bunch of parsley, straightened up, and ambled off in the same direction. Even though he was tall, he managed to look apologetic and insignificant as he bobbed and weaved through the crowd.
Flea followed them south into the heart of the city, wondering how he could warn Jude without being spotted. When Jude paused at the entrance to the covered marketâa warren of narrow streets, roofed over to keep the sun out in summer and the rain out in winterâFlea moved near a large woman whose bags were being carried by an equally large slave.
He pushed closer, then waited while the tall man fiddled with his sandal strap. As soon as Jude plunged into the gloom of the market, the tall man followed and so did Flea.
This is better, Flea thought. He knew the covered market. Heâd spent days in here the winter before; sheltering from the cold and the gloom made it easier to steal from the stalls. He liked the smells that enveloped him: the head-rush of spices, the nose-tickle of soap and oil, the wide stink of blood and butchery. A shard of light speared through a hole in the roof and lit up the tall man. Flea could now see him more clearly. Thin lips in a bony, clean-shaven face curled into an empty, tortoise smile. Questioning, arched eyebrows cloaked quick, darting eyes.
Flea squatted by a bucket of skinned sheepâs heads, trying to ignore the naked eyeballs. Maybe he canât see you, but we can, they seemed to say.
But the man had lost Jude. He swore under his breath and backtracked, stopping right in front of Flea, so close that the hem of his tunic brushed up against Fleaâs upturned face. Flea smelled old smoke, but, more important, he saw a little pocket sewn into a fold of the garment right in front of his nose.
Destiny! Flea thought. It would be criminal to let an opportunity like this pass.
Fleaâs hand dipped into the pocket and felt something small and smooth. He caught it between two fingers and when the man moved away, he just seemed to be left holding it. Palming it, he was about to set off again when two hands clamped down heavily on his shoulders.
âWhere do you think youâre going?â Jude hissed in his ear. Flea had no idea where heâd come from.
âThat man was following you,â he hissed back.
âThe tall one? Where did he pick me up?â
âJust outside the alleyway where you found the old man, the camel, and the donkey.â
Judeâs eyes momentarily widened. âThat far away? I only just noticed him. How close did you get to him?â
âClose enough to get this.â
Flea opened his hand to show the thing he had stolen: a small, carved ivory tube, about the size of a manâs middle finger and still pocket-warm.
âNot so clever. Heâs going to miss it. Wait a minute: describe him.â
âWearing gray. Long neck. Looked like a tortoise. Black eyebrows. Smelled of smoke.â
âDid he smile a lot?â
âAll the time.â
âCan you get us out of here?â Judeâs voice was suddenly urgent.
âYes, I know this area.â
âThen do itâand lose that thing you stole, whatever it is.â
Flea nodded and was off. He knew many escape routes out of the market. The one he chose took them between a soap seller and a spice warehouse into a gap so narrow even he had to squeeze sideways. Then there was a wall to climb and a view down into a tiny roofless room where dull-eyed children picked through sacks of dried lentils and didnât look up.
Flea led Jude across the rooftops, crossing streets where the houses came close enough together to jump the gap and on until the streets widened and the houses were built out from the hillside. They stepped from a roof straight onto a small strip of carefully terraced garden.
Jude checked the sun. âAll right,â he said. âThis is far enough. Now then, Flea. You and I need to talk.â
Â
15
In the narrow garden was a pomegranate
Meg McKinlay
Buddy Levy
Karen Harbaugh
Michael Robertson
S.B. Alexander
Tim Lebbon, Christopher Golden
Thomas Rath
Stuart Rojstaczer
Anna Cruise
Hans Erich Nossack