The woman lifted one of the packets.
 
“Fresh.”

“Zhey’re always fresh.”

“Today they’re fresher.”

Koldin felt the weight of the water bottles against his belt.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow you’ll say tomorrow.”

“Probably.”

She smiled around the pipe, showing several small yellow teeth and the spaces where others had ceased participating.

The baxxid lowered one of the baskets to the porch. The old woman opened it and inspected the leaves within, touching them with two fingers. Whatever she found satisfied her. She patted the baxxid’s plated side once, exactly as she might have patted the flank of a large working animal, though without the condescension such a gesture would have implied from anyone else.

The baxxid remained still.

Koldin wondered again what history existed between them. Perhaps it had belonged to a Val Salian freight concern that failed. Perhaps she had found it tired beside the road. Perhaps it had found her. He had learned that answers to such questions often diminished what they explained.

He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat.

“Take care.”

The woman waved him away.

The baxxid said, with visible effort, “You too.”

Koldin continued east.

The shacks thinned and the sky widened above the road. On one side stood a drainage canal bordered by reeds and pale flowering weeds. On the other were low warehouses and shops whose fronts opened directly onto the mud. Beyond them, fields and jungle occupied the horizon in layers of green too dense to separate.

The sun had climbed high enough to remove most remaining mercy from the morning.

Heat came off the road in damp waves. Humidity caused Koldin’s uniform to adhere to his shoulders and back. Insects gathered around his ears and eyes. He flicked one ear sharply and whispered, “Get. Agh, go.”

The insects left and returned.

A shop ahead had stacked crates of liquor beneath a canvas awning. The bottles within were dark brown and sealed with corkwood. A hand-painted sign announced imported fruit spirits in both Tilmuhlan and trade speech. The shopkeeper stood inside with his back to the road, arguing with somebody over a ledger.

Koldin noticed the thief because the thief was trying too hard not to be noticed.

A narrow human in a sleeveless shirt stood beside the outermost stack with one hand apparently resting upon the crate. His head remained turned toward the roadway. His other hand worked beneath the canvas.

Koldin continued towards the shop, having a feeling in his gut.

The man withdrew a bottle and slipped it beneath his shirt.

Their eyes met. For an instant neither moved.

The thief ran.

Koldin shouted after him and gave chase, but the man was already between two buildings, one hand pressed against the concealed bottle. Koldin reached the entrance to the alley in time to see him clear a ditch, strike a fence with one shoulder, recover, and disappeared through hanging laundry and into the depths of the town.

Koldin stopped.

The alley divided twice within twenty meters. Plank bridges crossed drainage channels. Doors opened into courtyards, and courtyards into kitchens, and rooms and other alleys. Somewhere a dog barked with great conviction. A woman leaned from a window and asked him what he was doing there.

Koldin looked at the mud.

The thief had left footprints, but so had every other person in Lenkerk.

He could pursue him. The golok would strike his leg with every stride. The water bottles would pull at the haversack. He might find the man in five minutes or spend half an hour entering rooms where nobody had invited him and frightening people who had done nothing. He might recover one bottle worth less than the time required to write the report.

Koldin made his way back to the liquor shop to make sure nothing else had happened. The shopkeeper had finally come outside.

“What happened?”

“Someone took a bottle.”

“What bottle?”

Koldin pointed at the disturbed crate.

The shopkeeper counted the visible bottlenecks.

“Which one?”

“I didn’t ask him.”

The man pushed both hands through his hair and stared into the alley.

“You catch him?”

“No.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes.”

“You know him?”

“No.”

The shopkeeper looked at Koldin’s uniform as though it had promised greater things.

“You’re soldiers.”

“Today I’m one soldier.”

“You should go after him.”