shook his head. Beneath the tears and the pleadings and the wringing hands, this woman had the same temper as his Enlibar sword. Which, he decided, made it all the more important to stand firm.

"And when the weaving is finished, then you will sell the woven cloth," he continued for her. "And with your profits you'll bargain for more of this dross from the fish sellers. Then you'll make a bigger midden ... and a bigger midden again the time after that. And you'll say at the prince's court of justice that you've always done it. The garrison came and didn't stop you ...

"No, my lady, you won't catch me like that."

"It doesn't have to be like that," Wedemir objected.

"Don't go taking her part in this. I know what I'm talking about. When something's wrong, you stamp it out at the root. The longer you let it grow. the worse it gets." Walegrin continued to watch Theudebourga. None of this would be happening if he'd done his duty and impounded the damn donkey cart when he'd had the chance.

Theudebourga touched Walegrin's arm. "Please, don't abandon us; help us. You know I can do this. I learned this in Valtostin from my husband's family before the army came. We gathered broken cocoons in the spring, but the silk we made was never so fine as this will be. You believe me; I know you believe me."

Walegrin twisted away. It was easier to apprehend a murderer, or examine a corpse, than deal with a determined woman. "All right, until sundown tomorrow ... I can go along with that, but no weaving, no spi

Theudebourga straightened her shawl and her back. "We understand."

Wedemir didn't, but he held his peace. He'd been a soldier long enough to know the difference between hard bargaining and an order. Still, when he and Walegrin were through the archway and beyond hearing, he demanded an explanation.

"Do you realize what you've done to them? Do you think this man, Dendorat, will leave because they say so? He'll beat them, if he doesn't kill them. And the silk ... The silk is good. Commander. Don't we care about what is good? They told me an officer must judge as well as follow orders. What do I do when I judge my orders to be wrong?"

Walegrin stopped short. There was nothing friendly in his expression when he faced the younger man. "If you're so concerned about right or wrong you should have apprenticed yourself to the magistrates. We're soldiers, Lieutenant Wedemir, we enforce the laws-the emphasis goes on force. No one loves a soldier. People don't think about us unless there's trouble somewhere. At best, we're useful bullies."

There was an uncomfortable silence while Wedemir searched for words that would not compromise him, or enrage the commander. "I guess it's a good thing that you've only got a few more years."

The commander resumed walking. They were at the harbor before he spoke again, weighing every word and hesitation. "It is my silver sitting in that midden, but that does not influence me; I counted it lost the moment it left me. I am not without sympathy. There is no question of the right of what they are doing, only that they are doing it in the wrong place. And I have done no wrong in forcing them to find a better place."