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Authors: Lynn Flewelling
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made her new capital the cleanest, least plague-prone city in the Three Lands. Stone walkways ran along the sewer channels, and the high-arched ceilings trapped the evil humurs overhead, allowingthe Scavengers to go about their business in relative safety. Grates made of metal bars crossed the channel in places, each with a locked gate that only the Scavenger crews had the right to open. But that didn’t stop footpads called gate runners from using this as their private refuge and highway.
Alec was acutely aware of the possibilities, and the fact that his current disguise had forced him to go out unarmed. Reaching into his head rag again, he pulled out a small lightstone and by its soft glow navigated his way along the stinking channels, back toward Emerald Street. Fortunately, it proved an uneventful journey. He came across only a woman and two young children—some gate runner’s family, or just a poor woman and her children seeking what shelter they could find. She swore at him and brandished a rusty knife, but he jumped the channel and gave her a wide berth.
Another stairway let up to a street near Emerald. He jiggered the gate and crept up to the door at the top to peer through the large keyhole. Night had fallen, and there didn’t appear to be anyone about. He left the sewer and found himself in a side street between the back gardens of large houses. Being half naked was just as much of a disadvantage here, for someone who wanted to go unnoticed. The street was deserted, so he scaled a few walls until he found an unattended clothesline and helped himself to a shirt. It was too fine and too clean for a beggar, so he rubbed it around in the gutter until it was suitably filthy. Dressed again, he checked his head rag and bandage, then made his way back toward Marquis Kyrin’s villa.
It was too dangerous to show himself in Emerald Street again. Keeping his distance from the guards at the marquis’s gate, he found the lane that ran behind the house. The walls surrounding the back courtyard weren’t impossibly high, but they were too smooth to scale without help. There was a gate wide enough for a wagon, but it was securely locked. Of course no one had conveniently left anything as useful as a ladder or rope lying around. Walking up and down the street, he finally found an empty barrel and lugged it back. Upending it, he climbed on top and stretched his arms toward the top of the wall. He was still a foot too low, so he sprang ashigh as he could and managed to grasp the edge. The barrel fell over and rumbled away down the street, leaving him hanging there.
At this point, a less stubborn person might have given up, but Alec was tired of coming home empty-handed every night. With the edge of the stonework digging into his palms, he managed to pull himself up until he could see the house and the large garden below. The waxing moon cast just enough light for him to see the holes spaced evenly along the top of the wall, and the uneven remains of broken mortar. There had been iron spikes here originally, pulled out and sacrificed to the war effort. It was a common sight and made a nightrunner’s job a bit easier, too.
The garden was laid out in a pattern of formal paths composed of crushed oyster shell. There was no sign of a dog. A balcony spanned the back of the house, and lamp- or candlelight showed at two of the five upstairs windows. Through one he could see a small group of fashionable ladies playing cards in an elegantly furnished parlor. Through the other window he could see what appeared to be a library. While he watched, a man walked past the window and the room brightened as he lit another candle.
Just then two servants, one of them with a lantern, came out a back door of the house and headed toward the gate.
“I know I heard something,” the man with the lantern, presumably the watchman, was saying to his companion. Alec heard the rattle of a heavy chain being undone.
There was no time to drop and run.
Alec was acutely aware of the possibilities, and the fact that his current disguise had forced him to go out unarmed. Reaching into his head rag again, he pulled out a small lightstone and by its soft glow navigated his way along the stinking channels, back toward Emerald Street. Fortunately, it proved an uneventful journey. He came across only a woman and two young children—some gate runner’s family, or just a poor woman and her children seeking what shelter they could find. She swore at him and brandished a rusty knife, but he jumped the channel and gave her a wide berth.
Another stairway let up to a street near Emerald. He jiggered the gate and crept up to the door at the top to peer through the large keyhole. Night had fallen, and there didn’t appear to be anyone about. He left the sewer and found himself in a side street between the back gardens of large houses. Being half naked was just as much of a disadvantage here, for someone who wanted to go unnoticed. The street was deserted, so he scaled a few walls until he found an unattended clothesline and helped himself to a shirt. It was too fine and too clean for a beggar, so he rubbed it around in the gutter until it was suitably filthy. Dressed again, he checked his head rag and bandage, then made his way back toward Marquis Kyrin’s villa.
It was too dangerous to show himself in Emerald Street again. Keeping his distance from the guards at the marquis’s gate, he found the lane that ran behind the house. The walls surrounding the back courtyard weren’t impossibly high, but they were too smooth to scale without help. There was a gate wide enough for a wagon, but it was securely locked. Of course no one had conveniently left anything as useful as a ladder or rope lying around. Walking up and down the street, he finally found an empty barrel and lugged it back. Upending it, he climbed on top and stretched his arms toward the top of the wall. He was still a foot too low, so he sprang ashigh as he could and managed to grasp the edge. The barrel fell over and rumbled away down the street, leaving him hanging there.
At this point, a less stubborn person might have given up, but Alec was tired of coming home empty-handed every night. With the edge of the stonework digging into his palms, he managed to pull himself up until he could see the house and the large garden below. The waxing moon cast just enough light for him to see the holes spaced evenly along the top of the wall, and the uneven remains of broken mortar. There had been iron spikes here originally, pulled out and sacrificed to the war effort. It was a common sight and made a nightrunner’s job a bit easier, too.
The garden was laid out in a pattern of formal paths composed of crushed oyster shell. There was no sign of a dog. A balcony spanned the back of the house, and lamp- or candlelight showed at two of the five upstairs windows. Through one he could see a small group of fashionable ladies playing cards in an elegantly furnished parlor. Through the other window he could see what appeared to be a library. While he watched, a man walked past the window and the room brightened as he lit another candle.
Just then two servants, one of them with a lantern, came out a back door of the house and headed toward the gate.
“I know I heard something,” the man with the lantern, presumably the watchman, was saying to his companion. Alec heard the rattle of a heavy chain being undone.
There was no time to drop and run.
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