It was not right. Dak knew that it was a terribly bad thing to do. She could justify it perfectly logically in her head, but her instincts continued to fight the logic, and though she had finally made the decision to do what she was doing, her insides were screwed up in ominous guilt. The feeling tightened still further as she made her way down through the steep alleyways of the Workshops.
She knew there was no substantial reason for her apprehension. Her father had said that she could go. Twice he had given his permission. Once, on the previous night, with a great amount of enthusiasm, and again that morning, though with a good deal less vigour. The assent that came from beneath his bed covers had barely been a grunt, and Dak was feeling that it should not really be counted. She was also feeling that maybe she should not have taken his first agreement so readily either, when consideration was taken of the state he had been in after his return from the recess feast.
She paused halfway down a steep stepped alleyway and wondered if she should go back and wait for her father to wake properly so that she could receive his full, untarnished, permission. She could not. To do such a thing would take hours, and by then the riding-contests would be over.
She continued down the stairs. She could not be late. The note had been very specific about the time.
MADDOCK INVOLVED IN RIDING-CONTESTS.
RIDING-GROUNDS, TOMORROW AFTER FORTAK'S HOUR.
YOUR ATTENDANCE IS BEING REQUESTED.
She assumed that it had originated from Maddock, though it was written in Forge-guard hand. When she first read it, she'd had some inkling that the message would be causing trouble, and it seemed that the trouble was about to be further compounded.
"Good morning to you," said the Senior Forge-guard, as she approached the tall gate to the barbican-fort.
"Good morning, Rosov," she replied.
"There is someone waiting for you outside," said Rosov.
The large Forge-guard adjusted his great axe-pike and shrugged his shoulders to settle his heavy tunic more comfortably.
Dak peered around him cautiously, into the darkness of the fort's tunnel.
"Who?" she asked.
"It is that little Order girl who is always trying to sneak in here. She is hiding out in the grass, behind a stack of beam tree wood where she thinks she cannot be seen."
"How do you know?"
"Engineer Moresh sent us word. He thought her presence important enough to warn us up here."
The younger Forge-guard grunted derisively.
"Do not be dismissive of our good Signal-engineer, Evlon. We are facing invasion by a small child, and we must remain ever vigilant."
"Moresh should have better things to be doing with his time."
Forge-guard Rosov bent down to address Dak.
"Between the two of us, your little friend has been the cause of much vexation for Signal-engineer Moresh. She has become something of a tuba-spine in his side, and it is probably better for her not to be lurking about."
"Okay," said Dak, still peering into the dark of the tunnel. "I had better go and see what she is wanting."
"I would do that. She has been waiting for some time, I think."
Dak went to pass through the gate into the tunnel, but then stopped. She opened the bag that hung from her shoulder.
"Would you like these," she said, pulling out two large larakkos, studded with soft cloves, glazed in hive syrup and wrapped in saple leaves. She handed them to Rosov, who took them appreciatively. "I made them for father's breakfast, but I baked too many, so I thought that you may like them."
"Your father is a lucky man to have such a thoughtful daughter as you."
"Thank you," said Dak, feeling herself blushing slightly as she made a clumsily bow.
Rosov threw one of the larakkos to the other Forge-guard, who caught it with a pleased grin.
"Good bye, Rosov!" said Dak.
"Good bye, Tomova's daughter," called Rosov, round a mouthful of baked Larakkos. "You take care of yourself today."
"I will be sure that I will!"
And then she passed into the darkened tunnel beneath the barbican-fort. The apprehension inside her at what she was doing grew larger, as the rectangle of light behind her grew smaller. It was not helped by the thought that Tahlia was waiting for her, and that she would have to speak to her and in doing so would be forced to break one of her father's definite rules. As a strange counterpoint to the apprehension, was the excitement of leaving the Workshops on her own. She had never done it before, and she found the simple idea that it was her alone who would decide in which direction she was going to walk uniquely and strangely thrilling. Of course, the only choice of direction she had right then was down.
So she went down.
The day was noon hot as she left the shade of the barbican-fort. A crowd was gathering in the near distance, around the riding-grounds, waiting to take their seats in the stands. There were some empty lumber waggons standing close by, their juddra unharnessed and staked by their tethers to slumber in the sun. Close beside them were several stacks of cut beam tree, left over from the construction of the riding-ground stands. She approached the nearest one. The apprehension was back in her stomach.
"Well it is about time you showed up," said Tahlia, clambering out from between two large balks of timber.
"Hello, Tahlia," Dak said cautiously. "What are you doing here?"
Tahlia began brushing grass and damp sawdust from the seat of her dress.
"Waiting for you, of course. I have no other choice, since your father banned me from the Workshops."
"But how were you knowing that I would be here?"
"I was not waiting for you, as such. Actually, I was trying to catch a ride on one of these lumber waggons, but they have inconveniently stopped going up and down to the Workshops. Still, it does not matter, because now you are here."
"Yes," said Dak.
Tahlia pushed her unruly hair back, and then blew at an errant lock of it, which had fallen back over her face.
"And now that you are here, we can have some fun. I have just had the most appallingly long and tedious morning with my mother, and am in need of cheering up. I have some food, and I thought we could sit and eat. I have such a lot of things to tell you."
"Well..." said Dak uncertainly. "I was going to be going to the riding-grounds. The contest of the squires is starting and Maddock is to be working there."
"Who?"
"You must know! Maddock; from the farm of Dredar. The one that was pulling you from the river and saving your life."
"Oh yes; the insolent Field-hand who wants to be a knight."
"Yes, that is him."
"And he is working at the contests?"
"Yes."
"Ooh, that could be fun! I have heard that sometimes the Field-hands get mauled."
"Tahlia!"
"Well, he was very rude to me!"
"He saved your life!"
"Well, maybe he did, but it does not give him the right to be rude!"
"But Maddock was telling me what happened on the island, and he said that you were being equally rude to him."
"How dare he say something like that!"
"Well, was it the truth?"
"It is not the boy's place to accuse someone in my position of being rude!"
"But..."
Tahlia turned and stalked off purposefully towards the riding-grounds.
"Come on. We do not want to be late!"
"But..."
"Now, Dak!"
Dak hurried after her, her life once again firmly in someone else's charge.