11th of Eylestre

A cat yowled in a dirty archway over the courtyard of a manufactury, and the scant light of the gaslamps guttered and popped, but aside from the two of us, Arboring Street was still. It was deceptive, that stillness. Where the coal warehouse and woolen mill had been quiet, there were lights in windows and people moving about inside the glassworks and iron mongery that dominated the block. No matter how much I wanted to hurry, rushing was out of the question. Any one of those people might notice if someone ran by. Any one of them might be willing to report us.

The fog was thicker, here, gathering between the buildings, swirling in front of us and rendering everything in dull browns and greys, settling in a subtle sheen of damp on every surface. It was better protection than nothing, but the sun was coming up beyond the heavy clouds overhead, and already we were losing the shadows. My sturdy little coat was an oh-so-cheerful butter yellow, and it stood out ridiculously bright against the rusty storefronts around us.

I bit my lip. I should have worn my ragged thief cloak, black blouse and leather pants.

We hadn't gotten farther than two shops down Arboring when Arramy touched my arm again, drawing me up short before we passed the iron monger. He cast a wary look around, then pressed close to the wall of the warehouse beside us and glanced through the spark screen into the open-air smithy.

The blacksmith and his apprentice were treadling the bellows and shoveling coal into the furnace, stoking the fire to life for the day. They weren't paying any attention to what was going on outside, and Arramy gave me a nudge, urging me to move again.

I started forward, my heart pounding in my throat. We were nearly to the side street that would take us back down to Redtree and the wharves. There was only a printmaker and the long, rambling glassblower's workshop to go. I adjusted my hold on my valise. Then I jerked and sucked in a panicked gasp when the shrill, insistent bleat of a dog whistle tore through the dawn, followed immediately by the clatter of boots slapping the cobbles.

They were coming from everywhere, their footsteps echoing crazily from different directions, pounding toward the wharves.

I looked up at Arramy, eyes wide.

He was searching the street, his face tense. There was nowhere to hide. No alley, no shadows, nothing, not even an overhanging entryway roof.

Footsteps were approaching the corner ahead of us.

Arramy glanced down at me. Then, abruptly, he slid an arm around my waist, hauled me off the ground, turned, and shoved me up against the wall of the printmaker's shop. Hard. He wasn't being at all polite, either, holding me above him with one hand beneath my backside, pinning me there with his hips. He caught the back of my neck in his palm, leaned in, and pressed his lips to hollow of my throat just as several Magis rounded the corner, the beams of their mirrored lanterns bobbing through the gloom.

I dropped my valise and slipped shaky arms around Arramy's shoulders, threading my fingers through his hair, holding him close. We stayed like that, frozen, as those lantern beams landed on Arramy's back, outlining his shoulders in fierce white.

One of the lanterns slowed, then swung back, lingering too long.

Arramy's grip tightened, his body tensing for a fight.

But the dog-pipe was still squealing in the distance, and a female voice snapped, "Leave 'em be, Plinson!" And the light slid past and the Magis kept jogging, leaving us behind.

For several seconds we didn't move.

Then, slowly, I peeked over Arramy's shoulder. "They're gone."

The eerie glow of the gaslamp cast his face in rigid lines as he lifted his head and eased me down till I was on my own two feet. He was still cradling the nape of my neck in his fingers, and his gaze roamed from my hairline to my chin before homing in on the left side of my face. He brought his free hand up and tucked a strand of my hair back, his thumb lightly tracing my cheekbone. "Did I hurt you?"

Blinking, I stared up at him, belatedly realizing my hat was askew and my hair had come free of its pins. He hadn't exactly had time to be gentle. The burn of a scrape was setting in above my left ear and I could feel the beginnings of a lump where my temple must have hit the wall. But bruises would heal. It was his touch that was proving dangerous, sending a shiver of awareness racing over my skin. My eyes couldn't seem to look anywhere but at that stern, unforgiving mouth. Disconcerted, I gave a tiny shake of my head, then somehow managed a wobbly, "I think they've found the warehouse."

A muscle flickered briefly in Arramy's jaw. Then he looked down and nodded. Clearing his throat, he lowered his hands and took a step back, then wheeled around and bent to snatch up my valise. "Orrelian's no fool. He won't stick around waiting for them to start searching the docks..." He paused, his frown deepening to a scowl. "Fastest way to catch up with them will be by boat... But all my kit's already stowed. My pilot permit was in my bag. I can't get us another boat without that permit."

I swallowed. The chill of the river fog seemed so much colder, now. "So. Back to the Inn, then."

"Aye. Back to the Inn."

~~~

For the hundredth time, I bit back a curse and wished I had just worn my climbing gear as the sturdy-but-pretty boots NaVarre had bought lost their purchase on the slimy bottom of the Hoddle Street tunnel entrance, and I had to reach out and grab Arramy's arm before I wound up on my knees in stinking, rancid gutter mud. Again.

Arramy bore the assault without a word, stopping long enough for me to get my balance. Then, finally, we rounded the last bend and the tunnel began sloping up, approaching the main line. From there it was a straight shot to the bunker, and a pair of dry shoes. There was a hint of light ahead, and the sound of movement. Ynette and Marin were still cleaning up, and it smelled like Kaeir had been baking bread, too. I hadn't bothered eating anything. Maybe I could grab something for breakfast. I could change into my pants, too, and wear my climbing boots —

Arramy's hand closed over my shoulder. There was no mistaking the silent command in his grip, not even in the dark. I went stone-still.

A dog barked. Then another, followed by the echo of marching footsteps and the thweet of a whistle.

Arramy swore under his breath, then pressed his back against the wall of the tunnel, inching forward until he could see past the mouth of the join-up with the main line.

Carefully, I did the same.

Ynette and Marin weren't in the hallway. A whole company of Magis was ranged in front of the bunker steps, some with rifles, some with pistols, some with mirrored lanterns, all of them waiting for a man with a drill to finish working on the hatchway door, while a squad of scent hounds were milling around them, still frantically tracking the trail that had brought them there. A trail that would lead them straight to all the rest of the tunnels we used.

"Move," Arramy hissed, giving me a quick push back down the tunnel. "Move!"

I started shaking my head, but my body obeyed anyway, my feet stumbling back down the slope even though my mind was locked in that hallway. Numb, I followed when he ducked down a narrow side run instead of taking the gutter all the way down to Hoddle Street.

We wound through a confusing succession of unfamiliar tunnels that took us to an ancient water system, where we forded a knee-deep pool at the bottom of an enormous, crumbling cistern, and climbed out at the mouth of another tunnel on the other side. It was barely more than a hole, and I had to clutch my valise to my chest and hunch over to fit.

With a grunt, Arramy climbed in after me, bent double, and then we shuffled forward, heading up a slight incline. The walls opened up after several hundred meters, and I took several steps into what seemed to be an empty, airy chamber before I realized Arramy wasn't behind me.

I turned, hand outstretched in the pitch dark, only for his fingers to close around mine just as the distant groan of timber and the thunder of tumbling rocks announced that the cistern had collapsed behind us.

I sucked in a sudden breath, the sheer finality of that sound breaking me free of the frigid daze I had been trapped in. He had activated one of Orrelian's countless fail-safes.

There would be no going back.

"Come on," Arramy said quietly, his grip shifting as he moved.

I didn't ask where we were going. If there was one thing I trusted more than anything else when it came to the captain, it was his ability to survive. Throat aching, I fell in behind him, letting him lead me around the edge of the chamber, our boots crunching in gravel, and then we were in some sort of pipe or tunnel, and there was a pinprick of grey in the distance, and the rush of damp river air on our faces.

~~~

The pinprick of grey turned out to be the ambient light of a grim morning filtering in beneath the old, abandoned South Docks. The pipe brought us out onto a long-dry drainage spill under the dock platform. 

For several minutes, all I could do was stand there on the spit of sand that the water had deposited at the feet of the dock pylons, going over the last hour. Cog's face as he looked back to see if we were coming. Orrelian's little smile. Rugga sipping her morning Praidani before we left, grinning and joking with Ynette. 

She hadn't blown the Redtree exit. She should have. That was procedure. She knew it had been compromised, she should have done what Arramy had in the cistern, and activated the fail-safe. Had she made it back to the Bunker? Had she warned Ynette and Marin? Kaier? What about Hedwyn and Erdan and Songbird?

I looked down.

My valise was damp.

There was a large trunk of driftwood jutting from the sand. I walked over to it and sat down, then opened my valise and began going through the things inside it. Not because I wanted to make sure everything was dry, but because it was there, and it was something to do, and I really didn't want to think. Not yet.   

Arramy stood beneath the arch of a pylon, glaring out at the river, his thumbs hooked in his front pockets. At one time I had thought that particular glare was intimidating, all cold and stony and unflinching. It was still intimidating, but for a different reason. Now I knew he was turning things over in that finely-tuned brain of his, and I also knew what that finely tuned brain was capable of.

I finished going through all my things, pulled my dry walking boots out, and began unbuckling my soaked ones.

After a moment, Arramy turned and came back.

"What do you have in your bag?"

I pursed my lips and looked up at him, squinting against the sunlight bouncing off the water. "Clothes for a week and our papers." Not my father's satchel, not my compass rose necklace... I swallowed around a sticky lump, suddenly very conscious of the weight of Arramy's shield pendant resting warm against my skin, hidden beneath my blouse and jacket. 

"Did you bring any money?"

"Just what Orrelian gave me from the opals. It's not much. A few lyr, maybe. Why?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, brows drawn into a fierce frown. "We need to get to Dovan's Leap. That's the first checkpoint. If we can get out of the city, we can rent some horses. The road will take longer, but if we make good time we should be able to get there before they leave for Vorrim."

I stared up at him. Then I nodded and began pulling on my dry boots. It was a good plan. There was an unintended benefit to having Altyran papers: we might be able to get out of Vreis easier than we could get in.

One thing was certain, I couldn't ignore it anymore. Whether I liked it or not, any doubt about Arramy's loyalty was rapidly drying up and falling away. That admission was a tenuous thing, sitting hot and shaky behind my ribs. And it felt dangerously like trust. 

.............................................

A.N.: In case you're wondering, I've altered this chapter a bit. If you're reading it for the first time, I've got a question for ya: what do you think of the 'pin-her-to-the-wall' routine? 

If you're slogging through this again and you remember the first one, is this one better? I beefed up the wall thing a tad... still walking that line, I hope, but not quite so rushed... and I went ahead and "showed" the escape. 

I hope you don't mind this glimpse into the crazy that is my writing process! I love getting to see your reactions, and I covet your input. Covet, I say. Like Smaug with a chunk of gold. 

Thank you so much for reading :)  

Sincerely,

Anna