Excerpt of The Dry Well by Sue Bridgwater

Ferocious light and sharp shadows divided up the streets and squares of Sen-Mar. Where the brightness of noon struck down, there was little to be seen, even in the great market. Lounging in the shade cast by walls and awnings, trees and market-stalls, the people were still and sleepy, dozing and dreaming through the hottest time of the day.

Down a narrow alleyway came a scuffle of movement, a flicker of darkness crossing the patches of light from one shadow to the next. A cat flashed suspicious eyes at a little ragged boy sneaking by, a grubby child from the Southgate slithering along the walls.

‘Shhh, puss – shhh! Don’t go giving me away!’ The cat blinked twice, nodded off again, and the child moved on to the mouth of the alleyway, paused and peered with care around the corner; before him opened a wider thoroughfare, lined with elegant booths and stalls. Moving softly as starlight, the boy edged his way along between the stalls and little open shop fronts, where the shopkeepers nodded in the shade. At last he reached a stall piled high with luscious fruits and vegetables. How do these rich folk eat all this lot? Slowly, slowly, he edged near, darting his gaze this way and that. With one dirty hand he held open his threadbare tunic, while the other went spidering along the heaps of booty; pineapple, plum, peach and pear; cucumber...

‘Oi! Dirty little varmint! Come out of that!’ The boy ran, not stopping to see where the voice had come from. Behind him the cries of the servant who had spotted him from an upper window roused the street. Soon men and boys were pursuing him in a ragged rush of whooping and shouting. Clinging desperately to his spoils, the boy dodged around corners and into doorways and out again and on and on until at last the screams of his pursuers grew fainter behind him. Staggering and panting in the heat, he rounded another corner - and ran straight into a pair of legs coming the other way, legs draped in heavy silky material that spelt rich. With a cry, the boy turned to run again, but tripped and fell, crushing a good portion of his fruit beneath him. To his own disgust and annoyance, he began to cry.

‘Now, now, we cannot have this. Come, cheer up, child. Here are some of your peaches and pears, and your cucumber, hardly bruised. I will help you to gather them.’ The small thief saw a pair of bright and twinkling eyes, set above a broad smile. Dragging a sleeve across his nose, Ar-Nen smiled cautiously back; but before he could speak, there came abruptly to his ears the sound of the hue and cry he had just escaped; terror filled his face. ‘Quick!’ hissed his new friend, scooping up the scattered fruit into his cloak, ‘follow me.’ He seized the petrified boy's hand and ran, dragging him around three corners, up a flight of steps, under an arch and past a startled group of people just emerging from a doorway. As the fugitives scurried around another corner, their pursuers came into sight, all yelling, ‘Stop, stop, thieves, villains!’ The bystanders joined in, shouting, ‘That way, they went round that way,’ and the swollen river of people flowed after the two.

I can’t run any more, I can’t, I can’t! The boy’s hand slipped out of the man’s grasp; he tumbled onto his knees and fell flat. His unexpected ally skidded to a halt, losing his grip on the fruit and vegetables, and came back just as the sound of the angry mob came to them again.

‘I’ll carry you.’ He stooped, grasped the boy hastily by one arm and one leg, and swung him up off the cobbles and across his shoulders. Glancing around, he set off towards a doorway a short way along the street, and ducked into it. Between the ornate carving of the portal, and the heavy wooden door that led into the house, a niche gave some hope of shelter. The young man pulled the boy down into the shadows, dragged off his dark cloak, and draped it over the two of them. They huddled motionless, trying to quieten their rasping breath and thudding heartbeats. Outside in the street, the pack of hunters had stopped running and fallen silent. Then came:

‘Well, they bin this way for sure – look at my good fruit squashed on the cobbles!’

‘Where they got to then?’

‘No good asking me, I can’t see no better than you!’

Oh Jaren’s teeth, they going to find us, what’ll I do? What’s this Northgater playing at anyway? Help!

‘I’m going on this way – you coming?’

‘Not likely – time to open up again; you won’t catch the brat now.’

A scuffle of sandals followed. The hidden pair held still, breathing quietly. After counting softly to a hundred, the man slipped out from under the cloak and risked a glance into the street.

‘They are gone.’ He sat down again beside the boy. ‘You'll be safe now. I will see you to your home. What is your name, young one?’

‘They call me Ar-Nen. Who are you?’

‘Ah; well, by your leave, I must reserve my name to myself for now. But when I was no bigger than you, some called me Raðenn.’