The scrum of citizens began to surge. Daud could sense the atmosphere changing as people began to notice the guards gathering. Curiosity, confusion—even a little excitement—had given way to uncertainty, to fear.
It was going to happen, and soon.
He slipped from the storefront, skirting the crowd, giving him a clear path down the street. Farther away, the crowd thinned, and the side streets and alleys seemed free of guards.
This is not my problem.
Ahead of him a group of City Watch marched forward. They seemed uncertain, jumpy. Daud didn’t blame them—they probably knew as much, or even less, about what was going on than he did, and were no doubt less than happy to be under the command of the Grand Serkonan Guard. Daud didn’t want to risk any confrontation; he had wasted enough time already.
One of the approaching guards pointed at him.
“You there. Where are you going? The city is now under curfew.”
Daud stopped and raised a hand in what he hoped was a friendly greeting, but that only made the guard frown. He and his companions were still fifty yards away but now they began to jog toward him.
Darting forward, Daud turned sharply into a narrow alley. The buildings on either side were tall and the walls were flat but covered in a network of iron stairwells, their descending ladders locked at least ten feet from the street, safely out of reach.
The sound of the approaching City Watch grew, their boots heavy on the cobbled street.
Daud took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He didn’t want to use magic, but, once again, he found himself forced to. He needed to be fast. Time was of the essence—more now than ever, it seemed.
He looked up, judged the distance, then reached out with his left hand. The Mark of the Outsider blazed like a brand on his skin, flaring once, twice, three times as Daud traveled up the stairwells, then up onto the roof. He paused and looked down over the edge as the City Watch patrol entered the alley and looked around like lost children, then he turned and continued on his way.
4
WYRMWOOD WAY, WYRMWOOD DISTRICT, DUNWALL
18th Day, Month of Earth, 1852
“For the more intrepid traveler seeking to discover the true nature of the city, and who is perhaps willing to experience a side of Dunwall not commonly encountered, a visit to Wyrmwood Way may be considered. The so-named street is itself merely the main thoroughfare of a small, though rather densely built, district hidden in the southwest of the city. Here the traveler may browse stores unlike any found elsewhere in the city, catering to more unusual tastes. However, the traveler is advised not to stray from the cobbles of Wyrmwood Way proper; it is also recommended that a personal bodyguard be hired to curtail the risk of any unpleasantness. For while Wyrmwood Way is in truth an excellent and most fascinating area to visit, the district at large has been for many years under the watch of a variety of underworld organizations prepared to tolerate visitors only so long as they are not tempted to stray where they are not welcome. Foolish is the outsider who wanders from Wyrmwood Way, and travelers arereminded that the City Watch will not respond to calls for assistance south of Darrellson Street. Discretion is advised.”
—THE SECRET SIDE OF DUNWALL: WYRMWOOD WAY
Extract from The Eclectic Traveler’s Guide to the Isles (fourth edition)
Daud looked down at the street below from the safety of the sharply angled gable of a tavern on the corner of Darrellson Street. This part of the city, in contrast to the chaos farther north, was quiet, but not because of any curfew or threat from the City Watch and the other quasi-military forces now patrolling Dunwall. It was quiet because it was always quiet at this time, and today was no exception.
Wyrmwood Way itself ran parallel to Darrellson Street, which itself acted as a kind of border, effectively separating Dunwall from the Wyrmwood district itself, an area that was definitely different, distinct from the rest of the city. The architecture seemed older, the streets that spidered out from the spine of Wyrmwood Way narrow and twisted, the buildings that lined them lopsided and leaning. The area looked old and the stones were worn, as though this small wedge of Dunwall was somehow a good few hundred years older than the rest of the city. Perhaps that was true. Perhaps Wyrmwood Way was the original old town, the seed from which Dunwall grew, expanding outwards to conquer the southern banks of the Wrenhaven before spreading even farther north, becoming over time the largest city in all the Isles and the capital of the Empire.
Perhaps. Daud wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t interested.Wyrmwood Way and its environs were the one area of Dunwall with which he wasn’t intimately familiar. But he knew enough. Enough to know he had to be very, very careful as he went about his search. It would have been difficult enough without the frisson of fear that had gripped the city after the sudden coup at the
