Shaking his head, Samir realised he could hear the thunder of footsteps in the house below. The guards were coming and there was no time to plan now. He knew where Asima was going as soon as she had the chance and Ghassan would likely remain in the city, in one place or another.
Dropping to a crouched position, Samir smiled. In a curious way, this was refreshing; a hint of his long-gone youth. If it weren’t for the circumstances, he could really enjoy a good chase. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Below, a voice called out.
“The window!”
Grinning, Samir set off with the crunch of gravelly dust on the rooftop and a cloud of choking white. By the time the first guard’s face appeared at the window, he lithe pirate had already reached the far end of the roof and, with practiced ease, leapt across the gap without even glancing down.
As the first guard dropped down from the window to the roof, blinking in the dust and adjusting his armour, the second appeared behind him, staring across the roof.
“Shit, he’s fast!”
The front guardsman nodded unhappily.
“I’ll never make it across there; not in armour anyway.”
As the second man dropped down, a third appeared behind them, wearing the crest and insignia of an officer.
“Stop pissing about and get after him!”
“Sir, we can’t jump over streets! We’ll die.”
The officer clenched his teeth.
“If you don’t get after him, I’ll gut you myself.”
The second guard, a tall and muscular man with the colouring of a desert nomad, heaved off his mail shirt, his helmet falling to the roof unnoticed.
“I’ll get him, sir.”
As the armour fell to the floor with a heavy ‘chink’, he dropped to a crouch and then set off like one of the dusky hounds the desert folk raced at the oases. The officer nodded appreciatively, while the first, shorter, guard stooped to collect the discarded armour. It was a hot day, even for a M’Dahz summer, and the armour was already hot to the touch.
“He’s good” the officer mused.
“Used to run in the Five Gods Games at Calphoris, sir. You’ve never seen anything like it.”
“He’d better be good. I need that piece of shit brought to justice.”
They stared off into the distance as the dust clouds settled. There was no sign of the pirate, but Jun of the M’Dahz guard had already cleared the first street and was heading for a corner, his quarry’s path revealed by the trail of settling dust.
Streets away and several minutes later, Samir puffed as he ran. The guard that had decided to follow him was so damn fast! He could have no experience of the rooftops, while Samir knew every nook and cranny, and yet still the man gained on him. It was astounding and, more importantly, it was putting Samir under pressure he could ill-afford. With guards rushing through the streets below and trying to keep level with their quarry, shouting instructions across the intervening buildings, and this hound-like man hot on his heels, he had so far had precious little time to plan his route, relying instead on instinct and his memories of old races.
This was no good… without a plan, he would just keep racing until he was caught or cornered. He’d assumed that once he was out on the rooftops he’d be able to lose himself easily. He needed to give his pursuers the slip and vanish, but that meant dealing with the guard chasing him.
The problem was that he had nothing against the man. Indeed, this dogged pursuer was the sort of man that, in his youth, Samir had yearned to be, that reminded him in many ways of uncle Faraj.
He shook his head. His life hung in the balance here, as did Ghassan’s liberty and the only opportunity he might ever get to curb Asima’s lust for power and that outweighed one guard, no matter how innocent he might be.
With a fierce resolve flooding through him, Samir glanced left and right. The roof-garden of the temple- hospital of Belapraxis was only two jumps away and the most dangerous route he’d ever planned passed by there. Time for a change of plan. He couldn’t outrun this man, and he wouldn’t have time to hide, so he had to outthink and outmanoeuvre him.
Veering off to his right, Samir made for the jutting outline of the temple’s upper level, feeling a little bad for the poor man following him. Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he could see his pursuer in enough detail now that he could make out the determination on the man’s face. Of course, the man’s career might well ride on this moment, if not his life, but that couldn’t be Samir’s concern right now. With another deep breath, he made the last small jump to the temple’s main roof.
His nemesis close on his heels, Samir ducked out of sight around the wall surrounding the roof garden and made for the water-bearing pipe that crossed the street. Relief washed across him as he laid his eyes on the blessed escape-route. He hadn’t had the time and leisure to contemplate the possibility that in the decades since he’d run these roofs the pipe had been moved or replaced, or had simply corroded and fallen away.
But it was there, precarious as ever.
A single beam, dusty and narrow, crossed one of the widest streets he had ever used in his routes. In the old days, blanket ceilings in the street had created a possible safety net around fifteen feet below the beam, but such was no longer the case. As Samir came to a halt at the roof’s edge and bit his lip, he could see three storeys down to the sloping cobbled street. A few people milled about below, unaware of the drama unfolding on the rooftops above them but, as yet, no guards had reached this point. It wouldn’t be long, though, given the shouted orders he could hear nearby.
At almost forty feet long, the beam was a nightmare in unfinished ash, worn smooth by the elements over the years and far from even. The only grip provided anywhere along the distance was the iron clamps that held the searing-hot metal guttering pipe that carried the water across the street, and those could only be trodden quickly and lightly in passing, for fear of burning the feet even through shoes.
Asima used to call him mad for planning runs like this. Funny how everything Samir had done in his life had seemed to contribute to his present liberty and health. With a smile of gratitude, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement in the direction of the temple and, holding his breath, began to walk across the beam, keeping his eyes carefully locked on the wooden surface stretching out before him.
He was concentrating hard and his first distraction came when he was almost a third of the way across, as he heard the guard reach the end of the beam behind him and draw a deep breath. Without taking his eyes off the route ahead, Samir called out to his pursuer.
“You should stop there.”
“I imagine that would suit you” replied the man and Samir was surprised and pleased to note a hint of wry humour to the voice.
“You really are very good. Where did you learn to run so fast and jump so well?”
He smiled, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.
“I used to run in the games, pirate.”
“Call me Samir. And you are?”
“Getting tired of chasing you. I will make it across and I will catch you. If you stop at the other side, I’ll make sure the captain goes easy on you, though.”
Samir laughed. Two-thirds of the way across now. He’d had a couple of moments where he’d had to readjust his footing and his heart had skipped a beat, but he was sure of his abilities; knew himself and this beam very well.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, officer. You see, I have obligations to help people and I can’t do it while your captain uses me to blunt his knuckles.”
He laughed again.
“Gods, I wish you were on my crew. I could use a man like you.”
“I’m sure the same could be said the other way around but, sadly, things are what they are, captain. Now… Whoa!”
Samir bit his cheek and stopped for a moment, taking the dangerous opportunity to glance over his shoulder. The guard had almost slipped and was wobbling back and forth, regaining his balance.
