'It doesn't seem like it.'
'Then what makes it so cursed special?' Aeron asked.
'I may need to read it cover to cover to determine that.'
'How long will that take?'
'A couple days, perhaps.'
'Thanks anyway.' Maybe Daelric was more trustworthy than Burgell-it would be nice to think so-but Aeron couldn't linger that long, nor was he such a fool as to let the book out of his possession. 'I'll figure it out some other way. By the way, you haven't seen me.'
'I understand,' the scribe said.
'For your own sake, I hope so.'
Aeron tucked the formulary back under his cloak, opened the door, checked the street for lurking cutthroats and patrolling Gray Blades, then prowled on his way.
Concerned that someone might spot him moving through the open spaces comprising Laskalar's Square, he swung wide around it and reached his own tower a few minutes later. As he climbed the rickety stairs, he was looking forward to telling his father about his adventures. Maybe Nicos had heard of The Black Bouquet.
One glimpse of the open door at the top of the steps turned eagerness to anxiety. The old man would never have left it that way. Aeron started to run, realized someone might be lying in wait inside the garret, and forced himself to proceed warily instead. It was as hard as anything he'd ever done in his life.
No one was waiting for him, Nicos included. Intruders had plainly ransacked the apartment and smashed it up as well, and scrawled a crimson battle-axe sign on the wall so he'd know who to blame.
Aeron felt stunned. He hadn't anticipated Kesk's finding his home. No enemy had ever sought it out before, even though a few friends and tradesmen knew where it was. Even if he'd expected it, he wouldn't have thought the Red Axes would hurt Nicos. The old man had done nothing to offend them, and he had in his time been a respected member of the outlaw fraternity. In the Dance, the Door, and the Hungry Haunting, the bards still told tales of his most daring thefts.
Aeron realized that up until then, his rogue's life, though perilous, had always seemed to abide by certain rules. His rivals and the law would try to interfere with him, but only up to a point. Maybe it was just luck, and his own folly, that made it feel that way, or maybe, by stealing The Black Bouquet and defying Kesk, he'd spurred his adversaries to new heights of energy and ruthlessness. But either way, he was playing a new game, one where every hand was raised against him, and no tactic was out of bounds.
Everyone was right, he thought. I should have run away when I had the chance.
Unfortunately, it was too late. He couldn't flee and leave Nicos in danger.
He noticed the empty space where the balcony had been. It was hard to imagine that the Red Axes, maliciously destructive as they'd been, had taken the trouble to break the platform loose from its anchors. It had probably fallen on its own, and Nicos had loved to lounge out there and watch the river. What if Kesk's outlaws hadn't kidnapped him after all? What if-Aeron didn't want to finish the thought. He just scrambled to the brink and peered down.
Two stories below, a Rainspan connected the tower to the roof of a small building. The balcony had smashed down on the bridge and shattered. Most of the planks had plummeted to the ground far below, but a few, along with a motionless human figure, littered the elevated pathway.
Aeron raced out of the garret and down the steps. He found the door to the Rainspan and plunged out onto the end. The bridge creaked and shifted under his weight. He couldn't remember a time when it had truly felt secure, but the impact from above had clearly weakened it.
His eyes widened in surprise. The bloody body sprawled on the Rainspan wasn't his father. It was the female ranger from whom he'd stolen the saddlebag. Her broadsword stuck up out of the walkway, so close to her head that it might have sheared a lock of her close-cropped hair. Maybe she'd had it in her hand when the balcony collapsed, and she lost her grip on it. At any rate, he could picture it tumbling on its own and striking the bridge point first a second after her, nearly piercing her face in the process.
He pushed the grisly image out of his head. What mattered was that it wasn't his father lying there. Nicos must really be in Kesk's brutal hands, and Aeron had to find a way to set him free. He started to turn away, but then he hesitated.
He told himself not to be an idiot. The scout deserved whatever misfortune came her way. She'd killed Kerridi, Gavath, and Dal.
Yet she hadn't shot Aeron, and he hadn't knifed her when he'd had the chance. What was the point of sparing her then, only to let her die later? Assuming she wasn't dead already. From where he stood, he couldn't tell.
Maybe she'd watched the Red Axes abduct Nicos. Maybe she could tell Aeron something he needed to know.
His reasons for intervening felt like mere excuses, unconvincing even to himself. Yet, witless though it was, he'd feel base and vile if he simply walked away. He set the book down, and took a cautious step toward her, and the Rainspan squealed and shuddered. He froze.
'Scout,' he said, 'if you're alive, you have to let me know. Otherwise, I'm not coming out there.'
She didn't respond. That was it, then. Maybe she was only unconscious, not dead, but all things considered, it would be stupid to risk his own neck to find out.
Or so he told himself. Then he crept forward anyway.
He moved slowly, setting his feet down as softly as he ever had slinking toward the jewelry box on a lady's vanity with the woman and her husband snoring in bed just a few feet away. Despite his caution, the Rainspan snarled and jerked.
It didn't crumble away beneath him, however, and in time he reached the woman. He stooped, cupped his hand over her nose and mouth, and felt the brush of her exhalation. She was alive.
Aeron guessed that meant he wasn't a complete fool. Maybe three quarters' worth.
'Ranger,' he said, 'wake up.'
He gave her a little shake, then pinched her cheek hard. No matter what he did, she wouldn't stir.
'Wonderful,' he said.
He lifted the guide in his arms. The damaged bridge had protested simply at supporting him. The weight of two people concentrated in a single spot made it rasp and buck repeatedly. The jerking grew increasingly violent, and the snapping and grinding, louder.
Aeron's heart hammered. His mouth was dry. He felt an almost ungovernable urge to scramble off the walkway as quickly as he could, but he forced himself to proceed as cautiously as before, until finally he reached the safety of the shelf to which the Rainspan was attached.
He set the archer down, wiped at the sweat on his face, and panted until he caught his breath. Then he searched her.
Her sword was stuck out on the bridge, and her bow presumably lay somewhere in the street below. She still had a dirk, a buckler, and some arrows in her quiver, however, all of which he tossed beyond her reach. She certainly seemed severely injured, but he was no healer. He wanted to make certain she didn't suddenly rouse and stick something sharp in him or brain him with the shield.
Next he went after her coin. Like many folk in Oeble, she carried a few coins in the pigskin purse on her belt, but more in an interior pocket of her leather armor. When he relieved her of her gold and saw just what a tidy sum it was, he grinned. At least he was back in funds again.
He stuffed The Black Bouquet under his tunic. Big as it was, it rode uncomfortably there, but he needed both hands. Though someone had once told him an injured person shouldn't be moved any more than necessary, he couldn't leave the ranger there. He had to take her someplace where she could be helped.
He wrapped her in her cloak in what he recognized was a rather pitiable attempt to disguise the nature of the peculiar burden he proposed to carry through the streets. He tugged his hood as far forward as it would go, to shadow his features, then he picked her up, carried her down the stairs, and out of the tower.
He was fit and she was slender, but the past couple days had been strenuous, and his arms and back soon started to ache. He was pondering the advisability of draping her over his shoulder when someone whistled in the darkness up ahead. A moment later, a similar series of shrill notes warbled from behind. Aeron couldn't understand the signals-as far as he knew, no outsider could-but he recognized the distinctive signature of Whistlers calling to one another. The first one trilled again. It sounded closer. The gang member was evidently heading down the
