hazardous than ever.
I could leave the Castoval, try to start again elsewhere… perhaps pilfer from deserving northerners instead of my own kinsmen. Then again, the Royal Court was notoriously tough on even the pettiest of crimes. What if I were to steal my coins back? It wouldn't even really be stealing. How could the Patriarch and Huero reasonably expect me to put the welfare of dim-witted giants or unwashed villagers before my own?
'Watch where you're going, you slouching lice herder!'
I sidestepped just in time to avoid the man who'd so colourfully insulted me. I'd been walking almost without realising it, not paying attention to where I was going or who was in my way. There were perhaps a dozen streets in Aspira Nero I might have recognised from my previous brief visits, and this wasn't one of them.
Apart from a thin slice of land by the waterside, Aspira Nero clung entirely to the steep hillside, climbing in waves until it crashed against the sheer mountain wall. There were hardly any real roads, few routes that could be travelled except by foot. Most ways through the town were little more than winding crevasses between high buildings, punctuated by steps in the more precipitous portions, shadowed by arches where other walkways crossed overhead.
I'd been ascending one such path. Close on either side were narrow houses with deep, recessed doorways. Curves of the trail cut off any view above or below; I couldn't even judge how far up the hill I'd climbed.
Since I had nowhere to go, it didn't seem to matter a great deal. I carried on uphill, paying just enough notice this time to avoid collisions. Now that I was actually looking, I was surprised by how many people I passed. Evening was close enough that the confines of the thoroughfare were sunk in gloom, with bands and squares of ruddy amber slatting the higher walls; but the hour had done nothing to quieten the town.
Abruptly, a turn brought me out on a wider avenue, even busier than the alley. Again, despite the approach of evening, there were countless stalls and shops still open. A hundred overlapping conversations assailed my ears. If there was one thing Aspira Nero was famed for, it was that anything could be purchased within its walls, regardless of day or night.
I had no interest in shopping. I might have been tempted to indulge in its close cousin, if a brief glance hadn't identified half a dozen guardsmen in plain view. I was tired of walking, though, and even more tired of thinking. I came to a halt before a shop window. Unlike most of the stores, its goods were displayed behind a clear pane of glass. That was rare stuff, expensive to produce to such a quality; the signs beside the flamboyant hats within confirmed that I'd happened upon a particularly high-class establishment. Even if I hadn't idiotically given away my money, I'd have been hard pressed to afford its wares.
Well, I had no desire for an absurd hat. It wasn't the display that had caught my attention. Something else had stirred me from my mood of half-awareness. I glanced left and right, wondering if I'd glimpsed some detail in the corner of my eye.
There was nothing. The stores to either side were blank-walled, goods hidden behind closed doors.
My sluggish brain woke a little more. If it hadn't been the display, it had been the window itself. The setting sun had left it in shadow, turning its surface into a murky mirror of the street behind. I could make out the outlines of buildings, and of people too. Most were smudged by motion, like fish passing underwater.
One, small and distant-seeming, didn't move at all.
When I turned, it was like moving in a dream. Part of my brain was convinced he wouldn't be there. It was an illusion, made plausible by the distorting reflection. Just some market patron waiting for an assignation. Because there was no way, no way at all he could have followed me.
Synza, across the street in the darkness of a doorway, touched his fingers to his forehead in salute. His smile was like a razor.
I'd known fear before. Lately, it had been a constant companion. Yet nothing could compare to the rush of pure horror that passed through me then. Synza stepped from the doorway, began to walk towards me. There was nothing threatening in the motion. He looked indifferent, at ease. That, more than anything, held me in place. Synza had always clung to secrecy. Now here we were, staring at each other across a busy market street. It made no sense.
He'd covered half the distance before it even occurred to me to run.
A narrow side street branched to my left. I broke towards it. A couple of nearby guardsmen turned their gaze to follow. Seeing no one chasing, hearing no one calling 'Thief!' they were quick enough to dismiss me. In turn, I noticed them only vaguely, as through a haze. What did they matter? Only Synza and the fear were real.
I nearly lost my balance at the turn-off, careened hard against a wall. There was no pain. I didn't want to look back, didn't want to do anything except run. The fear left me no choice, though; it reached out, dragged my neck around.
There was Synza, strolling down the market road towards me.
The side street was narrower than it had seemed. I didn't like the look of it. But Synza was drawing closer. Seeing me watching, he gave a small wave. My heart bobbed like a rotten apple into my throat.
I ran.
I managed twenty strides before a sheer flight of stairs came out of nowhere. I made the first half-dozen on foot; the rest I descended in a whirl of limbs. If I was hurt, I didn't feel it. All the tumble did was redouble my fear. I staggered back to my feet.
Synza gazed down at me from the highest step.
I wanted to scream. All that came out was a highpitched squeak. This was a nightmare. How was he keeping up with me at a saunter? What was wrong with the fabled guardsmen of Aspira Nero that a murderer could stalk his prey unhindered through the streets?
Again, I ran. Now, however, each bound sent shudders through my left leg. I'd injured myself tumbling down the flight of steps, or perhaps crashing into the wall. There was still no pain as yet — but I knew it was on its way.
The passage slanted sharply right. This time I had sense enough not to look back. Beyond the corner, it became a sort of terrace, with just a metal rail to separate it from the town's descending tiers. I was shocked to see how high up the hillside I'd climbed; more than half of Aspira Nero lay below.
Ahead, the path dipped again, into a crevasse of the buildings. Before I could start for it, my leg buckled. Just in time, I caught the railing, and hobbled on. I wanted more than anything to watch as Synza bore down on me, with nonchalance worse than any menace. The urge to glance behind was actually painful. I fought against it. Every movement was energy better spent in trying to stay alive. That was the message my instincts screamed: Keep moving!
Except — one tiny part of my mind cried out in dissent. It was faint but it was determined, and what it said was, This makes no sense!
Why would Synza abandon discretion now? Why in Aspira Nero, where there were so many witnesses?
Only there weren't.
Not here. Not one.
I was being herded.
He'd gambled on my urge to go to ground. He'd guessed my instinct would choose a narrow alley over a busy market street. Maybe he knew Aspira Nero far better than me. Maybe he'd planned for me to see him; picked his moment, made certain I'd go just where he wanted.
Maybe I was running into a dead end.
I could be wrong. But the next turning was close. Beyond it, my options dwindled to nothing. Here, I had a choice. It wasn't one I dared consider. If I picked wrong, I was done for. Chances were I was done for either way. Maybe all I could hope for was to go out my own way, not Synza's.
I vaulted the railing, wincing as my hurt leg clipped the bar. I landed on damp, steep-angled tiles, barely kept my footing. Now I was facing back the way I'd come. Synza had reached the last turning — and for the first time, his face showed a reaction. For the first time he didn't look like a fox who knew the rabbit had nowhere to go.
I'd dinted his indomitable confidence. This wasn't over.
I hurled myself right. Even as his hand flicked up, even as bright metal glinted, I was falling. Striking the tiles blasted all the air from my lungs.
I didn't care. I could roll without breathing.
I heard the clack of knife on slate. So long as it wasn't the squish of knife in flesh. The rooftop was steep. It didn't take much effort at all to tumble down it. In fact, I doubted very much if I could stop. Well, I didn't intend to
