it?
I ducked into a narrow alley between wood-walled shanties. For all that the Suburbs were a slum, they did have a very few things in common with the city they clung to. In places, they had proper streets, even sometimes lined with planks. They had their landmarks; buildings built up and repaired where others had been torn apart for salvage. If you were lucky, you could even find the occasional signpost.
As such, they weren't quite the navigational horror a casual glance would suggest. After a couple more turns, I realised where my unconscious route was leading. I was nearing Navare's outpost. It was as though my bag of money were a thread that guided me, whether I wanted it to or not.
No. Not just the money. If I let them, my thoughts kept turning to Mounteban's scowling, eye-patched face. It was a face I could happily have buried my fist in. How much ill-treatment could I reasonably suffer at the hands of that bloated crook? Insults were one thing; putting a trained killer on my heels was another entirely. The thought of him basking like a toad over Altapasaeda, over the entire Castoval even, made my blood boil.
I'd go back for the money. But if my information happened to get that despicable gouger spitted on Alvantes's blade, so much the better.
A muddy back way deposited me a short distance from Navare's reinforced door. I darted over, trying to remember the sequence of knocks Alvantes had used earlier – for something told me Navare wasn't the type to ask polite questions of unexpected guests.
I raised my fist to knock – and froze. I couldn't put a name to what I'd felt, but it was exactly what had saved my life up on the tower. Yet when I glanced back the way I'd come, there was no flicker of movement. Were my nerves playing tricks? Could I really have lost Synza? He'd shown himself a more than capable tracker when I'd travelled in his company. Then again, I'd seen almost no one, it was a dark night and I'd taken care to leave no signs of my passage. However good Synza might be, he was only human.
I strained my eyes against the gloom. When Synza once more failed to leap from the shadows, I turned my attention reluctantly back to the door. I mentally repeated Alvantes's complicated knock, and once I was sure I had it right, played it out on the boards: three raps, two short taps, a pause and one final, sharp beat.
I'd barely finished before the door swung inward – and I found myself staring down the groove of a loaded crossbow. By the time I'd registered that development, a hand had darted to drag me inside and the door had slammed behind my back. The crossbow, however, never left the vicinity of my face.
"Nice toy," I told Navare, forcing the tremor out of my voice.
"Quiet." A single candle lit the shack. Alvantes was a brutal silhouette against its glow.
There were others. As my eyes began to adjust, I realised everyone who'd been here when I left was still crammed into the confined space. Saltlick was a hulking outline in one corner; Alvantes's guardsmen were arrayed along one wall. No wonder the air was close and noisome.
"A good job I didn't trust you to wait for me," I told Alvantes. "I'd be swimming the Casto Mara with a dozen arrows in me by now."
"With the commotion you caused, it's a miracle either of us made it back. What the Hells did you do in there?"
Navare lowered the crossbow, grudgingly. "And were you followed?"
Did I tell them about Synza?
I wanted to. The burden of knowing he might be still hunting me weighed heavily. Why should I bear it alone? It might even be that someone could suggest a way out of this mess that didn't involve my sudden death.
Or, far more likely, they'd show not the barest interest in my survival. In fact, Alvantes might even tether me outside as bait. Even if, against all odds and his own character, he sympathised with my plight, what could he do? What could anyone do? Either Synza had
I ducked into a narrow alley between wood-walled shanties. For all that the Suburbs were a slum, they did have a very few things in common with the city they clung to. In places, they had proper streets, even sometimes lined with planks. They had their landmarks; buildings built up and repaired where others had been torn apart for salvage. If you were lucky, you could even find the occasional signpost.
As such, they weren't quite the navigational horror a casual glance would suggest. After a couple more turns, I realised where my unconscious route was leading. I was nearing Navare's outpost. It was as though my bag of money were a thread that guided me, whether I wanted it to or not.
No. Not just the money. If I let them, my thoughts kept turning to Mounteban's scowling, eye-patched face. It was a face I could happily have buried my fist in. How much ill-treatment could I reasonably suffer at the hands of that bloated crook? Insults were one thing; putting a trained killer on my heels was another entirely. The thought of him basking like a toad over Altapasaeda, over the entire Castoval even, made my blood boil.
I'd go back for the money. But if my information happened to get that despicable gouger spitted on Alvantes's blade, so much the better.
A muddy back way deposited me a short distance from Navare's reinforced door. I darted over, trying to remember the sequence of knocks Alvantes had used earlier – for something told me Navare wasn't the type to ask polite questions of unexpected guests.
I raised my fist to knock – and froze. I couldn't put a name to what I'd felt, but it was exactly what had saved my life up on the tower. Yet when I glanced back the way I'd come, there was no flicker of movement. Were my nerves playing tricks? Could I really have lost Synza? He'd shown himself a more than capable tracker when I'd travelled in his company. Then again, I'd seen almost no one, it was a dark night and I'd taken care to leave no signs of my passage. However good Synza might be, he was only human.
I strained my eyes against the gloom. When Synza once more failed to leap from the shadows, I turned my attention reluctantly back to the door. I mentally repeated Alvantes's complicated knock, and once I was sure I had it right, played it out on the boards: three raps, two short taps, a pause and one final, sharp beat.
I'd barely finished before the door swung inward – and I found myself staring down the groove of a loaded crossbow. By the time I'd registered that development, a hand had darted to drag me inside and the door had slammed behind my back. The crossbow, however, never left the vicinity of my face.
"Nice toy," I told Navare, forcing the tremor out of my voice.
"Quiet." A single candle lit the shack. Alvantes was a brutal silhouette against its glow.
There were others. As my eyes began to adjust, I realised everyone who'd been here when I left was still crammed into the confined space. Saltlick was a hulking outline in one corner; Alvantes's guardsmen were arrayed along one wall. No wonder the air was close and noisome.
"A good job I didn't trust you to wait for me," I told Alvantes. "I'd be swimming the Casto Mara with a dozen arrows in me by now."
"With the commotion you caused, it's a miracle either of us made it back. What the Hells did you do in there?"
Navare lowered the crossbow, grudgingly. "And were you followed?"
Did I tell them about Synza?
I wanted to. The burden of knowing he might be still hunting me weighed heavily. Why should I bear it alone? It might even be that someone could suggest a way out of this mess that didn't involve my sudden death.
Or, far more likely, they'd show not the barest interest in my survival. In fact, Alvantes might even tether me outside as bait. Even if, against all odds and his own character, he sympathised with my plight, what could he do? What could anyone do? Either Synza had
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