"Your heart." He tilted his head. "See them watching you? You've given them courage. You've given them a reason to believe in what they're doing."

Kahlan lifted an eyebrow. "You trickster, you. You may fool others, but not me. It is you who has given me heart."

Zedd only smiled. "You know, not since the very first Confessor has a man ever again figured out how to love such a woman without her power destroying him. I'm glad it was my grandson who accomplished such an exploit, and that it was for his love of you. I love you as a granddaughter, Kahlan, and look forward to the day when you are back with my grandson."

Kahlan held Zedd close, resting her head against his shoulder, as they both danced on with their memories.

As the dancing went on, the golden setting sun was finally replaced by torches and warm fires. Sisters changed partners after each dance, and still there were jovial men lined up out of sight waiting a turn, and not just with the younger, more attractive Sisters. Cooks' helpers set out simple fare on food tables, sampling some and joking with the soldiers as they went about their task. Between dances, Warren and Verna tried the variety of food from different tables.

Kahlan danced once more with Captain Ryan, and once more with Zedd, but then busied herself speaking to officers and soldiers alike so she wouldn't have to dance with anyone, should anyone feel awkward about asking her, yet work up the nerve. She was more able to enjoy the festivities without having to dance.

As she was greeting a line of young officers, and they were telling her how much they appreciated the party, someone tapped Kahlan on the shoulder. She turned to a smiling Warren.

"Mother Confessor, I would be honored were you to have a dance with me."

Kahlan noticed Verna dancing with Zedd. This was one dance that would be different. "Warren, I would love to dance with the handsome groom."

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He moved smoothly with her, not at all haltingly as she had expected. He seemed to be blissfully at peace, and not nervous about the crush of people or the men constantly clapping him on the back, or the joking remarks from some of the Sisters.

"Mother Confessor, I just wanted to thank you for making this the best day I've ever had."

Kahlan smiled up into his young face, his ageless eyes. "Warren, thank you for agreeing to this big party. I know it's not the sort of thing that fits you-"

"Oh, but it is. That's just it. People used to call me the mole."

"They did? Why?"

"Because I used to stay down in the vaults all the time studying the prophecies. It wasn't just that I liked to study the books-I was afraid to come out."

"But you finally did."

He turned her in time with the sweep of music. "Richard brought me out."

"He did? I never knew that."

"In a way, you've helped add to what he started." Warren smiled distantly. "I just wanted to thank you. I know how much I miss him, and how much Verna misses him. I know the men miss their Lord Rahl."

Kahlan was only able to nod.

"And I know how much you miss your husband. That's why I wanted to thank you-for giving us this, and the gift of your grace, despite your heartache. Everyone here feels it with you. Please know that while you miss him, you are not alone, and are among those who love him too."

Kahlan smiled, and managed to get out a "Thank you."

As they danced across the open area, laughing at the merry tune and the awkward steps of some of the soldiers, the music abruptly trailed off.

It was then that she heard the horns.

Alarm swept through the assembled soldiers, as men ran for their weapons, until one of the sentries sprinted in, waving his arm, calling out for everyone to stand down, that it was friendly forces.

Puzzled, Kahlan stretched her neck along with everyone else, trying to see. They had no forces out. She had let them all be present to enjoy the wedding party.

The crowd parted as horses trotted through the throng. Kahlan's eyebrows went up, and her jaw dropped. The distinguished General Baldwin, commander of all Keltish forces, was at the fore, riding a handsome chestnut gelding. He brought the horse to a smart halt. He ran his first finger along the length of his white-flecked dark mustache as he took in the crowd gathered in around him. His graying black hair grew down over his ears, and his pate shone through on top. He was a striking figure in his serge cape fastened on one shoulder with two buttons, allowing it to show the rich green silk lining. His tan surcoat was decorated with a heraldic emblem slashed through with a diagonal black line dividing a yellow and blue shield. The man's high boots were rolled down below his knees. Long black gauntlets, their flared cuffs lying over the front, were tucked behind a wide belt set with an ornate buckle.

The press of men made way for Kahlan to step through. "General!"

He lifted a hand in his noble manner, a smile spreading wide. "Mother Confessor, how good to see you."

Kahlan started to speak, but horses charged through, the crowd falling back for them. They stormed into the dance area like a wind-borne fire-a dozen Mord-Sith in red leather. One of the women leaped from her horse.

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"Rikka!" Cara called out.

The woman's bold glare swept over the gathered people. She finally settled her gaze, taking in Cara. Cara moved out of General Meiffert's arms.

"Cara," she said as way of greeting. She glanced around. "Where is Hania?"

Cara stepped closer. "Hania? She's not here."

The woman pressed her lips together in bitter disappointment. "I thought as much. When I never received word back, I feared we had lost her. Still, I was hoping. . ."

Kahlan stepped forward, a little miffed that the woman saw fit to step in front of General Baldwin. "Rikka, is it?"

"Ah," Rikka said, a knowing smile stealing onto her face, "You could be none other than Lord Rahl's wife-the Mother Confessor. I recognize the description." The woman saluted casually with a fist to her heart. "Yes, I am Rikka."

"I'm glad to have you here, and your sisters of the Agiel."

"I came from Aydindril as soon as Berdine received your letter. It explained a lot. She and I discussed it, and decided I should come with some of my sisters to help in our effort. I left six sister Mord-Sith with Berdine to watch over Aydindril and the Wizard's Keep. I also brought twenty thousand troops." She lifted a thumb, pointing with it behind her. "We met up with the general, here, a week back."

"We can certainly use your help. That was wise of Berdine-I know how eager she was to come herself, but she knows the city and the Keep. I'm glad she followed my instructions." Kahlan settled her most unsettling Mother-Confessor-gaze on Rikka. "Now, if you don't mind, you interrupted General Baldwin."

Cara shoved Rikka, pushing her back out of the way. "We need to talk, Rikka, before you're up to the task of serving Lord Rahl and his wife, who just happens to be a sister of the Agiel."

Rikka lifted and eyebrow in surprise. "Really? How could-"

"Later," Cara said with a smile before Rikka could get herself into any more trouble, moving the woman and her sister Mord-Sith back. Zedd, Adie, and Verna eased closer to Kahlan.

General Baldwin, now off his horse, stepped forward at last and went to a knee in a bow. "My queen, Mother Confessor."

"Rise, my child," Kahlan said in formal answer as the camp looked on with the same rapt attention they had devoted to the wedding. This had important bearing on them, too.

The general rose to his feet. "I came as soon as I received your letter, Mother Confessor."

"How many men did you bring?"

He looked surprised by the question. "Why . . . all of them. One hundred seventy thousand men. When my queen asks for an army, I bring her one."

Whispers spread through the men as they passed word back.

Kahlan was stunned. She no longer even felt the cold. "That's wonderful, General. They are sorely needed. We have a real fight on our hands, as I explained in my letter. The Imperial Order is getting reinforcements all the time. We need to cut those lines."

"I understand. With the D'Harans from Aydindril come with us, we can just about triple the size of your force down here."

"And we can still bring more in from D'Hara," General Meiffert said.

Kahlan felt the hot spark of faith in their chances swelling within her breast. "By

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spring, for sure, we will need them." She cocked her head at General Baldwin. "What about Lieutenant Leiden?"

"Who? Oh, you must mean Sergeant Leiden. He only has a scout patrol, now. When a man deserts his queen, he's lucky to keep his head, but he acted to protect her people, so I sent him to guard some remote pass. I hope the man dresses warmly."

Kahlan wanted to throw her arms around the dashing General Baldwin. Instead, she touched her fingers to his arm in a gesture of her gratitude. "Thank you, General. We surely need the men."

"Well, they're up country a little ways, half a day back. Couldn't fit them all in here with your army."

"That's fine." Kahlan waggled her fingers, calling the Mord-Sith forward. "I'm very glad to see you, too, Rikka. With Mord-Sith, we can better handle the enemy gifted. We may even be able to turn the tide. Cara, here, has helped eliminate some of the gifted already, but I'm afraid that Lord Rahl has her under orders to protect me. She will continue in that capacity. But you will be free to go after their gifted."

Rikka bowed. "Love to." She came up and smiled. "Berdine warned me about her," she said under her breath to Cara.

"You should listen to Berdine," Cara said, clapping her on the back. "Come, I'll help you find some quarters-"

"No," Kahlan said, stopping them in their tracks. "This is a party. The general, Rikka, and her sisters are invited. In fact, I insist."

"Well," Rikka said, brightening, "as long as we're protecting Lord Rahl's wife, we would be only to happy to stay."

Kahlan took Rikka's arm and pulled her close. "Rikka, we have a lot of men here, and few women. This is a dance. Get out there and dance."

"What! Are you out of your-"

Kahlan shoved her out into the dance area. She snapped her fingers at the musicians. "Shall we resume?" She turned to General Baldwin. "General, you have come at a wonderful time, a time of celebration. Please, would you dance with me?"

"Mother Confessor?"

"I am your queen, also. Generals dance with queens, do they not?"

He smiled and offered his arm. "Of course they do, my queen."

Long after it was dark, the wedding procession made its way through the makeshift streets, greeting all the men. Thousands of soldiers congratulated Warren and Verna on their marriage, offered jesting advice, a gentle slap on the back, or just a merry wave.

Kahlan recalled a time when the Midlands feared these men. Under Darken Rahl, they were a formidable invader; inspiring dread and terror. She was amazed at how civil these men could be, how human, when given a chance. It was Richard, really, who had given them that chance. She knew that many of them understood that, and appreciated it.

When finally they reached the end of the long winding walk through the sprawling camp, they came at last to the tent Verna and Warren thought was to be theirs. Those following along bid the couple a good night and wandered back to the party, leaving the three of them alone.

Rather than let Verna and Warren slow, Kahlan stepped between them, took each under an arm, and guided them onto the path among the towering trees. Moonlight

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through the boughs cast wavering patterns on the snow. Not knowing what she was up to, neither Verna nor Warren protested as Kahlan kept them moving.

Finally, Kahlan spotted the lodge off through the trees. She stopped a little distance away to let them see the candlelight coming from behind the lace-like curtain. The juxtaposition against life in an army camp made it looked all the more romantic.

"This is a long and difficult struggle," Kahlan told them. "Starting a marriage under these conditions is a harsh burden. I can't tell you how happy I am that you two chose to go forward with it at a time like this. It means a great deal to all of us. We're all very happy for you. More than anything, I would like to thank you both for choosing life in all its glory.

"We will one day have to move on, as surely the Order will move again when spring comes, if not before. But for now, I want this place to be yours. I can give you at least this much, this little piece of a normal life together."

Verna unexpectedly burst into tears and buried her face in Kahlan's shoulder. Kahlan patted the Prelate's heaving back, chuckling at how out of character it was for Verna to show such emotion.

"Not a good idea, Verna, to let your new husband see you cry just as he's about to take you to his bed."

That did it, and Verna laughed, too. She gripped Kahlan's shoulders as she searched her eyes.

"I don't know what to say."

Kahlan kissed her cheek. "Love each another, be good to each other, and treasure being together-that's what I would like more than anything."

Warren hugged her, whispering his thanks in her ear. Kahlan watched as he led Verna the remaining distance to the lodge. At the door, both turned and waved. At the last moment, Warren swept Verna off her feet. Her lilting laugh drifted among the trees as he carried her through the doorway.

Alone, Kahlan turned back to the camp.

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CHAPTER 44

The door opened a crack. One bloodshot eye peered out into the dingy hall.

"You have a room? My wife and I are looking for a room." Before the man could close the door, Richard quickly added, "We were told you had one."

"What of it?"

Despite it being self-evident, Richard answered politely. "We've no place to stay."

"Why bring your problems to me?"

Richard could hear angry words going back and forth between a man and woman upstairs. Behind several of the doors in the hall, babies wailed without pause. The heavy odor of rancid oil hung in the dank air. Out the door at the back standing open to the narrow alley, young children, being chased by older children, squealed as they ran through the cold rain.

Richard spoke without expectation into the narrow slit. "We need a room."

A dog not far up the alleyway barked with monotonous persistence.

"Lots of people need a room. I only have one. I can't give it to you."

Nicci eased Richard aside and put her face close to the crack.

"We have the money for the first week." She shoved her hand against the door when he started to shut it. "It's a public room. Your duty is to help the public get rooms."

The man shouldered his weight into the door, shutting it in her face.

Richard turned away as Nicci began knocking. "Forget it," he said. "Let's go get a loaf of bread."

Nicci usually followed his lead without admonishment, challenge, or even comment, but this time, instead of minding him, she rapped persistently on the door. Layers of peeling paint, every color from blue to yellow to red, fell from under her knuckles.

"It's your duty," Nicci called to the closed door. "You've no right to turn us away." No answer came. "We're going to report you."

The door opened a crack again. The eye glared out with menace.

"Has he a job?"

"No, but-"

"You go away. The both of your I'll report you!"

"For what, might I ask?"

"Look, lady, I got a room, but I got to keep it for people at the top of the list."

"How do you know we're not at the top of the list?"

"Because if you were you would have said so first off and showed me the approval you got with a seal on it. People at the head of the list have been waiting a long time for a place. You're no better than a thief, trying to take the place of a good

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citizen who's followed the law. Now, go away, or I will take down your names for the lodging inspector."

The door slammed shut again. The threat of having their names taken down appeared to take some of the fight out of Nicci. She huffed a sigh as they walked away, the bowed floor creaking and groaning underfoot. At least they had been able to get in out of the rain for a brief time.

"We will have to keep looking," she told him. "If you had a job, first, it would probably help. Maybe tomorrow you can look for a job while I keep looking for a room."

Out in the cold rain once more, they crossed the muddy street to the cobbled walkway on the other side. There were yet more places to check, though Richard didn't hold out any hope of getting a room. They'd had doors shut in their faces more times than he could count. Nicci wanted a room, though, so they kept looking.

The weather was unusually cold for this far south in the Old World, Nicci had told him. People said the cold spell and rain would soon pass. A few days before it had been muggy and warm, so Richard had no reason to doubt their judgment. It was disorienting for him to see woods and fields of lush green vegetation in the dead of winter. There were some trees with limbs bare for the season, but most were in full leaf.

As far south as they were in the Old World, it never got cold enough for water to freeze. People only blinked dumbly when he spoke of snow. When Richard explained snow as flakes of frozen white water that fell from the sky and covered the ground with a cottony blanket, some people turned huffy, thinking he was making a joke at their expense.

He knew that back home winter would be raging. Despite the turmoil around him, Richard felt an inner tranquillity knowing that Kahlan was most likely to be warm and snug in the house he had built; in that light, nothing in his new life was of enough importance to distress him. She had food to eat, firewood to keep her warm, and Cara for company. For now, she was safe. Winter was wearing on and in spring she would be able to leave, but, for now, Richard was confident that she was safe. That, and his thoughts and memories of her, were his only solace.

People without rooms huddled in the alleyways, using whatever scrap of solid material they could find to prop up over themselves for a roof. Walls were fashioned from sodden blankets. He supposed that he and Nicci could continue to do the same, but he feared Nicci falling ill in the cold and wet-feared that then Kahlan, too, would fall ill.

Nicci checked the paper she carried. "These places on this register they gave us are all supposed to be available for people newly arrived-not just for people on a list. They need workers; they should be more diligent in seeing to it that places are available. Do you see, Richard? Do you see how hard it is for ordinary people to get along in life?"

Richard, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind and rain, asked, "So, how do we get on a list?"

"We will have to go to a lodging office and request a room. They can put us on a housing list."

It sounded simple, but matters were proving far more complex than they sounded.

"If there aren't enough rooms, how will being on a list get us a place to stay?"

"People die all the time."

"There's work here, that's why we came-that's why everyone else has come.

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I'll work hard and then we can afford to pay more. We still have a little money. We just need to find a place that wants to rent a room for the right price-without all this list foolishness."

"Really, Richard, are you that inhumane? How would those less fortunate ever get rooms, then? The Order sets the prices to stop profiteers. They make sure there is no favoritism. That makes it fair for all. We just need to get on a list for a room, and then everything will be fine."

Watching the glistening cobbles before him as he walked, Richard wondered how long they would be without a place until their name worked its way to the top of a list. It looked to him as if a lot of people would need to die before his and Nicci's names came up for a room-with more yet waiting in turn for them to die.

He stepped first to one side and then the other to avoid bumping into the river of people swirling past, making their way in the opposite direction while trying to stay out of the mud of the street. He considered again staying outside the city-a lot of people did that. But there were outlaws and desperate people aplenty who preyed on those who were forced to stay out in the open where there were no city guards. Were Nicci not opposed to the idea, Richard would have found a place farther out and built a shelter, perhaps with some other people so that they could together discourage trouble.

Nicci wasn't interested in the idea. Nicci wanted to be in the city. Multitudes came to the city looking for a better life. There were lists to get on, and lines to wait in to see official people. You had a better chance of doing those things if you had a room in the city, she said.

It was getting late in the day. The line at the bakery was out the door and partway down the block.

"Why are all these people in line?" Richard whispered to Nicci. It was the same every day when they went to buy bread.

She shrugged. "I guess there aren't enough bakeries."

"Seems like with all the customers, more people would want to open bakeries."

Nicci leaned close, a scolding scowl darkening her brow. "The world isn't as simple as you would like it to be, Richard. It used to be that way in the Old World. Man's evil nature was allowed to flourish. People set their own prices for goodswith greed being their only interest, not the good of their fellow man. Only the wellto-do could afford to buy bread. Now, the Order sees to it that everyone gets needed goods for a fair price. The Order cares about everyone, not just those with unfair advantages."

She always seemed so impassioned when she spoke about the evil nature of people. Richard wondered why a Sister of the Dark would care about evil, but he didn't bother to ask.

The line wasn't moving very fast. The woman in front of him, suspicious of their whispering, scowled back over her shoulder.

Richard met her glare with a broad smile.

"Good afternoon, ma'am." Her somber scowl faltered in the light of his beaming grin. "We're new in town"-he gestured behind-"my wife and I. I'm looking for work. We need a room, though. Would you know how a young couple, strangers to the city, could go about getting a room?"

She half turned, holding her canvas bag in both hands, letting it pull her arms straight as she leaned her shoulders against the wall. Her bag held only a yellow wedge of cheese. Richard's smile and his friendly conversational tone-artificial

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though they were-were apparently so out of the ordinary that she seemed unable to maintain her gruff demeanor.

"You have to have a job if you hope to get a room. There aren't enough rooms in the city, what with all the new workers come for the abundance provided by the wisdom of the Order. If you're able-bodied, you need to have work, then they'll put your name on the list."

Richard scratched his head and kept smiling as the line slowly shuffled along. "I'm eager to work."

"Easier to get a room if you can't work," the woman confided.

"But, I thought you just said you had to have a job if you were to have any hope of getting a room."

"That's true, if you're able, like you look to be. Those folks with a greater need, because they can't do for themselves, are rightly entitled to benevolence and to be put higher on the list-like my husband, the poor man. He's afflicted terrible like with consumption."

"I'm so sorry," Richard said.

She nodded with the weight of her burden. "It's mankind's wretched lot to suffer. Nothing can be done about it, so there's no use trying. Only in the next life will we get our reward. In this life, it's the duty of every person with ability to help those unfortunate souls with needs. In that way the able earn their reward in the next life."

Richard didn't argue. She shook a finger at him.

"Those who can work owe it to those who can't to do their best for the good of all.

"I can work," Richard assured her. "We're from . . . a little place. We're simple folks-from farming stock. We don't know much about how to go about things like getting work in the city."

"The Order has brought the people a great abundance of work," a man behind Nicci said, drawing Richard's attention. The man's oiled canvas coat was buttoned tight at his throat. His big brown eyes blinked slowly, like a cow as it chewed its cud. The way his jaw wobbled sideways as he spoke only added to the impression. "The Order welcomes all workers to our struggle, but you must be mindful of the needs of others-as the Creator Himself wishes-and go about getting work in the proper fashion."

Richard, his stomach grumbling with hunger, listened as the man explained. "You first need to belong to a citizen workers' group; they protect the rights of citizens of the Order. You'll have to go before a review assembly for approval to join the workers' group, and a fitness panel to hear from a spokesman from the workers' citizen group who can vouch for you. You must do this before you can go for a job."

"Why can't I just go to a place and show myself? Why can't they hire me, if I fit their needs?"

"Just because you're from the country, that doesn't mean you shouldn't be mindful of contributing toward the greater good of the Order."

"Of course not," Richard said. "I've always worked for myself, thoughfarming to bring food to my fellow man, as is our duty. I don't know how businesses do things."

The big brown eyes paused their blinking. The man peered suspiciously for a moment, then his eyes finally went moony again. His jaw resumed its wobbling as he chewed his words.

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"It's the primary responsibility of business to be sensitive to the needs of the people, to contribute to the public welfare, to be equitable. The review board helps see to this. There is much more involved than the narrow goals of businesses."

"I see," Richard said. "Well, I'd be grateful if you could tell me how to go about it properly." He glanced briefly at Nicci. "I want to be a good citizen and do things right."

By the man's pride in the explanation, and the way his big eyes blinked faster as he laid it all out, Richard expected that the man was somehow involved in the labyrinthine process. Richard didn't ask how you got a spokesman from the citizen workers' group to vouch for you. The line inched forward as the man explained the finer details of different sorts of work, what each required, and how it was all for the benefit of those living within the Order and under the grace of the Creator.

As he droned on, delivering his information with smug satisfaction, Nicci watched Richard discreetly, and without comment, as he listened to the procedures. She looked as if she was expecting him to suddenly turn from polite to deadly. Richard knew there could be no point to a battle with this man, so he remained polite.

It turned out that the man, named Mr. Gudgeons, seemed to know the most about the quarry workers. Since Richard knew little about quarries, he passed the time as they stood in line by asking a few questions that pleased Mr. Gudgeons to answer-at great length.

The store ran out of bread and closed before they got any. The line of people dissolved into the downpour, mumbling to one another as they went about their woeful lot in life. Richard thanked the woman and Mr. Gudgeons before he and Nicci moved on.

Richard paused at a cross street while Nicci studied her paper with the list of rooms. All around, the blocky shapes of buildings rose out of the gloom. Red paint on the side of one brick building was so faded that it left the figure painted there looking like a blushing ghost. The faded whitewash of words beneath the vanishing man were no longer legible.

Passing men gazed at Nicci in her wet clinging clothes, never seeing her face. Her hair was plastered to her skull, her jaw quivered, and her hands trembled, yet she didn't complain about the cold, as did everyone else. They had been told that they couldn't get another list, with any new rooms that might have recently become available, until the next day, so Nicci was trying to keep this one whole, but in the rain it was a losing battle.

Mangy horses slogged through the mud, some of the wagons they pulled squeaking and groaning under the weight of a load. Only the main thoroughfares, like the one they were on, were wide enough to allow teams of horses and full-size wagons to easily pass in both directions. Some streets were only wide enough for wagons to go in one direction. Some of those, with no room to pull aside, were choked off by broken-down wagons. Richard saw a dead horse in one narrow street, the rotting animal, attended by a cloud of flies, still hitched to its wagon as it awaited someone to come haul it away. The blocked streets only added to the congestion of the others. Some streets, were wide enough only for handcarts. In many of the narrower passageways only foot traffic could fit.

The smell of garbage and the stench of streets that also functioned as open sewers had been enough to gag Richard for the first week until he'd become numb to it.

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The alleyways where he and Nicci had slept were the worst. The rain only served to flush the filth out of every hole and carry it out into the open, but at least as long as he was standing it washed off some of the dirt.

All the cities Richard had seen after they'd entered the Old World and traveled south from Tanimura were similar to this one, all suffering under grinding poverty and inhuman conditions. Everything seemed caught in a timeless trap, a morass of rot, as if the cities had once been vibrant with life and people striving to fulfill dreams, had once been places of hope and ambition, but somewhere the dreams had disintegrated into a gray pall of stagnation and decay. No one seemed to much care. Everyone seemed in a daze, biding their time, waiting for their lot in life to improve without even having a concept of the shape of that better life or how it might come to be. They existed on disembodied faith, confident only that the afterlife would be perfect.

The cities Richard had seen were startlingly similar to what Richard envisioned the future held for the New World under the yoke of the Order.

This place, though, was the single largest city Richard had ever seen. He would never have believed the size of it had he not seen it himself. Dilapidated buildings entangled by streets teeming with people sprawled over a sweep of low hills, across a broad bottomland, for miles along the convergence of two rivers. Squat ramshackle huts built haphazardly of wattle and daub, scraps of wood, or salvaged mud and straw bricks beset the city's core to a great distance out into the surrounding land, like fetid scum surrounding a rotting log in a stagnant pond.

It was the city of Altur'Rang-the namesake of the land which was now the heart of the Old World and the Imperial Order-the home city of Emperor Jagang.

When they had first entered the Old World on their way south toward Altur'Rang, Richard and Nicci had stopped at the northernmost large city in the Old World, 'Ianimura, where the Palace of the Prophets had once stood. Tanimura, one of the last places in the Old World to fall under the rule of the Imperial Order, was a grand place, with wide boulevards lined with trees and ornate buildings soaring several stories high, faced with columns and arches and windows that let in the light. Tanimura, as large as it was, turned out to be but an outpost of the Old World, far enough away that the rot was only now reaching it.

For a span of a little over a month, Richard had found work in Tanimura as a mason's tender, one of a dozen, hauling stone and mixing mortar for a squat, unattractive building. The masons had simple huts the workers and their families lived in, so Nicci had shelter. The master came to trust Richard to keep up with his masons. When one of the stonecutters fell sick, Richard was asked to stand in at squaring the blocks of granite for the masons.

He found holding a chisel and mallet in his hands, cutting stone-shaping it to his will-a revelation. In some ways, it was like carving wood . . . but somehow much more.

From time to time, the master stood with fists on his hips, watching Richard chisel square edges into the hard granite. Occasionally, in a gruff voice, he would make minor corrections to Richard's method. After a time, as the master saw that Richard took to the job and could cut a block square and true, he no longer bothered watching. Before long Richard's blocks were chosen first by the masons as cornerstones.

Other stonecutters arrived to do more demanding work-the adornments. When

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they had first shown up, Richard had been eager to see their work. They cut into the face of blocks, meant to surround the entrance, a large flame representing the Light of the Creator. Below that, they carved a crowd of cowering people.

Richard had seen a number of stone carvings in the various places he had been, from the Confessors' Palace in Aydindril to the People's Palace in D'Hara, but he had never seen anything like the figures he saw being cut on that building in Tanimura. They were not graceful, or grand, or inspiring, but just the opposite. They were distorted, thick-limbed, cringing figures recoiling below the Light. Richard was told by one of the artisans that this was the only proper representation of mankind-profane, hideous, sinful. Richard kept his mind on cutting square stones.

When the stonework to the Order's headquarters building was finished, the job ended. The carpenters didn't need any more help. The artisans said they could use some assistance carving the anguish of mankind and offered Richard the work. He declined, telling them that he had no ability for carving.

Besides, Nicci had been eager to move on; Tanimura had only been a place to earn some money to buy provisions for the long journey ahead of them. Richard was glad to be away from the depressing sight of the carving going on.

Along the way southeast to Altur'Rang, in the cities they passed through, Richard saw many carvings on buildings, and many more freestanding in public squares, or in front of entrances. They depicted horrors: people being whipped by a grinning Keeper of the underworld; people stabbing out their own eyes; suffering people twisted, deformed, and crippled; people like packs of dogs, running on all fours, attacking women and children; people reduced to walking skeletons or covered in sores; woeful people throwing themselves into graves. In most such scenes the pitiful people were watched over by the Light of the all-perfect Creator represented by the flame.

The Old World was a celebration of misery.

Along the way south, they had stopped in a number of cities when Richard could find menial work temporary enough not to require waiting on lists. He and Nicci went for stretches eating cabbage soup that was mostly water. Sometimes they had rice or lentils or buckwheat mush, and, on occasion, the luxury of salt pork. Sometimes, Richard was able to catch fish, birds, or the odd hare. Living off the land in the Old World, though, was difficult. A lot of other people had the same idea. They both had gotten thinner on their long march. Richard began to understand the carvings of the skeletal people.

Nicci had set their destination, but dictated little else, leaving most decisions to him, complying without complaint. Week in and week out, they walked, occasionally paying a few copper pennies to ride in wagons headed their way. They crossed rivers straddled by cities large enough to have numbers of stone bridges, and went through town after town. There were vast fields of wheat, millet, sunflower, and any number of other crops, though much of the land lay fallow. They saw flocks of sheep and herds of cattle.

Farmers sold the travelers goat cheese and milk. Ever since the gift had awakened in him, Richard was able to eat meat only when not doing any fighting. He thought it might be part of the requirement to balance his need to sometimes take life. Since he wasn't doing any fighting, he could eat meat without it making him sick. Unfortunately, they could rarely afford meat. Cheese, which he had once loved, he could hardly stomach since his gift had come to life in him. Unfortunately, it was often eat cheese, or starve.

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But it was the size of the Old World, and in particular its population, that most unsettled him. Richard had naively thought that the New and the Old Worlds must be somewhat alike. They were not. The New World was but a flea on the back of the Old.

From time to time on their journey south, vast columns of men at arms moved past them on their way north to the Midlands. Several times, it had taken days for all the soldiers to march past. Whenever he saw the rank upon rank of troops, he felt a wave of relief that Kahlan was trapped in their mountain home. He would hate to think of her fighting in an army facing as many men as he saw going to the war.

By spring, when she could finally get out of the mountain home, and all those Imperial Order troops could truly begin their siege of the New World, whatever resistance the D'Haran Empire put up would be crushed. Richard hoped General Reibisch chose not to go up against the Order. He hated to think of all those brave men being slaughtered under the weight of the coming onslaught.

At one small city, Nicci had gone to a stream to wash their clothes while Richard worked the day mucking out stalls at a large stable. A number of officials had come to town and there were more horses than the stablemaster could handle. Richard had been at the right place at the right time to get the job. Not long after the officials arrived and took all the rooms at the inns, a large unit of the Imperial Order troops marched in behind them and set up camp at the city limits.

Fortunately, Nicci was on the other side of the city doing their washing. Unfortunately, a squad of men passing through the city, and doing some drinking, decided to accept volunteers. Richard kept his head down as he carried water to the horses, but the sergeant saw him. At the wrong place at the wrong time, Richard was "volunteered" into the Imperial Order. The new volunteers were quartered in the center of the immense encampment.

That night, after it was dark and most of the men were asleep, Richard unvolunteered himself. It took him until three hours before sunrise to extract himself from his service to the Imperial Order. Nicci had gone to the stable and found out what had happened to him. Richard found her at their camp, pacing in the darkness. They quickly collected their things and marched south for the rest of the night. They went cross country, since the moon was out, rather than on the roads, in case a patrol came looking for him. From then on, whenever Richard saw soldiers he did his best to become invisible.

In general, though, it wasn't a serious concern. Hordes of youths, lusting after the promise of plunder, were only too eager to join the army. They often had to wait weeks or months to be accepted into training, so many were the numbers joining. Richard had seen crowds of them in the cities, playing games, gambling, drinking, fighting-young men dreaming of the glory of killing the evil foes of the great empire of the Order. They enjoyed the adoration of the populace when they joined the army to go off and fight the frightful wickedness and sin that was said to infect the New World.

Richard was horrified to see the numbers of people living in the Old World, because it meant that the Order's army already in the New World was hardly a drain on the populace-and only the beginning. He had thought that perhaps the Order might lose their enthusiasm for a war conducted so far from their homeland, or that the people of the Old World would tire of the hardship necessary to conduct such a war. He now knew that thought had been but a feeble daydream.

It didn't take a wizard, or a prophet, to know that the armies the New World

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could raise, even given wildly optimistic conditions, had no hope whatsoever of prevailing against the millions upon millions of soldiers Richard had seen pouring north, to say nothing of the ones he hadn't seen who would be taking other routes. The Midlands was doomed.

Ever since the people of Anderith chose the Order over freedom, he had known in his heart that the New World was going to fall to the Order. He felt no satisfaction in realizing how right he had been. Seeing the size of the enemy, he realized that freedom was lost, and resisting the Order was but suicide.

The course of events seemed irrevocable, the world lost to the Order. The future for him and Kahlan seemed no less hopeless.

By far the strangest place he and Nicci had visited in their journey southeast, a place she never spoke of afterward, had been less than a week south of Tanimura. Richard had still been in a dismal mood thinking about the carvings he had seen, when Nicci took an old, seldom-used track off the main road. It led back toward the hills, to a rather small city beside a quiet river.

Most of the businesses had been abandoned. The wind, at will, carried dust through the broken windows of warehouses. Many of the homes had fallen to ruin, their roofs caved in, weeds and vines doing their best to bring down crooked walls. Only the homes on the outskirts were still occupied, mostly by people raising animals and farming the surrounding land.

On the northern side of the city, one small store remained to sell staples to surrounding farmers. There was also a leather shop, a fortune-teller, and a lonely inn. In the center of town stood the bones of buildings, long since picked clean by scavengers. Several of the buildings still stood, but most had long ago collapsed. Richard and Nicci walked through the center of town watched only by a fitful wind.

At the southern edge, they arrived at the remains of what had once been a large brick building. Without a word, Nicci turned off the road and marched deliberately into the forlorn site. The wood beams and roof had been consumed by fire. A thick mat of weeds and brush were devouring the wood floor. The brick walls were all that was left, really, and they were mostly fallen to rubble, with only a portion of the east wall still tall enough to contain a lone window frame.

The wind ruffled Nicci's sunlit hair as she looked down the length of the skeletal remains of the building. Her arms languid at her sides, her back not quite as straight as it usually was, she stood vulnerable where once a roof would have sheltered her.

For nearly an hour, she was lost among the ghosts.

Richard stood off to the side, leaning a hip against the charred remains of part of a workbench, one of the only things left inside the brick frame.

"Do you know this place?" he finally asked her.

She blinked at his question. She stared into his eyes for a long time, as if he, too, were a ghost. She stepped close to him then, her blue eyes finally looking away to let her fingers reminisce as they glided lightly over the remains of the workbench.

"I grew up in this town," she answered in a distant voice.

"Oh." Richard gestured around them. "And this place?"

"They made armor here," she whispered.

He couldn't imagine why she would want to see such a place. "Armor?"

"The best armor in all the land. Double-proofed standard. Kings and noblemen came here to buy armor."

Richard gazed around at the ruins of the place, wondering what more there must be to the story.

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"Did you know the man who made the armor?"

Her blue eyes seeing ghosts again, she shook her head.

"No," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, but I never knew him."

A tear ran down her cheek to drip off her smooth jaw. She seemed very much a child at that moment, alone in the world, and frightened.

Had he not known what he knew about her, Richard would have put his arms around this forlorn frail child and comforted her.

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CHAPTER 45

Ncci was tired, cold, and impatient. She wanted a room.

Her purpose in guiding Richard to the center of the empire in Altur'Rang was to bring him face-toface with the righteous cause of the Order. She knew Richard to be a man of profound moral integrity, and she wanted to see how he would react when confronted by the undeniable virtue of his enemy's intentions.

She wanted Richard to learn how difficult it was for ordinary people to live, to get along in the world. She was curious as to how he would fare in the same circumstances-she wanted to throw him into the fire and see how he reacted to the heat, as it were. She had expected him to be agitated and frustrated by now. He remained cool and unruffled.

She thought he would be furious at learning what he had to do to get a job. He was not. He had listened to that Mr. Gudgeons fellow explaining the near impossible task that faced anyone wanting work. Nicci had expected him to punch the pompous official; instead, Richard had cheerfully thanked him. It was as if the things he so naively stood for, so selfishly defended when she had known him before, no longer mattered to him.

At the Palace of the Prophets when she had been his teacher, every time she thought she knew how he would react, he did something she would never have anticipated. He did that now, too, but in a subtly different way. What before had been, in a manner of speaking, unorganized youthful rebellion had turned to the dangerous scrutiny of a predator. Only the chains around his heart kept him from turning his claws on her.

When Nicci had first captured Richard, she had briefly seen, standing in the window of his house, a carving of a proud woman. Nicci had known, as sure as she knew night followed day, that Richard had carved it; it betrayed his unique vision, which she recognized. The statue was tangible evidence of a hidden side to his gift; it was a form of balance to his ability for war, yet she detected no magic in it.

Knowing that Richard had carved it, Nicci expected that he would have been interested in the carving job offered him back in Tanimura. He turned it down. He became moody and hardly spoke for several days afterward.

Whenever they went through a new city, she saw him taking in the statues and relief carvings. Since he, too, carved, she expected him to find such creations fascinating. He did not. She couldn't understand it. None were as finely executed as what he had carved, to be sure, but still, they were carvings and she thought he would be at least interested in them. She was baffled by his grim mood whenever he saw them.

One time, she had taken the two of them out of their way for no reason but to

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show him a famous city square and the heroic work of art proudly displayed there. It was her thought to bring him a bit of cheer at seeing such a widely heralded work. He was not cheered. Surprised, she had asked him why he appeared to so dislike the sculpture, called Tormented Vision.

"It's death," he had said with distant revulsion as he turned away from the widely worshiped work.

It was a grand scene of a group of men, some gouging out their eyes after having seen the perfect Light of the Creator. Other of the men at the base of the statue, who'd not blinded themselves, were being mauled by underworld beasts. The Keeper's minions shrank from the blinded men wailing at what they had seen before taking their own sight.

"No," Nicci said, trying not to laugh and thereby humiliate him for his unenlightened view. She sought instead to gently rectify his perception of the famous work by explaining it to him.

"It's a portrayal of the unworthy nature of mankind. It shows men who have just witnessed His perfect Light, and in so doing have thus been able to see the hopeless nature of man's depravity. That they would cut out their own eyes shows how perfect the Creator is that they could no longer bear to look upon themselves.

"These men in the statue are heroes for showing us that we must not arrogantly endeavor to rise above our corrupt essence, for that would be sinfully comparing ourselves to the Creator. It shows that we are but faceless, insignificant parts of a greater whole of mankind, which He created, and thus no single life can hold any importance. This work teaches us that only the society as a whole can be worthwhile. Those at the bottom, here, who failed to join in with their fellow man and blind themselves, are suffering their grim eternal fate at the Keeper's hands.

"Do you see, now? It honors mankind as the flawed creature he is, in order that we may see that each of us must devote ourselves to the betterment of our fellow man because that is our only means of doing good and honoring the Creator's creation-us. So, you see, it's not about death at all, but about the true nature of life."

Nicci had been taught that the statue was uplifting for the people, since it confirmed everything they knew to be true.

In the whole of her life, no one had ever given her a look that made her feel smaller than the look Richard gave her.

Nicci swallowed in horror at that look in his eyes-it was the complete opposite of that elusive thing she sought from him. Without saying a word, he had made her want nothing so much at that moment as to crawl under a rock and die.

She couldn't fathom how, but he made her feel unworthy to live. In some bewildering way, that look made her feel as blind as the men in the statue. He hadn't said one word, but it was days before she could bring herself to look him in the eye again.

Sometimes, Richard seemed meek when she expected fierceness, and intense when she expected indifference. She was beginning to wonder if she had been mistaken in thinking there was something special about him.

Once, she had even given in to despair of there really being anything in him worth discovering. Watching him sleep, dejected that she had dared hope to uncover some meaning to life beyond what her mother had taught her, she had sadly resolved that the next day, after visiting the place she had grown up, she would end the whole senseless undertaking and return to Jagang.

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After they went to her father's business, though, she had seen again that quality in his gray eyes, and knew beyond doubt that she had not been mistaken.

This dance had only begun.

As they marched down the dim hallway of a rooming house, she gestured for Richard to stand aside. Nicci wanted this room. She wanted to lie down where it was dry and go to sleep. She resolutely rapped her knuckles on a door that looked as if it might come apart if she wasn't careful.

She peered down at the register she had and then stuffed it in her pack as she waited for the door to be answered. The lodging house, like all the others they had been to, was supposed to let rooms to those new to the city. The emperor needed workers.

In her mind, she imagined that this would be the place. She stared at the stain on the sickly green plaster. She imagined seeing the tea-colored stain, in the shape of a horse's rump with its tail flicked up, every day as she went about her life. She imagined Richard walking past the stain every day when he went to a job, and every night when he came home. Just like everyone else had to do.

Richard was watching the stairway beyond the door where Nicci again knocked. The stairs faced away. She couldn't understand why he watched all the things he watched, but she didn't discount his instincts. By the look on his face, he wasn't pleased about the shadowed stairway. Being a Sister of the Dark, she was hardly frightened by the simple things that frightened other people. She knocked again.

A voice inside told them to go away.

"We need a room," Nicci declared to the door in a tone that said she meant to have it. She knocked harder. "You're on the register. We want the room."

"It's a mistake," came the muffled voice from inside. "No room."

"Now look here," Nicci called out heatedly, "it's getting late-"

Three youths she hadn't seen sitting on the stairs swaggered around the newel post. The three were without shirts, showing off their muscles as young men were wont to do. All three had knives.

"Well, well," one of the youths said with a cocky grin as his eyes took her in with lewd intent. "What have we here? Two little drowned rats?"

"I like the fancy tail on the little blond rat," a second chortled.

Richard seized her arm and without a word shepherded her out the front door, back out into the rain. Nicci dragged her heels, protesting in a whisper the whole way. She couldn't believe that Lord Rahl himself, the Seeker of Truth, and the bringer of death would be intimidated by three men-boys, really.

As they descended the rickety front stoop, Richard lifted an eyebrow at her while tipping his head close. "You have no power, remember? We don't want this kind of trouble. I'd not like to get knifed over a room. This fight isn't worth it. Knowing when not to fight is just as important as knowing how."

Nicci wanted the room, but she finally conceded that Richard was probably right. The three sneering youths slouched at the door and watched, laughing, calling Richard names. So far, they weren't interested in going out in the rain. She had seen young men like them before. This latest crop was no different from any of the others-arrogant, aggressive, and often dangerous. At least they made good soldiers for Jagang's army.

Richard hurried her along the street. He cut through some of the narrow passageways, taking several turns at random just to be sure they wouldn't be followed.

The city of Altur'Rang seemed endless. In the overcast and rain, visibility was

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limited. The haphazard streets and byways were a confusing maze. It had been many years since she had been here last. With all the Order's efforts, the place still had fallen on hard times. She feared to think of what it would have been like had the Order not been here to help.

When they emerged on a wider street, they found shelter under a small overhanging roof along with a small group of others trying to stay out of the rain. Nicci hugged herself against the cold. Richard, along with the others huddled under the roof, watched the occasional wagon making its way past on the muddy street. She didn't know how Richard could keep warm in such weather. She appreciated his warmth, though, when the small crowd pressed her up against him. Richard glanced down at her, seeing her shiver, but he couldn't bring himself to put an arm around her to help keep her warns. She didn't ask.

Nicci sighed; the Old World didn't stay cold for long. In another day or two it would again be warm and muggy.

When she had been at the crumbled remains of her father's business, just before they left, Richard had looked as if he almost wanted to put his arms around her and comfort her. As much as he hated her, as much as he wanted to get away from her, he had been moved to sympathy.

Standing in the ruins, Nicci had let the memories wash through her, and had reveled in the exquisite anguish.

Richard's eyes were fixed on something. She followed his gaze and saw that a wagon not far down the street was moving with an odd wiggle. Almost as soon as she noticed it, the wheel broke with a loud crack.

With the strain imposed by the wagon slipping and being twisted in the ruts, the spokes had snapped under the heavy load. The side of the wagon bed dropped with a splash. People on the walkway were splattered with mud. They cursed the two men in the wagon. The four-horse team struggled to a halt as the uneven load broke the axle, causing the good rear wheel to snap its spokes, too. The whole rear of the wagon collapsed into the mud.

The two men climbed down to assess the damage. The rawboned driver cursed and kicked at the broken wheel lying at a lopsided angle. The other man, shorter and stoutly built, calmly checked the rest of the wagon and its load.

With a frown of curiosity, Richard nudged Nicci ahead of him as he moved down the street toward the wagon. She went reluctantly, unhappy to be out from under the roof.

"We have to," the husky man said with calm resolve. "It's only a short distance."

The other cursed again. "It's not my job, Ishaq, and you know it. I'll not do it!"

Then Ishaq threw up his hands in a helpless gesture as his headstrong partner went to the front of the wagon and urged the team on, managing to drag the wagon to the side of the road and out of the way of the other wagons that were beginning to back up down the street. Once he had the wagon to the side, he started unhitching the team.

The man at the back of the wagon turned and peered around at the people watching.

"I need some help," Ishaq called to the sparse crowd.

"Doing what?" a nearby man asked.

"I've got to get this load of iron to the warehouse." He stretched his thick neck and pointed. "Just there-in the brick building with the faded red paint on the side."

"How much will you pay?" the bystander asked.

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Ishaq was getting frustrated as he glanced over his shoulder and saw his partner leading the horses away. "I'm not authorized to pay anything, not without approval, but I'm sure that if you came round tomorrow-"

The people watching laughed with knowing disgust and went on their way. The man stood in the downpour, ankle deep in mud, alone. He sighed and turned to his wagon, pulling back the tarp to reveal iron bar stock.

Richard stepped out into the street. Nicci wanted to check some more rooms on the list before it got dark. She snatched at his sleeve, but he only gave her a scolding look. She huffed her displeasure but followed anyway as he made his way through the mud to the man struggling to pull a long bar from the wagon bed.

"Ishaq, is it?" Richard asked.

The man turned and gave Richard a nod. "That's right."

"If I help you, Ishaq," Richard asked, "will I really get paid tomorrow? The truth, now."

Ishaq, a stocky fellow with a curious red hat with a narrow brim all around, finally shook his head in resignation.

"Well," Richard said, "if I help you get this load into your warehouse, then would you allow me and my wife to sleep in there where we could get out of the rain for the night?"

The man scratched his neck. "I'm not allowed to let anyone in there. What if something happened? What if things came up missing? I'd be out of work"-he snapped his fingers-"quick as that."

"Just until tomorrow. I only want to get her out of the rain before she comes down sick. I have no use for iron. Besides, I don't rob people."

The man scratched his neck again as he gazed back at the wagon over his shoulder. He glanced at Nicci. She was shivering and it was not an act. He peered at Richard.

"Sleeping in the warehouse for one night is not a fair price for lugging all this in there. It will take hours."

"If you agree to it, and I agree to it," Richard said over the sound of the rain, "then it's a fair price. I asked for no more, and I'm willing to do it for that price."

The man stared at Richard as if he might be crazy. He pulled off his red hat and scratched his head of dark hair. He swept his wet hair back and replaced the hat.

"You would have to clear out when I come first thing in the morning with a new wagon. I could get in trouble-"

"I'll not let you get in trouble over me. If I should get caught, I'll say I broke in."

The man thought about it for a moment, looking surprised at the last term Richard had thrown in an effort to close the deal. The man took another look over his shoulder at the load, then nodded his consent.

Ishaq hoisted a long bar of steel and put his shoulder under it. Richard lifted two and extended his arm forward to steady it, resting the heavy steel on the bunched muscles of his shoulder.

"Come on," he said to Nicci. "Let's get you inside where you can start to dry out and get warm."

She tried to lift a steel bar to help, but it was beyond her strength. There were times when Nicci missed her power. She could at least feel it through the link to the Mother Confessor. It took more effort, but even at this great of a distance she was still able to maintain the link. She walked beside Richard as they followed the man to the dry room Richard had just won for her.

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--]--- The next day dawned clear. Rainwater still dripped from the eaves, though. The night before, as Richard helped Ishaq lug the load into the warehouse, Nicci had used a light rope Richard had in his pack, stringing it between racks so she could hang up their wet things. By morning, most of their clothes were reasonably dry.

They'd slept on wooden pallets, the only other choice being the dirt. Everything smelled of iron dust, and was covered with a fine black film. There was nothing in the warehouse to keep them warm, other than a single lantern Ishaq had left them, over which Nicci could at least warm her hands. They slept as best they could in their wet clothes. By morning, those, too, were reasonably dry.

Much of the night, Nicci hadn't slept, but, by the light of that lantern warning her hands, had watched Richard sleep as she thought about his gray eyes. It had been a shock to see those eyes in her father's business. It brought back a flood of memories.

Richard opened the warehouse door just enough to squeeze through and carried their things out into the breaking dawn. The sky over the city looked as if it were rusting. He left her to watch their things while he went back in to lock the door from inside. She could hear him climbing the racks in the warehouse to get up to a window. He had to jump to the ground.

When Ishaq finally came up the street with the fresh wagon, Richard and Nicci were sitting on a short wall on the entrance road to the warehouse doors. When the wagon rolled past them into the yard outside the building and came to a halt before the double doors, Nicci saw that the driver who had abandoned Ishaq the night before was at the reins.

The lanky driver set the brake as he eyed them suspiciously.

"What's this?" he asked Richard.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Richard said, "but I just wanted to get here before you opened up so I could inquire if there might be any work available."

Ishaq glanced at Nicci, seeing that she was dried out. He eyed the locked door and realized Richard had kept his word, and kept him from the possibility of getting in trouble for letting someone sleep in the warehouse.

"We can't hire people," the driver said. "You have to go to the office and put your name on the list."

Richard sighed. "I see. Well, thank you, gentlemen. I'll give it a try. A good day to you both."

Nicci had learned to recognize in Richard's voice when he was up to something. He gazed up the street, and then down the street, as if he were lost. He was up to something, now. He seemed to be giving Ishaq an opportunity to offer more than he had paid for the help. Ishaq had let Richard carry twice as much of the load the night before. Richard had done so without a word of protest.

Ishaq cleared his throat. "Hold on there." He climbed down from the wagon to unlock the door, but paused before Richard. "I'm the load master. We need another man. You look to have a strong back." Using the toe of his boot, he drew a little map in the mud. "You go to the office"-he lifted his thumb over his shoulder"down this street, here, to the third turn, then right, past six more streets." He made an X in the mud. "There's the office. You get your name on the list."

Richard smiled and bowed his head. "I'll do that, sir."

Nicci knew that Richard remembered Ishaq's name, but he was playing like he

353 didn't for the sake of the driver, whom Richard didn't trust, after the man had abandoned his fellow the night before. What Richard didn't understand was that the driver had only done what he was supposed to do. It was not permitted for one man to take the work that belonged to others. That was stealing. The load was the responsibility of the load man, not the driver.

"You go enlist first in the load workers' group," Ishaq told Richard. "Pay your dues. They have an office in the same building. Then you go put your name on the list for the job. I'm in the citizen workers' group that goes before the review assembly to consider new applicants. You just sit tight and wait outside. When we meet, later on, I'll vouch for you."

The driver leaned out and spat over the far side of the wagon. "Why you want to go and do that, Ishaq? You don't even know this fellow."

Ishaq scowled up at the driver. "Did you see anyone at the hall who was as big as this fellow? We need another loader for the warehouse. We just lost a man and need a replacement. You want me to get stuck with some skinny old man so as I'll have to do all the work?"

The driver chuckled. "Suppose not."

Ishaq gestured toward Nicci. "Besides, look at his young wife. She needs some meat on her bones, don't you think? Looks like a nice young couple."

The driver spat over the side of the wagon again. "I suppose."

Ishaq casually flicked a hand at Richard on his way to unlock the door to the warehouse. "You be there."

"I'll be there."

Ishaq paused and turned back. "Almost forgot-what's your name?"

"Richard Cypher."

Ishaq gave him a nod and turned back to the door. "I'm Ishaq. See you tonight, Richard Cypher. Don't you let me down-you hear? You turn out to be lazy and let me down, and I'll throw your sorry hide in the river with an iron bar tied around your neck."

"I won't let you down, Ishaq." Richard smiled. "I'm a good swimmer, but not that good."

As they trudged though the muddy streets on their way to find some food before they went to the offices to get on the list for work, Richard asked, "What's wrong?"

Nicci shook her head in disgust. "Ordinary people don't have your luck, Richard. Ordinary people suffer and struggle while your luck gets you into a job."

"If it was luck," Richard asked, "then how come my back hurts from lugging that load of iron bars into the warehouse?"

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When Richard had finished unloading the last wagon of iron, he leaned forward and placed his hands on the pile, hanging his head as he panted. The muscles in his arms and shoulders throbbed. It was always easier having two men to handle the bars, one in the wagon, and one on the ground, but the man who was supposed to help with the load had quit several days back, saying he hadn't been treated properly. Richard didn't really miss him all that much; even when the man got up off his backside, his assistance was more trouble than it was worth.

The light coming in the high windows was fading, leaving the sky in the west a deep purple. Sweat ran down his neck, making trails through the black iron dust. He wished he could jump in a cool mountain lake. That thought, in and of itself, was refreshing. He let his mind go there as he caught his breath.

Ishaq came down the aisle with the lantern. "You work too hard, Richard."

"I thought I was hired to work."

Ishaq peered at Richard for a moment, one eye catching the harsh yellow light of the lantern he was holding. "'fake my advice. You work too hard, it's only going to get you into trouble."

Richard had been working at the warehouse for three weeks, unloading wagons and loading others. He'd come to know a number of the other men. He had a good idea of what Ishaq meant.

"But I'm still worried about trying to swim with an iron bar wrapped around my neck."

Ishaq gave up on his scowl and grunted a laugh. "I was just spouting for Jori's sake, that day."

Jori was the driver who had refused to help unload the wagon when it broke down. Richard yawned. "I know, Ishaq."

"This isn't no farm, like where you came from. This is different, living under the ways of the Order. You got to take the needs of others in mind if you hope to get along. It's just the way the world is."

Richard caught the thread of caution in Ishaq's voice, and the meaning of the gentle warning.

"You're right, Ishaq. Thanks. I'll try to remember."

Ishaq gestured with his lantern toward the door. "Workers' group meeting tonight. Best be on your way."

Richard groaned. "I don't know. It's late and I'm tired. I'd really rather-"

"You don't want your name to start going around. You don't want people to start talking that you're not civic-minded."

Richard smirked. "I thought the meetings were voluntary."

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Ishaq barked a laugh again. Richard collected his pack from a shelf in the back corner and then ran to the door so Ishaq could lock it.

Outside, in the gathering darkness, Richard could just make out Nicci's curvaceous form sitting on the wall at the warehouse entrance. Her curves often put him in mind of nothing so much as a snake. They had no room, yet, so she often came by the warehouse after she'd spent much of the day waiting in lines to buy bread and other necessities. They would walk together back to their shelter in a quiet alley about a mile away. Richard had paid a small price to some of the boys there to guard their place and make sure no one else took it. The boys were young enough to be thankful for the small price and old enough to be diligent about their job.

"Get any bread?" Richard asked as he approached.

Nicci hopped down off the wall. "No bread today-they were out. But I got us some cabbage. I'll make us a soup."

Richard's stomach was growling. He'd been hoping for bread so he could eat a piece right then. Soup would take time.

"Where's your pack? And if you bought cabbage, where is it?"

She smiled and produced something small. She held it out before them as they walked so as to silhouette it against the deep violet of dusk. It was a key.

"A room? We got a place?"

"I checked the lodging office this afternoon. Our name finally came up. They assigned a room to us. Mr. and Mrs. Cypher. We can sleep inside tonight. Good thing, too; it looks like it will rain tonight. I already put my things in our room."

Richard rubbed his sore shoulders. He felt a wave of revulsion at the sham she was putting him through . . . putting Kahlan through. There were times when he felt a hint of something profoundly important about her and what she was doing, but most of the time he was merely overwhelmed by the lunacy of it all.

"Where is this room?" He was hoping it wasn't clear over on the other side of the city.

"It's one we were at before-not too far from here. The one with the stain on the wall just inside the door."

"Nicci, they all had stains on the walls."

"The stain that looked like a horse's rear end with its tail flicked up. You'll see it soon."

Richard was starving. "I have to go to a workers' group meeting again tonight."

"Oh," Nicci said. "Workers' group meetings are important. They help keep a person's mind on what's proper and on everyone's duty to his fellow man."

The meetings were torture. Nothing worthwhile ever came about at the meetings. They sometimes lasted hours. There were people, though, who lived for the meetings so they could stand up in front of others and talk about the glory of the Order. It was their shining hour, their time to be somebody, to be important.

Those who didn't show up for the meetings were used as examples of people who weren't properly committed to the cause of the Order. If the absent person didn't mend his ways, it was possible he could end up being suspected of subversion. The lack of truth to the suspicion was irrelevant. Stating the charge made some people feel more important in a land where equality was held as the highest ideal.

Subversion seemed to be a dark cloud hovering constantly over the Old World. It wasn't at all unusual to see the city guard taking people into custody on suspicion of subversion. Torture produced confessions, which proved the veracity of the ac 356

cuser. The people who spoke at length at the meetings had, by this logic, accurately pointed a finger at a number of insurrectionists, as evidenced by their confessions.

The undercurrent of tension in Altur'Rang left many worried over the constant scourge of insurrection-coming from the New World, it was said. Officials of the Order wasted no time in stamping it out whenever it was discovered. Other people were so consumed with fear that the finger would turn toward them that the speakers at the workers' group meetings were assured of having a large number of zealous supporters.

In many a public square, as a constant reminder of what would happen should you fall into the wrong company, the bodies of subversives were left to hang from high poles until the birds picked their bones clean. The running joke, if an incautious person said anything that sounded at all out of line, was "You looking to be buried in the sky?"

Richard yawned again as they turned down the street toward the meeting hall. "I don't remember the stain that looks like a horse's rear end."

Rocks crunched beneath their boots as they walked down the side of the dark street. Off ahead of them, in the distance, he could see Ishaq's lantern swinging as the man hurried to the meeting.

"You were paying attention to something else at the time. It's the room where those three live."

"Three what?"

A number of other people, some he knew, most he didn't, hastened along the street on their way to the meeting.

Richard remembered then. He stopped.

"You mean the place where those three bullies live-the three with the knives?"

He could just barely see her nod in the dim light. "That's the place."

"Great." Richard wiped a hand across his face as they started out again. "Did you ask if we could have a different room?"

"New people in the city are fortunate to get rooms. Rooms are assigned as your name comes up. If you turn it down, you go back to the bottom of the list."

"Did you have to give the landlord any money, yet?"

She shrugged. "Just what I had."

Richard ground his teeth as he walked. "That's all we have for the rest of the week."

"I can stretch the soup."

Richard didn't trust her. She probably somehow saw to it that they got that particular room. He suspected that she wanted to see what he would do about the three young men, now that he was forced into the situation. She was always doing little things, asking odd questions, making bold statements, just to see what his reaction would be, how he would handle matters. He couldn't imagine what it was she wanted from him.

He began to worry about the three. He remembered quite clearly how Cara's Agiel had caused Kahlan to suffer the same pain as Nicci. If those three abused Nicci, Kahlan would suffer it, too. That thought made him go cold and sweaty with worry.

At the workers' group meeting, Richard and Nicci sat on benches at the rear of a smoky room while people up front spoke about the glory of the Order, and how it helped all people to live a moral life. Richard's mind drifted to the brook behind the

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house he had built, to the sunlit summer afternoons watching Kahlan dangle her feet in the water. He ached with longing as his mind's eye traced the curve of her legs. There were speeches about every worker's duty to their fellow man. Many of the discourses were given in a droning monotone, having been repeated so often that it was clear that the words were meaningless, and that only the act of saying them mattered. Richard recalled Kahlan laughing as he caught the fish he'd put in jars for her. Many of the people, the group leaders, or citizen spokesmen, delivered with passion and fire their praise for the ways of the Order. A few people stood up and talked about those who weren't there, giving their names, saying what poor attitudes they had toward the welfare of their fellow workers. Whispers passed among the crowd.

After the speeches were given, some of the workers' wives stood up and explained that they had extra need of late because they had just had new children, or their husbands were laid up, or the relatives they cared for were ill. After each spoke, there was a show of hands. If you agreed to do the right thing and have the group help them, then you raised your hand.

The names of these who didn't raise their hand were noted. Ishaq had explained to Richard that you were allowed not to raise your hand, if you didn't agree, but if you did it very often, you were put on a watch list. Richard didn't know what a watch list was, but it was easy enough to surmise, and Ishaq had told Richard that he didn't want to be on one, and to see to it that he raised his hand more often than not.

Richard raised it every time. He didn't really care what happened. He had no interest in taking part, no interest in trying to make things better, and no interest in how well or poorly people's lives went. Most seemed to want the comfort of the Order running their lives, relieving them of the burden of thinking on their own. Just like Anderith. Nicci seemed surprised, and occasionally even disappointed, to see his hand go up every time, but didn't object or question.

He was hardly even aware of his hand going up. He was smiling inwardly as he recalled the wonder in Kahlan's expression, the astonishment in her green eyes, when she saw Spirit for the first time. Richard would have carved a mountain for her, just to see her tearful joy in seeing something she admired, something she cherished, something she valued.

Another man spoke, complaining about the conditions, how unfair they were, and how he had been forced to quit rather than subject himself to such abuse by the transport company. He was the man who had quit and left Richard to handle the loads by himself. Richard raised his hand along with all the others to grant the man full wages for six months in recompense.

After the show of hands, and some whispering and scratching on paper as all the obligations were figured up, the healthy working members were assessed their just share to help those in need. Those who were able, Richard had been told, had a duty to produce with all their effort in order to help those who couldn't.

When men's names were called, they stood to hear the share to be taken from their wages the next week. Because he was new, Richard's name was called last. He stood, staring off across the dimly lit room at the people in moth-eaten coats sitting behind the long table made of two old doors. Ishaq sat at one end, going along with the others in everything. Several of the women still had their heads together. When they finished, they whispered to the chairman and he nodded.

"Richard Cypher, being as you are new, you still have some catching up to do

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on your duty to your workers' group. Your next weeks wages are assessed as due in aid.."

Richard stood dumbly for a moment. "How am I to eat to pay my rent?"

People in the room turned to frown at him. The chairman slapped his hand on the table, calling for silence.

"You should thank the Creator to be blessed with good health so as you can work, young man. Right now, there are those who are not as fortunate in life as you, those with greater need than you. Suffering and need comes before selfish personal enrichment."

Richard sighed. What did it really matter? After all, he was lucky in life.

"Yes, sir. I see what you mean. I'm happy to volunteer my share toward those with needs."

He wished Nicci hadn't given away all their money.

"Well," he said to Nicci as they shuffled out into the night, "I guess we can ask the landlord for the rent money back. We can stay on where we were staying before, until I can work some more and save up some money."

"They don't give rent money back," she said. "The landlord will understand our need and let our debt build until we can start paying on it. Next meeting, you just have to go up before the review board and explain your hardship. If you present it properly, they will give you a hardship charity to pay your rent."

Richard was exhausted. He felt like he were having some kind of silly dream.

"Charity? It's my wages-for the work I do."

"That's a selfish way of looking at it, Richard. The job is at the grace of the workers' group, the company, and the Order."

He was too tired to argue. Besides, he didn't expect any justice in anything done in the name of the Order. He just wanted to go to their new room and get some sleep.

--]--- When they opened the door, one of the three youths was pawing through Nicci's pack. Holding some of her underthings in one hand, he aimed a smirk back over his shoulder at them.

"Well, well," he said as he stood. He still wore no shirt. "Looks like the two drowned rats have found a hole to live in." His leering gaze slid to Nicci. He wasn't looking at her face.

Nicci snatched the pack away first, then her things from his other hand. She stuffed her personal clothes back in the pack while he watched, grinning the whole time. Richard feared she might abandon the link to Kahlan in order to use her power, but she only glared at the youth.

The room reeked of mold. The low ceiling made Richard feel uncomfortably hemmed in. The ceiling had once been whitewashed, but was now dark with soot from candles and lamps, making the room feel cavelike. A candle sitting on a rusted bracket by the door provided the only light. A wardrobe stood crookedly in the corner in front of dirty walls spotted with flyblows. The wardrobe was missing a door. Two wooden chairs at a table under one small window on the far wall were the only place to sit, other than the warped and gouged pine floor. The small squares of window glass were opaque under a variety of different-colored layers of paint.

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Through a small triangle in the corner where the glass was broken out, Richard could see the gray wall of the next building.

"How did you get in here?" Nicci snapped.

"Master key." He waved it like a king's pass. "See, my father's the landlord. I was just checking your things for subversive writings."

"You can read?" Nicci sniped. "I would have to see that to believe it."

The defiant grin never left his face. "We'd not like to find we have subversives living under our roof. Could endanger everyone else. My father has a duty to report any suspicious activity."

Richard stepped aside to let the young man by as he headed for the door, but then caught his arm as the youth picked up the candle.

"That's our candle," Richard said.

"Yeah? What makes you think so?"

Richard tightened his grip on the bare, lean, muscular arm. Looking him in the eye, he gestured with his other hand.

"Our initials are scratched in the bottom, there."

Before he thought, the young man instinctively turned the candle to have a look. The hot wax spilled over his hand. He dropped the candle with a yelp.

"Oh my, I am sorry," Richard said. He stooped and picked up the candle. "You're all right, I hope. You didn't get any of that burning wax in your eyes, did you? Hot wax in your eyes hurts something fierce."

"Yeah?" He swiped his straight dark hair back from his eyes. "How would you know that?"

"Back where I came from, I saw it happen to some poor fellow."

Richard leaned partway out into the hall, into the light of another candle on a shelf. With his thumbnail, he made a show of carving an R and a C in the bottom of the candle. "See, here? My initials."

The youth didn't bother to look. "Uh-huh."

He swaggered out the door. Richard went with him and lit the candle from the flame of the one in the hall. Before walking away, the young man turned back with a haughty look.

"How did that fellow manage to be stupid enough to get hot wax in his eyes? Was he a big dumb ox like you?"

"No," Richard said offhandedly. "No, not at all. He was a cocky young man who foolishly put his hands on another man's wife. He got the hot wax dripped in his eyes by the husband."

"Yeah? Well why didn't the dumb jackass just shut his eyes?"

Richard gave the lad a deadly smile for the first time.

"Because his eyelids had been cut off, first, so he couldn't close them. You see, where I come from, anyone touching a woman against her wishes isn't treated indulgently."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. The young man's eyelids weren't the only thing that got cut off."

The young man swiped his black hair back again. "You threatening me, ox?"

"No. There would be nothing I could do to you that would harm you more than what you're already doing to harm yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You are never going to amount to anything. You will always be the worthless muck people scrape from their shoes. You only get one life and you are wasting

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yours. That's a terrible shame. I doubt you will ever know what it is to be truly happy, to achieve anything of worth, to have genuine pride in yourself. You bring it all on yourself, and I could do no worse to you."

"I can't help what life deals me."

"Yes, you can. You create your own life."

"Yeah? How do you figure?"

Richard gestured around himself. "Look at the pigsty you live in. Your father is the landlord. Why don't you show some pride and fix up the place?"

"He's the landlord, not the owner. The man who owned it was a greedy bastard, charging more rent than many could afford. The Order took the place over. For his crimes against the people they tortured the owner to death. My father was given the job of landlord. We just run the place to help out fools like you who don't have a place; we've no money to go around fixing up the building."

"Money?" Richard pointed. "It takes money to pick up that garbage left there in the hall?"

"I didn't put it there."

"And these walls-it doesn't take money to wash the walls. Look at the ceiling in this room. It hasn't been washed in a decade, at least."

"Hey, I'm no scrub woman."

"And the front stoop? Someone is going to break their neck on it. Could be you, or your father. Why don't you do something worthwhile for a change and fix it?"

"I told you, we've no money to fix things."

"It doesn't take money. You just need to take it apart, clean the joints, and put in some new wedges. You can cut them from any little scrap of wood lying around."

The young man wiped his palms on his pants. "If you're so smart, then why don't you fix the stairs?"

"Good idea. I will."

"Yeah?" His sneer returned. "I don't believe you."

"Tomorrow, after I get home from work, I will fix the stairs. If you show up, I'll teach you how it's done."

"I might show up just to see some dupe going to the work of fixing something that isn't even his, and for nothing besides."

"It isn't for nothing. It's because I use the front steps, too, and for the pleasure in the place where I live. I care if my wife falls and breaks her leg. But if you want to come and learn how to fix the steps, you will wear a shirt out of respect for the women in your building."

"And if I show up and watch you, and I don't wear a stupid shirt like some old geezer?"

"Then I wouldn't have enough respect for you to bother teaching you how to fix the stairs. You will learn nothing, then."

"What if I don't want to learn something?"

"Then you will have taught me something, about you, instead."

He rolled his dark eyes. "Why should I care about learning to fix some dumb stairs?"

"You shouldn't necessarily care about fixing some stairs, but if you care about yourself, you should care about learning-even learning simple things. You come to have pride in yourself only by accomplishing things, even from fixing some old stairs."

"Yeah? I got pride in myself."

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"You intimidate people and then mistake that for respect. Others can't grant you self-respect, even others who care about you. You have to earn self-respect yourself. All you know right now is how to stand around and look stupid."

He folded his arms. "Who you calling-"

Richard jabbed a finger against the young man's smooth chest, forcing him back a pace. "You only get one life. Is that all you want out of it standing around calling names, scaring people with your gang? Is that all you want your one life to mean to you?

"Anyone who wants more out of life, who wants their life to mean something, would care about learning things. Tomorrow I'm going to fix those stairs. Tomorrow we'll see what sort you are."

The youth folded his arms again in a defiant stance. "Yeah? Well, maybe I'd rather spend time with my friends."

Richard shrugged. "That's why your lot in life isn't fate. I don't have any say in much of my life, but I make whatever choices I can make in my own rational best interest. It's my choice to fix those stairs and make the place I live a little betterinstead of whining and waiting and hoping for someone else to do something for me. I have pride that I know how to do that for myself.

"Fixing stairs isn't going to make you a man, but it's going to make you a little more confident in yourself. If you want, bring your friends, and I'll teach you all how to use those knives of yours for something more than just waving in people's faces."

"We might come to laugh at you working, Ox."

"Fine. But if you and your pals want to learn anything of worth, then you'd better start out by showing me you mean to learn by showing respect and showing up with shirts. That's the first choice you have. If you make it wrong, then your choices as you go along are only going to become more limited. And my name is Richard."

"Like I said, you might be good for a laugh." He made a face. "Richard."

"Laugh all you want. I know my own worth and don't need to prove it to someone who doesn't know theirs. If you want to learn, you know what you must do. If you ever wave a knife at me again, thoughor, worse, my wife-then you will be making the last of your many mistakes in life."

He chose to ignore the threat with more bravado. "What am I ever going to be? Some dupe, like you, working your tail off for that greedy Ishaq and his transport company?"

"What's your name?"

"Kamil."

"Well, Kamil, I work in exchange for wages so I can support myself and my wife. I have have something of value-myself. Someone values my worth enough to pay me for my time and ability. Right now, choosing to work at loading wagons is one of the few choices I have to make in my life. I chose to fix the steps because it improves my life." Richard narrowed his eyes. "And what does Ishaq have to do with it, anyway?"

"Ishaq? He's the one who owns the transport company."

"Ishaq is just the load master."

"Ishaq used to live here, back before the Order took over the building. My father knew him. Matter of fact, you'll be sleeping in his parlor. Back then, it was his transport company. He chose the path of enlightenment over greed, though, when it

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was offered him. He let the citizen workers' group help him to learn to be a better citizen of the Order, learn his place under the Creator. Now he knows he's no better than any of the rest of us-even me."

Richard glanced at Nicci, who was standing in the middle of their room, watching the conversation. He'd forgotten all about her. He didn't feel like talking anymore.

"I'll see you tomorrow evening, whether you come to laugh or to learn. It's your life, Kamil, and your choice."

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CHAPTER 47

The sun was just coming up. Dusty shafts of light angled into the warehouse through the high windows. When he saw Ishaq coming down the aisle to give him the list of iron to be loaded for various wagons, Richard hopped down off the rack where he'd been waiting.

Richard hadn't seen the load master for a week. "Ishaq. Are you all right? Where have you been?"

The burly load master hurried up the aisle. "Hello to you, too."

"I'm sorry-hello. I was worried. Where have you been?"

He made a face. "Meetings. Always meetings. Wait in this office, wait in that office. No work, just meetings for this and for that. I had to go see people to try to arrange for loads people need. Sometimes I think no one really wants any goods to move in this city. It would be easier for them if everyone got paid, but had to do no work-then they would not have to sign their name on a piece of paper and worry if maybe someday they will be called to account for having done it."

"Ishaq, is it true that this transport company used to be yours?"

The man paused to catch his breath. "Who tells you these things?"

"What about it? Did the transport company used to be yours?"

Ishaq shrugged. "Still is, I guess."

"What happened?"

"What happened? Nothing happened, except maybe I got smart and figured out it was more work than I needed."

"What did they threaten you with?"

Ishaq peered at Richard for a time. "Where are you from? You don't seem like any farmboy I ever met."

Richard smiled. "You didn't answer my question, Ishaq."

The man gestured irritably. "What for you want to know about past history? Past is past. A man has to look at the way things are and do the best he can from what life presents him. A choice was put to me, and I made it. Things are they way they are. Wishing don't put food before my children."

Richard's inquisitive frown suddenly felt cruel on his face. He let it go. "I understand, Ishaq. I really do. I'm sorry."

The man shrugged again. "Now I work here just like everyone else. Much easier. I must follow the same rules, or I could lose my job, just like everyone else. Everyone is equal, now."

"Praise be to the Order." Ishaq smiled at Richard's gibe. Richard held out his hand. "Let's have the list."

The load master handed over the paper. It only had the names of two places on it, with some directions for grade, length, and amounts.

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"What's this?" Richard asked.

"We need a loader to go with a wagon to pick up some iron and see it delivered."

"So, I'm working on the wagons, now? Why? I thought you needed me in the warehouse."

Ishaq took off his red hat and scratched his head of dark, thinning hair. "We had some . . . complaints."

"About me? What did I do? You know I've worked hard."

"Too hard." Ishaq readjusted his hat on his head. "Men in the warehouse say you are petty and spiteful. Their words, not mine. They say you make them feel bad by flaunting how young and strong you are. They say you are laughing behind their backs."

Many of the men were younger than Richard, and strong enough.

"Ishaq, I never-"

"I know, I know. But they feel that you do. Don't make trouble for yourself, now. Their feelings are what matter, not what is."

Richard let out a frustrated sigh. "But I was told by the workers' group that I have the ability to work whereas others don't, and that I was supposed to contribute my full effort in order to help relieve the strain on those less able-those who don't have my ability. They said that I would lose the job if I didn't do my full effort."

"It's a fine line to walk."

"And I stepped over the line."

"They want you dismissed."

Richard sighed. "So, I'm through, here?"

Ishaq waggled his hand. "Yes, and no. You are dismissed from the warehouse for having a bad attitude. I convinced the committee to give you another chance and let you be moved to the wagons. The wagons aren't as much work, because you can only load it, and then when you get to where it's going, you unload it. Can't get in much trouble, that way."

Richard nodded. "Thanks, Ishaq."

Ishaq's gaze sought refuge among the racks of iron and the bins of charcoal and long rows of ore that needed delivery. He scratched his temple.

"The pay is less."

Richard brushed the iron and ore dust from his hands and rear of his pants. "What's the difference? They just take it from me anyway and give it out. I'm not really losing any pay, other people are losing my pay."

Ishaq chuckled and clapped Richard on the shoulder. "You are the only one around here I can count on, Richard. You are different than the others-I feel I can talk to you and it won't drift to other ears."

"I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know. That's why I tell you what I don't tell the others. I am expected to be equal, and to work like anyone else, but I am also expected to provide jobs. They took my business, but they still expect me to run it for them. Crazy world."

"You don't know the half of it, Ishaq. So what about this wagon-loading job? What is it you need done?"

"The blacksmith out at the site is dealing me a fit."

"Why?"

"He has orders for tools, but he has no iron. Lots of people are waiting on things." He swept a hand out at the rack of iron. "Most of this is what was ordered

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last autumn. Last autumn! It's nearly spring and it's only now come in. It's all been promised to those who ordered it before."

"So, why did it take so long for it to get here?"

Ishaq slapped his forehead. "Maybe you are an ignorant farmboy, after all. Where you been? Under rocks? You can't just get things because you want them. You got to wait your turn. Your order must pass before the review board."

"Why?"

"Why, why, why. Is that all you know?"

Ishaq sighed and said something under his breath about the Creator testing his patience. He slapped the back of his fingers to the palm of his other hand as he explained it to Richard.

"Because you've got to think of others, that's why. You got to take other people's needs into consideration. You have to consider the good of everyone. If I get all the runs picking up and delivering the iron, then what chance have others who want to do the same? If I have all the business, that's unfair. It would put people out of work. What's available has to be divided up. The board of supervision must make sure everything is equal to all. Some people can't handle the orders so fast as I can, or they have trouble, or they can't get workers, or their workers have troubles, so I got to wait until they can catch up."