Implied Spaces Read Free Page A

dried apricots. The only condiment was a spoonful of salt, carefully measured. He left the caravanserai on his way to the oasis, and saw Captain Grax returning to the encampment with his patrol. He turned toward the troll and hailed him on his approach.
    “How was your hunting?” he asked.
    Grax gave him a sour look.
    “Ants and spiders, as you said.”
    “You’ll have better sport in the days to come. The caravans have agreed to march for Gundapur.”
    The troll offered a grunt of surprise. “I thought we’d be here till the Last Death.”
    “Sharpen your weapons,” said Aristide. “Eat your fill. And make an offering at the pool of life.”
    Grax gave him a shrewd look. “You think there will be fighting?”
    Aristide shrugged. “That’s up to the bandits.” He thought for a moment. “It might be a good idea if you were to send a patrol out of sight, in the direction of Gundapur. If the bandits have a spy here, perhaps you’ll be able to intercept him.”
    Grax ground his yellow teeth. “An interesting idea, stranger.”
    Grax sent out three of his Free Companions on the patrol and led the rest to the corral. Aristide resumed his walk to the waters of the oasis. Along the way, Bitsy joined him.
    “What news?” he asked.
    “The camp is filled with boredom,” said Bitsy, “mixed with thrilling rumors of massacre and human sacrifice.”
    “Anything else?”
    “The seneschal is making a fortune selling state supplies to the caravans.”
    “I thought as much.”
    The two walked in silence for a moment. The dim, motionless sun faded behind a cloud. When Aristide looked at the men and women camped along the path, their eyes glowed like those of a cat.
    They approached the oasis. It was a goodly sized pond, larger than an athletic field, and surrounded by willows. The air smelled like air, rather than dust. Yellow butterflies flitted in the air; dragonflies hovered purposefully over water. There was an area where beasts could be watered, and opposite this a small lagoon where people could draw water for themselves without having to drink any muck stirred up by the animals.
    “I think that fellow ahead is a missionary,” Bitsy said. “There’s something unworldly about him.”
    Ahead of them a man squatted on the firm banks of the lagoon, refilling several water bottles. He was a thin man in a faded striped cotton robe, with a hood drawn up over his head.
    Aristide waited for the man to fill his bottles and rise.
    “Hail, scholar,” Aristide said.
    “Hail.” As the man bowed, he made a swift sign with his fingers. Aristide bowed and responded more deliberately with another sign. Relief crossed the man’s homely, bearded face.
    “My name is Souza,” the man said.
    “Aristide.” Bowing again. “How fares your collecting?”
    “I’ve been out for three months—” Souza was distracted by the sight of a black-and-white cat hunting along the bank. “Is the cat yours?” he asked.
    “Yes. Her name is Bitsy. Have you had good hunting?”
    “I’ve only begun,” Souza said, “but I’ve acquired three children. In the next seven months, I hope to have a dozen more.”
    “Very good.”
    “There are so many of the best that I miss,” Souza said. “I go to the towns and villages, I do my tests, I identify the bright ones and try to convince the parents to let them go. Sometimes I buy them. But I can’t visit all the villages, and not all the parents let their kids be tested, or let them go if they pass. They know that most of the children who go to the College never return.” He shook his head. “I might be missing thousands. Who can tell?”
    “It would be good if more had a choice. But—” Aristide shrugged. “Their parents chose it for them.”
    Anger flickered across Souza’s face. “Their parents had such a choice. Their children did not.”
    “True.”
    “Now,” Souza said wearily, “I have to worry if the children are going to be captured and sacrificed to evil