Royce leapt from the roof of the four-story building and landed on the slate tiles of the structure on the opposite side of the street. He ran to the ridgeline and sprinted along it. A slender figure in a dark, hooded cloak ran with abandon ahead of him. Racing entirely across rooftops, Royce had pursued his quarry out of the congested dwarven district toward the center of town. At that moment, the cathedral’s soaring tower began tolling ominous peals of cascading notes, providing musical accompaniment for the drama unfolding against the starry night sky.
With buildings tightly packed, the canopy tour had been without serious challenge. Still, Royce’s prey had been impressive. He’d proved more than comfortable with heights. He was fast, agile, and clever in his maneuvers. The moment his quarry had decided to make his flight across the high ground, Royce experienced a giddy sense of victory. Rarely did a target act so agreeably. Rather than trying to disappear into the unfamiliar maze of city streets, this guy was like a bird trying to escape a shark by diving into the ocean. Royce’s sense of jubilation was soon replaced with a rush of excitement at finding an unexpected challenge. This bird, he was stunned to discover, could swim.
Ahead was trouble. They were at the end of the easy jumps. Before them was another street-imposed gap, a wide one, and on the far side, the vertical wall of a much taller building.
Royce expected his prey to slow, to hesitate, to double back or climb down. Any of these would have granted Royce the opportunity to catch up to a lethal distance. Instead, once more his little bird did the unexpected. Reaching the end of the building, the figure didn’t slow or pause. Instead, he made a running leap directly at the wall of the taller building. He missed the wall and smashed through a window, taking down a curtain. Royce was right behind, diving through the narrow opening of shattered glass. He expected his bird to be on the floor tangled in cloth and bleeding from cuts. All he found was the glass-laden drape and an open door creaking slightly.
Royce rolled to his feet, bolted out the door, and raced down a corridor into a very strange place. He almost ran into a knight before discovering it was merely pieces of armor stacked in the shape of a man. It even held a spear in one of its gauntlets. Royce found himself on an upper-story indoor balcony that circled a large four-story chamber. No one was in the building. This was a public business of some sort, and at that late hour, the place was dark except for the glow of streetlamps entering the windows. Below, were numerous displays: pedestals supporting statues, books, musical instruments, tools, even clothing on stuffed dummies. In the center stood a huge chariot and two stuffed white horses. Much of one wall was covered in a mural depicting the landscape of an impossibly grand city lit by a perfect summer sun. Paintings in lavish frames covered the other walls. Hanging from the ceiling were still more oddities. The most eye-catching was a massive creature that looked to be a dragon suspended over the center of the chamber by several chains. The thing was huge, but not real. It appeared to be made of painted cloth wrapped over a wooden frame.
Distracted by the bizarre nature of the place, which seemed to be some kind of curio shop, Royce gave up several seconds to his fleeing quarry. The sound of shattering glass pulled his attention back. He spotted the figure breaking a window on the far side and raced around the balcony to the broken opening. Outside was a sheer drop to the street; his prey had gone up.
The climb wasn’t trivial. Several of the handholds were no more than fingertip-sized, but his bird had scaled the wall quickly. Before Royce was halfway up, his quarry was on the roof. A moment later a series of slate shingles flew his way. The first barely missed him, shattering on the stone to the left of his face. Royce had to duck the second, which he heard as it passed. More were coming.
With a lurch, Royce leapt up and caught hold of one of the grotesque downspouts. This one looked like an evil, sharp-toothed dog, snarling and extending a long serpent’s tongue. He hugged the statue around its neck as another shingle clipped his boot. The impact stung. If it had hit his head, Royce would’ve fallen. The next shingle came, this one aimed higher. Royce managed to catch it as he dangled one-handed from the dog’s head. His enemy boldly straddled the ridgeline. The rising moon was behind him, giving a silvery outline to his whipping cloak that snapped in the wind. With his adversary’s hood up, all Royce could see was a nose, part of a cheek, and a chin.
I’m chasing myself.
Royce waited until his opponent bent down to pry up another slate before throwing the one he’d caught. Slate shingles weren’t knives, and his throw was off. Royce had aimed at the hood, but it hit his target in the thigh. Despite the bad aim, he was rewarded with a grunt.
Royce pulled himself up on top of the dog’s head, then sprang to the eave, catching the lip. Another strong pull and he was crouching on the roof. He scanned the ridgeline. The shingle-thrower had abandoned his attack and was back to running. He sprinted along the peak, then veered right, following a long gable. It acted like a plank extending off the side of a ship. By the time Royce reached the gable, his prey had made the long jump across the gap of an alley, which separated the strange shop from Grom Galimus—the same alley where, only hours earlier, he and Hadrian had followed the dwarf. His hooded bird landed safely on the far side, touching down on another gargoyle, its ugly head protruding out from the side of cathedral’s buttress. Royce made the same leap, landing on the same stony head: a hideous lion with fangs that extended well past its lower jaw.
By then, Royce’s twin was already climbing up the buttress’s pier, a sheer column of stone.
They were already up five stories. Royce could see the plaza out front, where the massive statue of Novron looked tiny. What he’d thought to be a curio shop was the Imperial Gallery, whose roof he was now looking down at. Still, they were only halfway up the side of the cathedral.
Slab after slab, ornate divider after divider, Royce scaled the stone pier in pursuit.
Who is this?
Royce had never encountered anyone who could match his skill at climbing, his ease in high places, or his ability to see in dim light. This hood-and-cloak really could be his long-lost brother. With each foot they scaled together, Royce’s respect for his adversary grew. Even if this guy wasn’t connected to the job, Royce couldn’t give up this chase.
I’ve got to find out who this is.
When he reached the top of the pier, Royce’s rival swung around the little pointed cap and ran up the incline of the flying buttress. If the long, rising arm that held up the side wall had been a bridge, it could have spanned half the Roche River. Running up its slope, they both gained significant height. Reaching the top, they jumped a stone railing that protected a long balcony just below the eaves of the main roof. They were above the great oculus window, above the creepy statues of old men in draped robes who glared down with stern indignation, but above them still more gargoyles jutted from the edge of the roof—no two alike.
Royce’s adversary raced down the length of the open walkway, which ran along one side of the churchlike battlements on a castle. At the balcony’s end, the hood-and-cloak had only two choices: up or down. Stakes were literally higher now. The wind at that height was brutal, and unlike all the previous roofs, Grom Galimus’s pitch was sharp as a miserly wedge of cheese. Royce trotted up, waiting to see which way his prey would choose. When his opponent went up, Royce found himself oddly pleased. This game of cat and mouse wouldn’t end with a whimper.
Far too steep to walk up, the roof offered vertical ribbing that divided the sets of shale shingles. Royce’s opponent used them to pull himself along the slick surface. What the roof didn’t offer was a usable ridgeline. A tall fin of decorative metalwork crowned its peak. Royce’s enemy shimmied higher, kicking the slates and creating an avalanche with his heels. Displaced shingles cracked, and the broken bits fell down toward Royce. Shifting left and then right between the ribs, he dodged the cascade. With each shift, he climbed higher until he, too, reached the ridgeline.
“You’ve run out of places to climb,” Royce shouted above the rush of wind that snapped both their cloaks. “What now?”
His adversary’s hood tilted up, assessing the bell tower. As far up as the two of them were, the tower of Grom Galimus went up half again as high. While not the height of the Crown Tower, it was nothing to scoff at.
“You’ll never reach it before I get you,” Royce told him as he continued to inch closer. “And what good would it do?”
His quarry turned to face him, and as he did, the wind caught the hood and blew it back. A pale face adorned with arched eyebrows accentuated a pair of angry, angled eyes. Swept-back hair displayed a broad forehead and ears that came to sharp points.
That explains a lot. In at least one sense, we are related.
The two faced off with cloaks snapping back and forth like cat’s tails—two male tabbies having a deadly dispute over territory.
“Who are you?” the mir demanded with a harsh eastern accent, the words kicked out from behind clenched teeth.
“You don’t know?” Royce was puzzled. “I’m the guy you tried to crush with a rock. Is that something you do to random strangers?”
“You shouldn’t be in Rochelle. Our business is our own. Leave now and you can go in peace. If you continue to interfere, you and your friend will be added to the list.”
The mir looked off to his right, searching for an escape and finding none.
“There’s a list?”
Royce lunged forward, hoping to catch his prey’s wrist. Just as quickly, the mir jerked away. He tried to switch his grip but missed with the other hand, his balance off, his footing lost. Down he went on the far side of the roof, sliding across the surface of the slates on his back like a kid riding a sled. He pushed out with his feet against the ribbing, trying to stop, but the momentum was too great.
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Royce held his breath as he watched. Hanging onto the wrought-iron crown of the peak, it was all too easy to imagine taking that trip, the conclusion of which Royce already knew.
Coming to the end of the roof, the mir made a desperate grab for the railing of the balcony but missed it by more than a foot. His speed skipped him well away from the walls of the cathedral. There wasn’t a scream. Royce appreciated that. He had no idea who had just died, but under different circumstances he might have made a valuable addition to Riyria.
Just as well, he thought. We’d have had to change the name.
Taking a more deliberate and far slower route, Royce descended to the balcony and peered over the railing. Below, lay buttresses. The dead man had most likely missed hitting them. Below that lay the river.
Royce climbed the rest of the way down, taking his time, not only because he’d seen the repercussions of a tiny mistake, but because he felt no urgency. He expected to spot the mir’s body impaled on one of the gargoyle snouts or at the very least on the bank of the Roche River, but Royce had found neither. He walked the length of the riverbank, first south then back north, and saw no evidence of a body.
Could he have hit the river? Royce looked up at the slope of Grom Galimus’s roof. Theoretically, it was possible. Still, the fall would have been painful and likely fatal.
Royce scanned the surface of the moonlit water for any floating, body-sized object. Nothing.
It was as if his bird had flown away.
----------------------------------------
Royce spent more than an hour searching the base of the cathedral and the banks of the river just to be thorough. Satisfied, he returned to Hemsworth House and walked up a deserted Mill Street just as Hadrian was walking down. Only those up to no good, or people with no place to go, would be outdoors at that hour. Royce had to remind himself that he didn’t fall into either group, at least not that night. It felt strange, and yet it was an altogether too common reality as of late. Over the last few years, Royce had found himself acting within the limits of the law. They were making more money with less risk, yet it felt wrong, like writing with his left hand or walking backward.
The two met in front of the boardinghouse in a bank of fog. “Any luck?” Hadrian asked.
Royce shook his head. “Had a fun run. Got a squirrel’s tour of the city.”
Hadrian looked shocked. “He got away from you?”
“He took a tumble. Pretty sure he’s dead.”
They spoke just above a whisper. The fog demanded it. Royce always enjoyed a good fog. It reduced visibility while increasing the distance sound traveled. And since it usually occurred during the shifting temperatures of night or early morning, it proved a thief’s friend and an assassin’s weapon. Spring and autumn were the seasons for lowland mist, and rivers were its breeding ground. That night the river was working overtime, and the oil lamp in front of Evelyn Hemsworth’s home served to do nothing but illuminate the white haze.
“Any idea who he was?” Hadrian asked.
“A mir,” Royce replied. “Said we should leave or we were going to be added to a list.”
“There’s a list?”
“That’s what I said.”
“And why both of us? I didn’t chase him.”
Royce smiled. “Maybe he didn’t want you to feel left out.”
“Oh, well, at least someone thinks about me.”
“What happened to the dwarf and the Calian?”
“They bolted in different directions.”
“You followed the Calian, right?”
Hadrian nodded. “Chased him clear across town, almost to the docks.”
“And?”
“He went around a corner. I lost him for a bit; then I tripped over his body.”
“He was dead? Did you see who killed him?”
“Nope.”
“Was his throat slit?”
“No, worse.”
“How so?”
“His face was gone. Looked like it had been eaten.”
Royce had excellent hearing. At that moment, he could tell a mongrel dog was padding its way along the alley one block up, but he still wasn’t certain he’d heard Hadrian correctly. “Did you say eaten?”
Hadrian adjusted his scarf, tucking the ends inside the leather of his tunic. “Chewed up pretty bad.”
Royce leaned in. “Is that new?” He gestured at the knitted garment.
Hadrian grinned and hooked his thumb, showing the blue-dyed wool in the hazy lamplight. “Like it? I was down in the Calian section of town. That place never goes to sleep. All sorts of merchants still selling everything imaginable. Honestly, you should go there. I’ll help you shop. We could get you a nice new cloak, didn’t see any polka dots but there was a sweet lemon-yellow one. You’d look good. What do you think?”
“You stopped to buy a scarf in the middle of the night?”
Hadrian shrugged. “An impulse buy. I just happened to spot it at the fourth cart I went to. Actually, I was hoping for a whole cloak, but this was all I could find. You should get yourself one.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s blue, and because I think having a face is a good thing.”
Royce rolled his eyes. “Let’s try to keep focused, shall we? What about the box? Let me guess; it was taken and you didn’t get a chance to look inside?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“It’s just the way these things always seem to go,” Royce grumbled. “You either have a day when everything works out or one when nothing does. Following the dwarf turned up only that he has a family and likes to carve wood; the guy you went after led nowhere, and the phantom who tried to flatten us with a slab of stone killed himself, denying me the opportunity to check his body. With such a grand set of circumstances, I must assume the box also vanished, thereby putting the perfect finish to a miserable day.”
“We know where the dwarf lives. We can—”
“He’ll be gone, along with his whole family. You saw that place. They’re as tight-knit as a sweater knotted out of human hair.”
Hadrian looked at him with that appalled expression he so often wore when Royce talked about drowning loud dogs or eliminating witnesses. “A sweater made out of—”
“I’m just saying, it’s going to take a lot of torture to get anyone in that neighborhood to talk.”
“We aren’t torturing anyone.”
Royce rolled his eyes. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be taking you along if I was. But it doesn’t matter, they would only lie. To get the truth I’d have to launch a complex operation where I could—”
“No torture, Royce.”
Royce frowned. “So, to reiterate . . . the perfect finish to a miserable day.”
“So pessimistic.” Hadrian shook his head slowly, frowning. “I was thinking just the opposite. About how good the day turned out to be.” He raised his hand, spreading his fingers. “Count with me.” He held back a finger. “First, we managed to discover where the dwarf lived.” He held back another. “Second, we found two more suspects he was colluding with, and where they were meeting.” Another finger. “Third, we didn’t get crushed by a block of granite.” He bent another back. “Fourth, the fellow you were chasing fell to his death—not you. Nor did you kill him, so we are also not wanted for murder this morning. I consider that a plus even if you might not.” He held back his thumb. “Best of all, I still have a handsome face.” Hadrian shook his five fingers at Royce like a child waving an enthusiastic hello. “So you see, we had a very good day, and to prove it let me put forth the evidence of the box. It wasn’t taken, Mister Grim. I found it on the ground beside the Calian. Apparently, all his assailant was after was the man’s face.”
“And inside?”
Hadrian’s expression lost its buoyant sarcasm. “Rocks.”
“Rocks?”
Hadrian rolled his shoulders. “Just a box of gravel. That’s all that was inside. I dug through it, which I should get credit for. Especially given that I was in a dark, foggy alley next to a faceless corpse, but yeah, it was just gravel.”
“So, the box wasn’t taken, but it turned out to be empty for all practical purposes, and you claim that as evidence that we had a good day?”
“Still have a face, see?” Hadrian grinned at him.
“Yes, I see. I see very well, in fact, which is part of why I don’t accept it as conclusive proof that things worked out for the best.”
Hadrian scowled.
Royce reached Hemsworth’s door, and as expected, it was locked.
“You just hate being happy, don’t you?” Hadrian asked.
“I have no idea. What’s it like?”
If Royce needed any more evidence Hadrian was wrong about the day, he found it the moment he popped the lock and opened the door to the boardinghouse. Inside, Evelyn Hemsworth stood before him. She was dressed in a beige robe, her hair wrapped in a floral-print scarf, her arms folded. She stared with a surprised expression that quickly soured.
“How did you get in?” she asked accusingly. “I locked that door.”
“I guess I used the key you gave us.”
“I gave you nothing of the sort.”
“We rent a room here. How can you expect us to get in if you lock the door and don’t give us a key?”
“I told you, I expect those under my roof to arrive during civilized hours. I don’t approve of you slinking in at all hours like a pair of burglars. There’s no legitimate reason for a body to be on the streets at this time of night. No reputable excuse. Now, as I did not—as I said—give you a key, how did you open that door?”
“You must have forgotten to lock it.”
Evelyn took a menacing step forward, glaring at Royce with a stern-faced expression. She jabbed at him with her forefinger. “Don’t get smart with me, young man. You know full well that door was locked, and that I never gave either one of you a key. Now, explain yourself.”
Royce pointed at Hadrian. “He did it.”
Hadrian’s brows went up. “Did not.”
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed on Royce. “You’re dancing on the edge of a very steep cliff, my boy.”
“What happened to treading on thin ice? I only ask because I don’t dance.”
She ignored him. “I don’t like these late-night shenanigans the two of you have been conducting. I also don’t like being woken from a dead sleep by someone banging on my door!”
Royce glanced at Hadrian, who showed he was just as puzzled. “We didn’t knock.”
“Not you.” Evelyn shook a hand at them. “The other one. Got me up by threatening to break down my door. Hammered on it with his fists, which was utterly futile. My husband was a tax collector, you see. He took precautions against home invasion. Would take a battering ram to break this door. So, after tiring himself out and getting frustrated, he tried to convince me he was your brother.” She sniffed indignantly. “As if I couldn’t tell the difference.”
“I don’t have a brother,” Royce said.
“Well, if you did, I wouldn’t let him in, either. Not at that time of night. I told him I didn’t care if he was related to the duke. It was far too late to be banging on proper people’s doors. If he had business with you, he would have to conduct it in the morning at a decent hour.”
“What’d he say?” Hadrian asked this time.
“That he knew you weren’t back, and he’d wait quietly in your room so I could go back to sleep.”
“You didn’t let him in, did you?”
Evelyn rolled her eyes. “What do you take me for? Of course not. The fellow was dressed up like a bandit in a dark hood and cloak, and soaking-wet as if he’d just taken a bath in his clothes. And he was a mir.” She whispered this last bit as if it was a dirty secret. “Which is proof he was lying about being your brother. I certainly wasn’t opening the door for a dishonest, drenched marauder. Do you think me a fool? That person was up to no good. Dangerous is what he was, and while you’re under this roof, you’re under my protection.”
The bird is still alive? And he knows where we’re staying.
Evelyn Hemsworth didn’t look like any sort of bodyguard Royce would have picked, but there was no denying that she’d defended them from the most dangerous adversary Royce had encountered in years.
“So, he finally left.” She leaned in toward Royce, her arms still folded, her eyes locked on his. “The two of you had better mend your ways. I can see you’re falling in with a bad crowd. You both seem to be decent boys, granted a bit dim-witted and slow, but the captain of the city guard vouches for you, and—”
Royce and Hadrian both raised their brows.
“Don’t look so surprised. When I heard you were picked up by the watchmen, I was planning on throwing you out into the street. But then I asked Captain Wyberg about it, and he said it was all a misunderstanding. He also said that you two”—she nodded rather than pointed in Hadrian’s direction—“had served together. Still, this city has bad elements. And if you’re not careful, you’ll end up in trouble. We don’t want that, do we?”
“No, ma’am,” Hadrian said.
“And I won’t be having any more late-night visitors banging on my door, will I?”
“No, ma’am,” Hadrian repeated.
“And no more fiddling with my lock,” she said to Royce. “Agreed?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Good.” She nodded curtly. “And don’t be late for breakfast. I’m making waffles.”