Eliar reached past him and slammed shut the door. “I tried that!”

“You got up on the roof?”

“I did. You think I’m useless, but I’ve had plenty of practice getting in and out of tight places in Olossi. My friends and I, we smuggled goods over the river.”

Outside, merchants shouted, “Block the gate!” “Block the guardhouse door!”

Kesh began to laugh, because there wasn’t anything else to find funny in their situation. “The hells! Were you part of that gang the Greater Houses were constantly chasing?”

He couldn’t see Eliar’s face; inside the chamber, there was no light. But he felt the sting of a smile as though he could touch it. “I was. I mean, I am.”

“Aui! So when in the hells did you get up on the roof?”

“One night when you were sleeping. I used rope tied around the lamp brackets. But I didn’t try to get farther. There’s a walkway around the entire roof. They patrol it all night. Keeping us in, or others out.”

“Or both. Grab some rope. And whatever you can carry that’s too valuable to leave behind.”

“How will we get out of the city? If they capture us breaking curfew, walking where we’re not allowed—”

“The hells!” Kesh dropped down beside his own cot and dragged out the two pouches of local spices, best-quality braid, and polished gems he’d brought south from the Hundred; he slung them over his back, buckling tight the straps so the pouches wouldn’t shift as he moved. Then he grabbed rope coiled against the door that led into a small storeroom accessible only from this chamber. None of the goods in there were worth his life.

He went to the door, and found Eliar panting beside him. “I’m ready,” said the Ri Amarah.

Bulging packs brushed Kesh’s arm. “How much are you carrying?”

“All the oil of naya,” muttered Eliar.

“Aui! On your head, then.” He shouldered past and opened the door a hand’s width, peeking out.

A struggle raged within the gatehouse, and outside the gates a crowd had grown, shouting words that Kesh was pretty sure meant something like, “Kill the foreigners! Kill the traitors!”

“They haven’t given us up,” said Kesh suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“The sergeant and his guards. They could just let that mob in, open the gates, and be done with it. But they’re not. They’re defending us. Eiya! Give me three of those vessels of oil of naya.”

He expected Eliar to protest, but instead the other man swung down his bulky packs and began fumbling into them. Keshad ran out into the middle of the courtyard.

“Heya! Heya! Get your weapons! Get out here! Move! Our guards are defending us against a mob that wants to kill us. If we don’t help them, we’re all dead. And I need rags. The rags you use to clean your harness, or some such. Anything that will burn easily. And baskets to haul. Hurry, you cursed fools!”