22nd of Thira, Continued

It was very much like escaping Nimkoruguithu, only without a carnival to get lost in. The auction street was busy, but we were going away from it, not toward it. "What now?" I gasped as we neared the mouth of the alley and the quiet street beyond.

Arramy grabbed my arm and slowed to a walk, pulling me up next to him.

"Wait," I blurted, stopping all the way instead and stepping behind him. "Carry me piggy-back. I can hide your hair."

To my surprise, he went down on his haunches without hesitating.

A second later my arms were around his shoulders, his hands were clasped beneath my backside, the tasseled hem of my shawl was draped carefully over his head, and we were around the corner, Arramy walking down the street like we owned it, bold as brass, right out in front of all the people taking lunch at the soup house and strolling along the walkway.

No one stopped us. No one even really looked at us, beyond a first flicker of interest, and I almost burst out laughing. It seemed murderers and wanted criminals weren't generally expected to behave like a pair of children.

The Island ferry station stood at the bottom of the hill, the gangways jutting out into the water, its red slate roof standing tall over rows of wooden benches. My heart was pounding. If we could get there, we stood a chance.

Arramy's long legs ate up the ground. Two blocks to go, still no Magis raising an alarm. One block. We had to dodge a group of spectators watching a box show on the corner, and a woman pushing a barrow full of gourds. Then we were only a few dozen yards from the gate to the boarding platform.

The ticket clerk came out of the shack in the middle of the station, sonulator handset at his lips, "Last call fer four-bell boat! Last call!"

A young male voice drifted down the hill behind us, insistent and clear, "Have-ee seen this man?"

Arramy's shoulders tensed beneath my arms, and that trapped mouse feeling swarmed up my spine, but I didn't dare look back.

The clerk turned to go into his office.

"Hold gate, we got fare!" I sang, digging in the pocket of my skirt for my opal money as Arramy broke into a jog.

In the distance: "Have-ee seen this man?"

The clerk paused, keeping the gate open. "That'll be two lyr," he said as we jolted past him and into the boarding side of the pavilion.

"Thank-ee e'er so much," I said, smiling like it was all a silly game as I handed over the required coin from my perch on Arramy's back and collected our tickets.

"Yus, well, go take seats, Miss," the clerk muttered, giving us a dubious once-over.

In the distance: "You've seen 'im? Yer sure? Where?"

Arramy pushed through the turnstile to the gangway and put me down. "Cover up and walk normally," he whispered, then ducked below the level of the gangway railing, following along behind me in a crouch as I started down the ramp to the ferry.

I couldn't breathe, but then my boots left the gangway and I was stepping onto the deck.

Arramy stepped down after me, shuffling me quickly to one of the empty bench seats in the middle of the passenger section. He positioned me just so, then sat in front of me and bent over, pretending to rebuckle his boot for the benefit of the older gentleman sitting next to us. He was actually keeping himself low, using my skirt as a blind between himself and the shore.

The deckhand disconnected the gangway and locked the boarding door in place. Then the ferry wheels began thrashing the water, and the pilot took us steaming forward out of the dock.

Finally, I dragged in a breath and glanced back. A handful of Deputies were in the ferry pavilion, waving and gesturing and yelling at the departing boat, but the pilot was looking at the water, and the noise of the engines covered anything the men were saying. Then they were out of sight, blotted from view by a passing freighter dragging pallets of logs.

Arramy sat up and looked at me. "You're getting too good at this, kid."

My mouth twitched. "Yes, well, I have had practice." I turned around and sat down next to him, facing the other way.

After a moment he swayed, deliberately bumping shoulders with me. "Thank you. For saving my life. Again."

"You're welcome," I murmured. Then I glanced at him.

Rathe. His name was Rathe. I rolled the word silently around on my tongue, soaking it in, trying it on for size. It fit him, somehow, and I had to fight the urge to grin, imagining Rathe the little grey-eyed blond mountain boy. 

Arramy's first name made me think of NaVarre's many identities, which brought me around to something that had been bothering me since I had read that Missing Person's Notice. "Why are they looking for Braeton?"

Arramy didn't respond for a few seconds. "I'd say either they don't have a body, or they're hiding something."

"So... He might still be alive?" I asked, staring absently at the blanket of dirty brown fog drifting ten meters above the surface of the water. It was almost perfectly flat on the bottom, as if someone had cut it off with a sharp knife, and it stayed that way even when it swirled and rippled in the wake of the boats running the river.

"I hope so," Arramy said quietly. "We had our differences, but he wasn't actually all bad for a royal-turned-pirate."

I smiled a little, then coughed and put a hand over my nose. The stench of raw sewage and dead fish was growing stronger. We were nearing the Island.

Arramy took a breath and let it out, eyes on the approaching shoreline.

My heart jabbed hot in my throat. Our little reprieve was almost over. In only a few minutes, we would dock again, and then what? I still didn't know how I was going to show up at the safehouse with Arramy.

The ferry pilot began angling up to approach the docking platform. The other passengers were beginning to stir, standing and gathering their belongings. There was a bump as the prow of the ferry met the docking pads, and everyone lined up at the little door to the debarking platform while the deckhand came to unlock it.

Arramy got to his feet. Then he looked down at me and held out his hand, the hint of a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

I stared at those long, lean fingers, then slowly slid my hand into his. He pulled me up, and we got into the queue behind a man carrying a crate of chickens on his shoulder.

We were nearly to the top of the gangway to the Vreis Island station when Arramy swore under his breath and bent slightly, then peered carefully around the chicken crate.

There were Magis on the wharf that ran along the northern tip of the island. Even from that distance, it was obvious they were passing out bulletins and asking questions. Three of them were coming toward the ferry station.

My stomach hollowed out.

Arramy kept close to the man with the chickens, blatantly hiding behind him as we reached the debarking pavilion.

I bit my lip and kept pace with him, head down, trying not to attract any attention. The pavilion was surprisingly full of people, all of them waiting for the passengers who were arriving on the ferry. That was the only reason we hadn't been spotted yet. If the pavilion had been empty, the Magis approaching the ferry station would have seen us immediately. As it was, they were closing in, and there was only one direction we could go.

The chicken man met the fellow he had come to sell his chickens to, and Arramy left him behind, pulling me through the rows of benches, winding among the knots of people talking and laughing and greeting each other. A particularly large, boisterous group of young men were preparing to leave the pavilion, and Arramy squeezed us into the middle of them. Then we were all crowding through the gate and out into the hubbub of the wharf.

I got a quick glimpse of a Deputy trying to catch up with the stream of passengers leaving the station, but there were too many. The last I saw of him, he had given up and was staring about with his hands on his hips. Then Arramy hailed one of the horseless cabs lined up along the walk and ushered me into it.

The door shut behind us with a dull 'thunk,' cutting off the noise of the city and engulfing us in the public-cab stink of stale sweat,  spilled beer, and engine grease. Heart pounding, I plopped down on the metal seat across from Arramy and shrank away from the luxfenestre as the driver pulled out into the rush of traffic.

A bodiless voice crackled over the sonulator box, "Where to?"

Arramy lifted the handset from its cradle just as I blurted, "The Hedgerose Inn."

He gave me a long look, then brought the handset to his mouth. "The Hedgerose Inn."

I sat forward and twitched the ratty, grimy shades closed over both windows.

Arramy shifted around, trying to find a more comfortable position. The cab was much smaller than Braeton's luxury vehicles, and his knees had nowhere to go but up against mine. It was unnerving, being that close to him again. I used to prefer men who were of medium height, like my father. Tall men seemed awkward and looming. Not anymore. Now the size difference between us only made my pulse quicken. I glanced away, my face warm. We were being hunted like rats and there I was, remembering the way his sea-rough hand felt in mine, and the strength of his shoulders as he carried me.

Neither of us spoke, and the sound of the horseless engine filled the compartment. The silence between us was somehow loud, though, lurking between us, heavy and tense. There were too many things I wanted to say, too many questions I wanted to ask, and the words got all snarled up in my head.

And then it was too late. The cabby slowed and pulled over to the curb. "Hedgerose. That be lyr an' ten."

Arramy drew a five-lyr note from his wallet and tucked it through our side of the cabby's money cup. Then he got out and stepped onto the walkway, holding the door open for me.

I almost expected a 'smile, my dear,' as I climbed slowly out of the cab. But that had always been Braeton. Arramy had been the one in the shadows, silently standing guard. I came to a stop in front of him and tipped my head back so I could see his face. For a moment, we stood there, looking at each other.

Arramy's gaze roamed my features, a subtle, almost wistful smile deepening the corners of his mouth. Then he nodded once and took a step back. "Well, kid... I guess this is goodbye."

All I could do was press my lips together in a funny, wobbly little smile and knot my fingers into my skirt. This was really the end. He was really leaving.

He took another step. Then he nodded again, more for himself than for me, turned around and began walking away, heading off down the covered walk toward the open end of the courtyard.

I lingered, watching. Waiting. Maybe he would waver. Maybe he would look back. But he didn't. He kept going, and then he disappeared from view around the shop on the corner, and I was alone in the street.

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