Dundular, part I

The morning sun was shining brightly above the bustling streets of
Dundular, as Amar Rustikin pushed his way through the crowds of people.
He dragged behind him a cantankerous old donkey, laden with barrels. It
appeared to be having trouble standing up under the heavy load, but
Amar prodded it with a stick he carried in his other hand.

"Come on Palarma, hurry up," he shouted above the noise of the crowd.
"If we don't get to the market on time, Grimlock's gonna kill us both."
He tugged harder on the rope leading the donkey. "Come on!"

The donkey let out a loud bray, and dropped obstinately onto the
ground. It gave Amar a furtive glance, waiting to see what he would do
next. The boy sighed despairingly, and pushed his hair back off his
face. He had a sinking feeling inside him. He knew that if he sold no
barrels at all, his master, Grimlock, would punish him severely. He
kicked the donkey, Palarma, sharply in the side.

"Come on!" he said again. Palarma refused to move. "This is so
typical," muttered Amar to himself. People were crushing around him
now, as Palarma was lying in the middle of the street. Amar managed to
drag the heavy animal to the side, so that the people could get past.
He sat down on a bumpy stone bench, and sighed once more. He felt tears
welling up in his eyes.

Amar was fifteen years old. Since he was seven, he had been trained as
a barrel maker. This training went on until he was fourteen. Then he
had to be apprenticed to a professional barrel maker for another seven
years, before he was able to go into the trade himself. He had only
been working for Grimlock a couple of months, and already he hated it.
The man was cruel and violent, with a quick temper. Amar did not know
how he would be able to endure another seven years of him.

The large city he lived in was that of Dundular. It was surrounded by
high walls, whether to keep people from the outside entering or people
from the inside leaving he was not quite sure. It was built in the
middle of a large desert, which meant that sand frequently blew over
the walls and coated the streets with a fine white layer.

Many of the people living in Dundular were traders. They sold their
wares at the large market. The people who bought them were normally
wealthy and well off. These people lived in the south of the city, in
large houses with gardens. The rest of the inhabitants crammed together
in rickety buildings that leaned out over the streets, looking as
though they were going to collapse at any moment. Amar lived with
Grimlock on the bottom floor of one of these houses. Palarma the donkey
was tethered up outside in the street at night.

As Amar sat with his head in his hands, he heard running footsteps
coming from a small winding lane a few feet from where he was seated.
He looked up, and saw a girl a few years younger than him being pursued
by two large men. Tears were streaming down her face. She glanced
frantically around and, seeing Amar, gasped frantically, "Help me!
These men are going to kill me!"
He stared at her, not knowing what to do.

"Help!" she shrieked. Gulping, Amar grabbed a large wooden barrel from
Palarma's back, and rolled it down the lane. The girl jumped out the
way, but the two men were going too fast to stop. The barrel hit their
legs with amazing force, and they fell over backwards, crashing to the
ground with a loud thump.

The two children watched them for a moment. Amar wanted to laugh. The
men were lying in a tangled heap, cursing angrily. Then they began to
struggle to their feet, and Amar was jolted back into reality.

"Quick," he hissed, grabbing the girl's arm. "Follow me."

He pulled her out of the lane and over to where Palarma was lying in
the shade. Most of the crowd had departed now, to the market. Thinking
about what Grimlock would do when he discovered Amar had not gone made
him feel sick in the stomach. He pushed the thought to the back of his
mind. At the moment, the most important thing was to get away from the
two men.

"Please get up," he willed Palarma silently as he tugged at the rope.
The donkey refused to budge.

"Hurry," cried the girl, glancing nervously back. "They're
coming!"

"It's this stupid donkey," Amar hurriedly told her, prodding Palarma
once again with his stick. "Get up!"

"Let me have a go," said the girl, snatching the rope from Amar. "Get
up, donkey." Palarma stood to his feet straight away. "It's not that
hard," the girl smiled. Amar felt a wave of jealousy. He helped the
girl onto Palarma's back, and then jumped up himself. The men were
running towards them now. Amar kicked Palarma's sides, and the donkey
started trotting off down the main street.
The men shouted after them, but Amar pushed Palarma into a fast canter,
and after directing him down lots of winding alleys and back streets,
the men were soon lost from sight. Amar sighed, and slowed Palarma
down. The two children were sitting awkwardly on top of the barrels
strapped to the donkey. Amar jumped to the ground, and stretched his
stiff muscles.

"That was painful," he moaned. He rubbed his back. "I'm never sitting
on top of barrels again. I didn't realise they were so
uncomfortable."

He turned round to grin at the girl. She had vanished. He gasped in
surprise, and glanced around. He noticed a figure disappearing around
the corner.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Come back."

He quickly threw Palarma's rope over a stone post, and raced after her.
He caught up with her as she was pausing to decide which way to go.
Grabbing her by the shoulder, he roughly turned her to face him.

"Leave me alone," she snarled, and tried to pull away.

"I just saved your life!" he said indignantly. "You could at least tell
me who from."

"It's none of your business, just go away," the girl replied. She
angrily pushed her hair behind her ears. Amar looked at her, and for
the first time, noticed what fine clothes she was wearing. She was clad
in a dark green dress, embroidered with a pattern of roses in delicate
golden thread that matched the colour of her hair in the sunlight. A
string of unusual amber coloured jewels hung around her neck. Amar
looked down at his own scruffy clothes, handed down to him from his
elder brother and slightly too big, with patches on the elbows and a
rip in the knee. He felt the girl looking at them, too, and found he
was blushing with embarrassment.

"You're not much more than a beggar," the girl said, sticking her nose
in the air. "I can't believe I even looked at you."

"Thanks a lot," Amar snapped. "Those men would've got you if I hadn't
helped."

"Oh really? Well, I can look after myself. I don't need anyone,
especially not you," the girl told him. "I'm just fine."

"You didn't look it when those two guys were after you," Amar said.
"Why were they chasing you, anyway? You might as well tell me; I think
I have a right to know."

"Very well," she sighed, unenthusiastically. "But you better not tell
anyone." She looked him right in the eye. "I'm on the run."