Charlie hauled Frederick’s body toward the canal. The old banker’s limp arms caught every loose stone on the road and his legs grew heavier by the second. If George wasn’t by the wagon, Charlie would have left the body in the street. The watchmen could deal with it then. Toss it into the canal between hangings. Maybe have time for a beating or two. But George’s beady eyes were latched on Charlie. His fantasies remained idle. At least, for now.

“Need help? You’re moving rather slowly. Not sick, are you?” George asked with a grin, the smoke from his pipe swirling into the night.

Charlie shook his head. “He’s heavy.”

“That he is.” George raised a brow. “Thicker around the waist than the others, certainly. Why, I think we may have found who’s been sneaking into master’s pantry.” George smacked the side of the wagon and snorted. “The pastry thief has been brought to justice.”

Charlie couldn’t fake another smile. If there was any justice in the world, the plague would have swallowed the entire city by now. But it was dragging its feet, only taking a couple people at a time. Enough to pack Charlie’s wagon once a week. But there were many people in Mardheim. If the plague planned on killing everyone, it could at least be quick about it.

The air hissed between Charlie’s clenched teeth as he rolled Frederick’s body into position. Charlie hadn’t known the man well, but Fredrick was kinder than most. He helped feed the stray animals in the city and donated to the local orphanage regularly. With a light push, his body hit the waves below and sank into oblivion.

“Done then?” George said, sighing like he had actually done something. “I wish master would let us burn the bodies. These excursions are nothing but a waste of my valuable time.”

Charlie straightened and shook his sore arms. “These ‘excursions’ are the only time we get to go outside. You’d rather be stuck in the tower all day?”

George recoiled. “Of course I would rather remain in the tower.” He waved his arm in a half circle. “There are books in the tower. Not to mention our portal research. I wonder more by the day what master sees in you.”

Charlie looked at his master’s tower in the distance. It stuck out of a natural hill in the city's center, soaring over the packed buildings around it. Even in the dark of night, the tower had a faint glow about it, like the morning sun was teasing the stones. At its peak a great crystal hummed with golden light, a dot of color in the mirk. When Charlie first arrived in Mardheim, the sight of the tower filled him with glee. Now it was his warden, standing watch over an isolated city that died a little more each day. Maybe luck had kept Charlie from catching the plague, but luck was like time. It eventually ran out.

“Let us hope this business with the plague soon runs its course,” George said, sucking on his pipe between words.

“Why? Are you planning a trip?”

George’s scowl deepened. “Of course not. But only one shipment of supplies per month is growing tiresome. Besides,” George tapped the rim of his pipe with a bone white finger. “They’ve been rather sparse when it comes to tobacco. You’d think it was the farmers who were locked inside, not us good city folk.”

Charlie reached into his coat pocket. “I’ve got some left, if you want it.”

George’s eyes widened, then narrowed to harsh slits that pulled at his wrinkled face. “Why the sudden generosity?”

“Just trying to kick the habit. I’ve heard it’s bad for your lungs.”

“Bah, nonsense. If anything, it increases one’s pulmonary constitution.” He stepped forward. “If you truly wish to be free of it, I may be inclined to partake. Denying charity is, after all, a most unagreeable sin.”

Charlie bounced the small pouch in his palm. “Here,” he said, extending his arm.

George slinked forward, his black boots squelching against the wet cobbles. “My thanks. Perhaps you have some redeemable qualities.”

Charlie watched George intently as he packed his pipe. He stifled a smile when he sucked in and nearly clapped his hands in triumph when he exhaled smoke. “How is it?”

George cocked his head. “Terrible, but I’ll take what I can get.” He walked to the canal and peered into the churning water. “Bodies are bound to wash back to shore,” he mumbled. “Master must have his reasons.” He took another drag.

Charlie joined him, careful to stand where the wind wasn’t blowing. “You ever wonder how many we’ve tossed into the sea?”

“Never.”

“Never curious how many of our master’s guests end up falling ill, then falling on our wagon?”

George turned a sharp eye toward Charlie, his face paler than normal. “There’s a plague. Sickness is going to happen. Or are you insinuating something else?”

Charlie shrugged. “Just odd is all.” The sound of heavy steps quickly approaching drew Charlie’s attention.

The night watchman came up the road, the crystal tipped length of wood in his left hand casting the street in a dim, blue glow. He slowed as he passed, the naked blade on his hip parted by a sliver of moonlight.

“Good evening,” George said with a slight bow.

The watchmen grunted through his black mask, keeping his sunken eyes on them. If Charlie hadn’t gifted the man a few bottles of cheap alcohol the week before, he probably would have sent them back to the tower. No one was permitted outside their homes without the direct approval of the master. That, unfortunately, also extended to his apprentices, but the watchmen knew about the weekly corpse disposal. The night watchmen wouldn’t haul George and Charlie to the gallows, but they would coral the two apprentices back when their work was finished. That’s why Charlie took his time on their last few dumps. The master wouldn’t expect them back soon, and it would be thirty minutes before the watchman returned. But Charlie would be gone by then.

“Enjoying yourself?” the watchman said, his voice dry as sand.

“Of course,” Charlie replied. “And you?”

The watchman’s eyes smiled above his mask. “The nights haven’t felt as long lately, thanks to you.”

Charlie watched the guard disappear down the lane before finally letting himself breathe.

“Know him, do you?” George said, his body swaying with the wind.

“An old friend.” Charlie took a few steps away from the canal. It was finally time. “You want to know a secret, George?”

“A secret?” George’s voice cracked. “I’m sure the secrets one such as yourself keeps would concern me very little.”

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Charlie turned sharply, noticed the sweat pooling on George’s white face, and smiled. “I’ve always hated you.”

George stumbled a half step back. “Why, I assumed as much. You were always—”

“For two years, you’ve taken every opportunity to show me how much smarter you think you are. How much you look down on everyone else.” Charlie pressed forward, putting George on his heels. “I thought coming here would provide a future for me. I thought I could learn magic and make crystals that would sell for thousands. I thought I would never be poor again. But no, I haven’t learned a thing. All I’ve done is shovel shit and put up with you. After being trapped in the same tower for eight months, I would rather jump down the canal than spend another moment with you and our master.”

George teetered to one side. “You…You’re—” he fell to his knees. “What did you do to me?”

“You really should have listened when people said smoking was bad for you.”

George’s red eyes flickered, and he slumped onto his face. The corners of his mouth foamed, but he was still breathing. Charlie had given him just enough poison to put him under without killing him. Though he had considered putting an end to him for good. He only needed him out of the way long enough for Charlie to escape the city. After that, he didn’t care if George went back to being master Grant’s loyal dog.

Charlie took a deep breath, tasted the sweet sea air, then ran to the wagon. He crouched down by the front wheels, crawled beneath until he spotted his lumpy pack, held in place loosely by thin rope. It was a miracle it had stayed together.

He shouldered his pack and crawled out from under the wagon. His master still wouldn’t expect him back for a while, but he had to be quick. He couldn’t be sure the Lord Wizard wouldn’t send a search party after him when he discovered what he was up to, and the sun would rise in a few hours. If he couldn’t find a good place to hide, master Grant’s men would drag him back to be hung. A flicker of doubt slithered inside him, but he had decided long ago that he had to leave.

He sprinted down the road and dove into an alley. The cramped space cut between a home and an abandoned store before it met a narrow side street. From there, Charlie could reach the west wall and follow it to the western watch tower. After that, all he had to do was grapple down the wall and make a run for it.

The plan was risky, and he could be caught at any moment, but another day trapped behind the tower’s thick walls would drive him mad. Maybe his master was right, and the plague would run its course as long as the city remained locked down, but Charlie couldn’t wait any longer. He clenched his fists and scooted down the alley until he heard something approaching along the road.

“Who’s next on the list?” a voice echoed down the lane. “Oliver? Daniel?”

“Neither,” another voice said. “Miss Edna’s who we’ll be visiting.”

The two watchmen passed by, their bodies wreathed in blue light from their crystal torches. After their footsteps drew further away, Charlie crept to where the alley met the street and peered around the corner. The two men came to a stop at a large two-story house, its windows flickering from candlelight. One approached the door and slammed his fist against it, splitting the night with each thunderous blow.

“Miss Edna!” he called. “It’s the watch! We’re here for your check in.” He paused for a moment. “Miss Edna?”

“Maybe she’s asleep?” The other watchman said. “Or tried her luck down by the docks, hoping she could haggle her way across the sea.”

The watchman knocked again, but there was no response. He tugged on the door, then threw his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Locked. Guess we’ll be busting down another one tonight. You want to get the hammer this time?”

“But I got it last time.”

“Good, then you know where it is. I’ll be waiting.”

Charlie sunk into the shadows between the buildings and waited until the watchman strutted by. When he was sure the man was gone, he peaked round the bend again. The other watchman was still standing by the door, arms folded across his chest, tapping his foot every few seconds.

“Shit,” Charlie mumbled. He would have to cross the street and try to find another way to the wall.

Holding his breath, Charlie sped across the wide road and into an alley on the other side. The watchman made a sound, like a sudden intake of breath, and Charlie was sure he would be caught. The faces of the people he dumped into the canal filled his mind. Their pale expressions, slack mouths, and dead eyes stared at him from his cart. Would he end up like them, if he was caught? He shoved the vomit building in his throat down and dove around a corner, only allowing himself a breath after several seconds passed.

His legs moved like hollow logs, and he worried his thumping heart might burst from his chest. Thinking about his family’s farm and how it glowed in the summer sun helped, but only by the tiniest of degrees. He focused on the rhythm of his foot falls while he wadded forward. Did his best to avoid pitching face first into the moss-covered walls that pressed in on him tighter with each step. Eventually, he reached another empty street. After a few sharp breaths, he crept forward.

This street was nearly as narrow as the alley had been, suffocated on all sides by tightly packed homes and abandoned wagons. Most of the doors that lined the street were boarded shut, belonging to homes whose owners fell to the plague.

The city's wall loomed ahead, blacker than the night sky. Apparently, Charlie’s master had convinced the king to build it extra tall and thick, paranoid of invaders from the West. No army ever marched on them, but the walls ended up making a perfect cage.

At the wall, Charlie made sure his pack was still in one piece. In the commotion, he couldn’t be sure some contents hadn’t spilled out. Luckily, it held together, and his precious cargo was safe. He only had one last obstacle to tackle; The tower guard.

Ahead, the west tower clawed at the sky, its crooked point stretching out like a gnarled finger. A single lantern flicked from a crate by the door. Beside it was Krom, the biggest, and by most accounts, the most ruthless watchman. Krom didn’t like how the Lord Wizard ran the city, and Charlie figured if the plague didn’t die down within the next few months, the watchmen would rebel. In that scenario, Krom would be the one leading the violence. But the war-scarred veteran had a single weakness.

“I didn’t think you’d actually make it,” Krom said, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “You’re braver than you let on.”

Charlie crept forward, his eyes darting to every flickering shadow.

“Nervous?” The corner of Krom’s mouth twisted up, tugging on his scarred face. “So long as you’ve got what was promised, you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

Charlie gulped down a sour glob of spit and did his best to hold a steady face. “You have my rope?” Krom nodded. “And you’re not going to cut it when I’m halfway down the wall, are you?”

“It would make for a funny spectacle, but I’d rather not have to explain how one of the Lord Wizard’s apprentices ended up splattered by my tower.”

Charlie still wasn’t sure he could trust Krom, but he had little choice at this point. He dipped his shoulder and removed his pack, careful to keep it from tipping. Krom licked his lips when Charlie handed it to him. “A bag full of pastries, as we agreed.”

Krom inspected his payment. “You’ve done well.”

“I can’t promise they’re all fresh,” Charlie said.

Krom plucked a pastry from the bag and shoved it into his mouth. “They’ll do,” he said, voice muffled.

Not being sure what to do next, Charlie gave Krom a single nod before entering the tower door at his side. The structure was well maintained, and Charlie had no trouble ascending. A lantern had been placed in the far corner of the second floor, illuminating the length of rope that sat bundled by the room's central pillar. Not wishing to waste time, Charlie looped the rope around the pillar and then himself, hoping he used the proper technique. He had only grappled down a wall one other time in his life, and the experience did little to calm his shaking hands and twitching fingers.

“You’ll be fine,” he assured himself. “It’s not that far down.”

He peeked out the window. The drop below was steep, but the ground below was thankfully flat. Still, despite the ideal conditions, Charlie’s heart wouldn’t stop hammering his chest. With no other options, he closed his eyes and stepped across the threshold.

Wind battered him, cold and pointed. His feet could hardly find proper footing, and his sweating palms were slick against the thick rope. With his back sharply arched and the rope feeling like it could slip away at any moment, Charlie descended. He went slowly at first, careful to keep his feet placed equally apart. After he adjusted to how his weight felt on the rope, he sped up. When his feet touched the ground, he unclenched his body and nearly took a tumble.

The city wall and tower stood over him, far less imposing now that he was on the other side. His master’s tower poked out of the horizon, the crystal tip a dot of white in a sea of black. If Charlie never laid eyes on it again, he could die happy.

Behind him lay a wide plain edged by thick wilderness. If Charlie could make it into the trees, there was little hope of anyone finding him. He could navigate the wood until he reached the next town. From there, he would find his way back home.

He glanced one last time at the tower that had been his prison, then he wiped the sweat from his burning forehead and sped into the darkness.