“That’s why I need to toughen up Jaytsy,” he winked at her, “to handle a little brother. I heard those can be rough—OW!” He’d forgotten about Jaytsy in pursuit.
Mahrree and Perrin looked down at their daughter, her teeth sunk deep into her father’s calf. She released him, his trouser’s leg clearly showing eight small indentations in a circle. She looked up at them with dark brown eyes, enormous with worry.
“Oh, she’s tough all right.” Mahrree giggled. “Jaytsy, don’t cry, sweety. Your father didn’t mean to startle you.”
Perrin twisted to pick her up, gave her kiss, and placed her on the sofa next to Mahrree. “Did I at least taste good?”
Jaytsy giggled.
Perrin sat down on the floor and pulled up his trouser’s leg to inspect the damage. “Look at that. She nearly punctured my flesh! No, she can handle a little brother, all right.” He chuckled and looked up into Mahrree’s face.
Her eyes were filled with tears. “Why am I so worried, Perrin?”
He placed a hand on her belly. “No pains, right?”
“No pains, but . . .”
“Your condition, my darling wife. Merely your emotions running away with you again. I’ll be fine, all will be secured, and you and Jaytsy will be fine, too.”
“Dress warmly?” she sniffed.
“I’ve got my overcoat and gloves, so don’t worry.”
“Telling me to not worry is like telling Jaytsy to not bite you. Useless.”
“I love you,” he said before giving her one last kiss.
“So much that you leave me?” she moped.
He stood up and put his cap back on. “So much that I have to. See you in the morning.”
---
Tuma Hifadhi didn’t feel even a twinge of guilt for knocking loudly on the door so early in the morning. He kept pounding to make sure the message was received. It was.
Hew Gleace yanked opened his door, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
“Tuma? Tuma! What’s wrong? Why are you here so early?”
Without waiting for an invitation, the stooped man with faded gray hair and skin stepped quickly into the room so Hew could shut the door to the outside cold.
“We have very little time, Hew. We need to move men out, immediately.”
Hew blinked several times. “What? Why?”
“It was made known to me very early this morning. We need them readied and on their way within the hour.”
Hew both nodded and shook his head to shake out the sleep and to make sense of Tuma’s words. “Are you sure?”
Tuma didn’t move a muscle.
“I’m sorry,” Hew said. “Of course you’re sure. Who am I to question . . . So, how many do you need?”
“How many do we have?”
---
Staff Sergeant Gizzada stood outside the shop trying not to look conspicuous as he waited for it to open. He shifted nervously not because he was cold—his army-issued woolen overcoat kept him quite toasty—but because he never visited this part of the market. He was usually several shops away at one of the bakeries awaiting the fresh goods to come out of the ovens. They even knew his name down there, but no one here was familiar with him.
That was probably why the older woman coming up to her door regarded him suspiciously. “Is there something wrong, soldier?” she asked, looking him up and down as she pulled out her key for the latch on the door.
“No, no!” he beamed, his dark rosy cheeks nearly purple with the cold and his nervousness. “I just need a . . . coat.”
She unlatched the door. “That overcoat is as fine as anything I have in here.”
“It’s not for me,” he said quickly. “It’s for my brother. His birthday. Want to get him something nice.”
The woman shrugged and opened the door to let him in. “I hope you can find something you like. Anything in particular?”
“Yes, actually,” he said with an awkward chuckle. “Do you have anything in . . . white?”
“A white coat?” she pulled a face. “White in Raining Season?”
He nodded eagerly. “My brother has always liked white. Why? Is that wrong?”
“Nothing wrong with white,” she answered quickly. “It’s just not very common.”
Gizzada nodded and looked at the clothing hanging on rods along the sides of the shop. His eyes were drawn immediately to one in particular. “Ah, this one, perhaps?” He walked over to a long white coat with a hood, edged in fur. “This is white!”
The woman winced. “Yes it is, but . . .”
“This is fur, isn’t it?” Gizzada stroked the fluffy white edges along the front and bottom. “Feels like a bunny I had once as a child.”