206 A.B.

(3 years before the Runner's Rebellion)

I lie stretched out on the rooftop, my arms folded behind my head while the sun warms the stone beneath me. My eyes are shut, my face turned up to catch the bright rays while I drift in that lovely place between sleep and wakefulness.

A small smile pulls at my lips as I settle myself more comfortably. The chatter of the distant crowd carries on ceaselessly, completely oblivious to my presence. The high, gentile voices of the Intact citizens fill my ears, alerting me to the fact that I am lazing well outside of my faction.

It doesn't matter. When I am up here, I am within no one's territory but my own. These roofs are more home to me than the street have ever been, and I wouldn't trade this rough, sun-baked surface for the cushiest Palace salon.

My stomach growls noisily, distracting me from the pleasant feeling of sunshine on my extremities. I grimace and sit up, peering over the edge of the roof and down into the wide street below. The front doors of the temple are still tightly shut, but the day's sacred service should be concluding at any moment.

As if on cue, there is the ringing of bells. I stand up straight, dusting my hands off on my torn pants and adjusting the satchel I have slung across my back.

It's showtime.

I swing down over the side of the building, sidling along its exterior towards the sound of chiming bells. The belltower reverberates beneath my hands and feet, threatening to throw me from the wall. I grit my teeth as I grip the uneven stone, curling my toes into the narrow gaps and moving quickly towards the opening ahead.

The bells clatter madly over my head, assaulting my senses when I slip through the opening to the tower and drop down onto the floor.

"Bloody bells." I grumble. Stooping, I flip open my satchel and withdraw a light blue robe. I slip it on over my head, belting it securely before stashing my satchel below the window and jogging lightly to the stairs.

The relentless clanging does a handy job of disguising my footsteps as I spiral down the narrow tower steps. I draw the hood of my robe up and over my head, pushing back the wayward strands of hair as I descend. I encounter another hooded holyman when I reach the bottom of the stairs but he pays me little mind, nodding cordially and humming an eerie hymn as he floats past.

I tuck my hands into the folds of my robe and bow my head, being careful to keep my steps slow and deliberate. Mimicking the low hum of the oblivious priest, I murmur to myself while I move down the hallway. I spy a discarded collection plate lying on a table ahead and I alter my path, scooping up the dish without slowing or breaking my stride.

With my posture stooped and my head bowed, there is nothing to distinguish me from the other blue-robed priests and priestesses littering the upper walkway. My eyes continually flick around my surroundings, darting to the scene below and narrowing as I watch the Intact congregation raise themselves out of their kneeling positions. I pick up my pace and scurry down the ornately-carved staircase, aiming to head the crowd off at the door.

"Tokens, a token for the service." I murmur, raising the collection dish up in front of my face.

I move smoothly through the throng, angling my shoulders so that I brush against the elegant, sweeping clothes surrounding me.

"Tokens? Madam, a token, please if you can spare it." I offer up the dish, eyeing the heavy purse dangling from her belt.

The woman releases a small, exasperated sound and reaches for a coin, placing it daintily in the silver dish.

"Thank you, Madam. Most kind." I bob my head and step away, pocketing her purse in the same instant.

My plate grows heavier as I duck and swerve through the mass of surging Intacts. Coin after coin falls into my outstretched hands and I have to fight to keep the satisfied smirk from my face. If only all of my customers gave away their allowance so readily.

When the last of the flock finally passes me by I retreat into the shadows, scooping the contents of the dish into the folds of my robe and coughing to muffle the sound. The light tapping of footsteps alerts me to the presence of an approaching priest and I quickly stash the collection plate behind my back, dipping my chin respectfully. The man pauses in front of me, his dark blue robes settling into view beneath my lowered lashes. I bite down hard on my lip, waiting patiently while he scrutinizes me.

"You." The old man's ability to convey a single word with so much disdain is a true talent. "What manner of dress is this?"

At first, I assume that is is referring to my bulging pockets, but when I follow his eyeline my attention is instead drawn to the torn and muddied hem of my robe. I wince internally, recalling the hasty exit I made when last wearing this disguise, sloughing through the back alley of a pub in my haste to get away from some Palace guards. I should have taken Lara up on her offer to clean it for me, but, as usual, I was in too much of a hurry to bother taking a precaution.

"You should take more pride in your appearance, young lady." The priest speaks with a raspy drawl and I straighten, clutching my pockets to keep the stolen coins from rattling. "As we say, cleanliness is next to godsliness."

"My apologies, teacher." I finally bring my eyes up to his, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek when I recognize the abbot himself. "It will not happen again."

"See that it doesn't." He sniffs. "We are the keepers of a sacred temple, not some pub on a street corner."

"The difference is that our wine comes with a free lecture." I say cheerfully. He squints at me and I bite down on my lip. Some people can't appreciate a joke.

"Hmm." The abbott makes a noncommittal sound and extends his hand to me, turning his nose up. I dip my head, touching my brow to his knuckles and he strides away in a huff, richly-embroidered robes fluttering obnoxiously in his wake. I watch him go, allowing myself a small grin as I spit the pilfered piece of jewelry discreetly into my palm. Bright green gems catch and reflect the dusty rays of sunlight, casting the ring's splendor around the hallowed halls. Beautiful trinkets like this reveal the true nature of our temple's charity; the abbot's ring will easily fetch a price greater than all of the coins I have collected today.

I am really doing these holier-than-thou types a favour by delivering these funds straight into the hands of the needy. Thanks to me, the priests can devote more time to praying and less to counting out their substantial cut of the donations.

I fairly sprint back to the bell tower, no longer caring if I am recognized. My pockets are filled and I am already as good as gone.

The bells have finally, mercifully fallen silent. I duck beneath them, coming to a sliding stop in front of the window. I tug my muddied robe over my head, rolling it up into a tight ball to keep my hard-earned pay from slipping out. I stuff the parcel into my satchel before hopping up onto the windowsill, pausing for a moment and taking in the view.

The scene granted by bell tower is rivaled only by the Palace, itself. I blink into the afternoon sunlight, straining to see the great, glass spire looming over us. Not for the first time, I try to imagine the image of low, sand-blasted buildings and cramped streets giving way to endless wasteland. I am so lost in my daydream that I almost fail to notice that I am no longer alone.

A young girl - a novice, by the colour of her robe - is standing on the stairs and peering at me over the railing. I remain rooted in place, watching her with a measured curiosity as she creeps forward, her dark eyes stretched wide and her small hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"Hey, there." I keep my voice low, crouching so that my face is level with hers. "What's your name?"

She stops before me. "Becca." She smiles timidly, revealing a row of crooked teeth. "What's yours?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, it might get me in trouble." I waggle my eyebrows at her.

She giggles, raising a hand to her mouth self-consciously. "I know what they call you, though."

"Do you, now?"

"You're the Runner." She says, clearly pleased with herself.

I start, staring at her from my perch on the window ledge. "Where did you hear that name?"

She shrugs, her gap-toothed grin widening. "Everyone's heard about you. They say that you steal from the Intacts and give it all away to the Fragments. Our teachers told us that you are a traitor and that we should pray for your salvation."

I can't help the laugh that escapes me. "Your teachers are right." I tell her, good-naturedly. "But just between you and I, I think that your efforts are better spent elsewhere. My traitor soul is a lost cause." I swing my legs through the window, craning my neck as I plot my route back up to the roof.

"Wait." She calls out.

I draw my head back inside and she scurries forward, tripping on the hem of her robe in her haste.

"Here." Becca hands over a single coin. "For the Fragments."

I curl my fingers tightly around her offering. "Thank you, Becca. I'll make sure that this goes to someone who needs it."

"You're welcome."

She watches me as I straighten and step down onto a protruding brick. The hot desert breeze licks at my face and ruffles my hair, teasing and coaxing me out towards my personal playground.

"Runner?" Becca leans towards me, her small fingers clutching the window ledge. "I'll say prayer for you, anyway."

I wrinkle my nose playfully, tightening the leather strap across my chest before twisting in place and letting myself fall. My fingers catch on the rough bricks and bit by bit, I descend onto the rooftops.

Wide, well-kept streets stream beneath me, eventually giving way to crooked alleyways and decaying buildings. I move from the Intact district and into the crumbled Fragment sector, running faster as I draw closer to the market.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly. I leave a sackful of coins with Mrs. Thatcher, blushing furiously and pulling away when she envelops me in a suffocating hug.

"Thank you so much." She gushes, clasping my hand in an iron grip. "This makes a world of difference to us, you have no idea."

"It's nothing." I tug my hand free and run it nervously through my braid. "I hope your husband feels better."

I return to the market and dole out the rest of my earnings to the beggars hovering in the doorways, gradually making my way into the crowded square and sidling up to my favourite stall. Harry the baker's flour-coated, hulking frame overshadows his ramshackle cart, but the smile that stretches across his whiskered cheeks is as bright as the sun above.

"Hey-a, Red. You hungry?" Harry tosses over a breadroll without waiting for a response. I catch it with one hand and swing myself up onto the counter with the other.

"Thanks, Harry." I say through a mouthful of food. My stomach growls gratefully as I tuck in.

Harry leans back beside me. Together, we watch the stragglers as they finish up their shopping. Having spent most of the day amongst the pompously gentile Intacts, the relative shabbiness of the Fragment district strikes me. I pick off pieces of my supper and make a show of tossing them into the air, catching the crumbs expertly in my mouth.

Harry chuckles. "I take it you had productive day, then?"

"You could say that." I throw a crumb high enough that it graces the patched canopy above us. Harry's beefy hand darts out and grabs the morsel before I can, tossing it at my nose.

"That's my girl." He says fondly. "It does the rest of us some good to see someone not afraid of stickin' it those richies."

"Glad to be of service." I pop the last of my meal in my mouth and wipe the crumbs from my lap. "You closing up shop soon? I'm parched."

"I suppose I may as well, seein' as you've eaten me out of my wares." Harry offers me a hand and I jump down, helping him to collapse the canopy and drape it over the cart. We talk companionably as we make our way through the thinned-out crowd, joining the throng in their migration towards the shadowed allleyways and dimly-lit pubs.

Harry holds the door of The Beacon open for me and I shoulder my way inside, maneuvering smoothly through the packed space as I pick my way towards the bar.

"Samus!" I have to shout to make myself heard over the riotous patrons. "One brew, if you'd be so kind." I slide my last coin across the sticky counter.

Samus, the stringy-haired barkeep, appears and studies my coin with his sole eye. He scratches the dingy eyepatch covering the other half of his face and glances up at me.

"Problem?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow.

"None whatsoever." He pockets the gold piece and pours me a mug, filling it halfway before sliding it back.

I frown, peering into my glass. "Half-full? Where's the rest of it?"

"Yer sixteen, Red. Yer lucky I'm servin' you at all." Samus smirks before moving down the bar to serve someone else.

"Yeah, keep the change." I mutter, grabbing my mug and moving to the back of the pub. Harry uses his significant girth to clear some space for me on the bench and I slide into place, sipping my paltry drink and looking up at my two friends.

"Kay-kay! Fancy seeing your big feet on the ground, for once." Edmun slings his arm around my shoulder and ruffles my hair.

I push him off me, laughing. "Get back, greasepile. You're getting soot all over me."

"Trust me, it's an improvement." Edmun grins. "How was work?"

"It was...interesting." I say thoughtfully. "I got caught on my way out."

"Caught?" Harry's bushy brows rise nearly to his hairline. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"Of course, I'm all right. I'm here, aren't I?" The worried look doesn't leave Harry's face and I rush to finish. "It was just a kid who saw me, that's all. No harm done."

"An Intact kid?" Edmun leans forward in his seat. "They must have screamed something fierce when they saw you."

"No, no. She was sweet, actually. She gave me a coin." I smile a little to myself at the memory. "That wasn't even the strangest part. She said that she'd heard of me."

"Ah, she's got a reputation, now." Harry scratches his beard. "You better be watchin' your back, Red."

I wave my hand dismissively. "You know I do. Listen to this, though. She called me 'the Runner'." I chuckle, shaking my head. "Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?"

Harry and Edmun exchange a strange look. I lower my mug slowly, my eyes darting between the two of them.

"What is it?" I ask.

A muscle twitches near Edmun's cheek before he collapses into a fit of laughter. Harry pats him roughly on the back and Edmun coughs, trying with visible effort to bring himself back under control.

"For gods' sake, what's so funny?" I find myself bristling, my fingers clenched tightly around my drink. "Tell me."

"The Runner." Edmun wipes his eyes, shaking his head. "I can hardly believe it. An Intact kid called you that?"

"Yeah, that's what I said." I stare at him, exasperated. "Now, tell me why you're laughing."

"I just can't believe that the nickname's caught on." Edmun runs a hand through his soot-coated hair, releasing a fine mist of black powder and sending the rest of us scrambling to cover our drinks. "The gang's been referring to you as the Runner for a few months' now. It was a bit of an inside joke, but it looks like it's caught on."

"The Runner?" I glance from Edmun to Harry. "That's hardly clever."

"Just meetin' us for the first time, are you?" Harry chuckles. "You should know by now that we're not the brightest bunch of torches."

I rub the back of my neck and cast my gaze around the crowded pub. No one seems to be paying our table any attention, but I can't shake the sudden feeling of many listening ears.

"Bunch of gossiping ninnies, you are." I grumble. "You don't need to be discussing me behind my back. Haven't you got anything more interesting to talk about?"

"Oh, come on now. Don't be sore." Edmun rolls his eyes at my pouting. "We were just looking out for you. Like it or not, Kay-kay, people are talking. The City's not such a big place, and a Fragment running circles around the Intacts is going to set some tongues to wagging."

"Edmun's right." Harry chimes in, his tone kinder than Edmun's. "We didn't want anyone figurin' your name, so we gave them somethin' else to call you by."

I scratch at the worn wooden table, prodding at a loosened shard. It is strange to think that people have taken notice of my antics. Thievery has always been second-nature to me, something I had a natural talent for. At first it was a simple matter of survival, but since the death of my family it has turned into something more. Relieving the Intacts of their riches and giving it back to the Fragments has become a means of retribution, my way of restoring some balance to a corrupt system. It never occurred to me that my small acts of rebellion could combine together to create a larger picture.

The sliver of wood catches beneath my nail and I wince, wiping my hand on my trousers. Despite my unease, I cannot deny the small thrill that runs down my spine. The Runner. Somehow, it fits.

"You know that it's for your own good, Red." Harry knocks his mug against mine. "We love you to pieces but you don't exactly have a talent for bein' subtle. If someone's going to be flyin' about the City and causin' trouble for the King, then we're going to make sure that our girl's name is kept out of it."

"And people are really responding to your hijinks." Edmun nudges me playfully. "You're inspiring the rest of us to stand up to the Intacts and their shite system. If the Runner can do it, then so can we."

I feel my cheeks burning and hide them behind the rim of my glass. "If that's the case, then...thanks." I down the rest of my ale in one gulp and run my wrist over my mouth, stifling a burp. "It's good to know that chivalry lives on."

"You do your part, Red and we'll do ours." Harry signals the barmaid for another round and hands a frothy mugful to me, winking. "Cheers, eh? To the Runner."

I murmur the nickname in solidarity with my friends, testing it out on my tongue. There is something comforting about this word, something akin to pulling a heavy cloak over my shoulders. Kay Knight is a small-time thief, adept at running petty schemes for the benefit of a handful of Fragments.

But the Runner... I have a feeling that she is capable of something more.

* * * * *

I spot the carriage when it is still a ways off. The abbot's routine is by now predictable, always following the same narrow, twisting route from the City's central temple to his posh flat near the Palace. I wait patiently, perched on a ledge high above the street and silently counting down the minutes until the abbot's carriage passes directly beneath me.

Grabbing hold of the ledge at my feet, I begin to gingerly pick my way down the side of the building. Flakes of stone chip away beneath my fingers but I hold firm, maneuvering myself down onto an abandoned windowsill one storey above the street. I press my back flush against the wall, remaining as still as humanly possible while forcibly ignoring the frantic hammering of my heart. I bite down hard on my lip, narrowing my eyes at the steadily approaching carriage.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Now.

I leap, landing squarely on the carriage roof and immediately dropping down onto my stomach. My heart is now beating so loudly that I can feel my body fairly shudder with the force of it. I freeze, poised and tensed while I wait to see if either the driver or the occupant has noticed my arrival.

The carriage rumbles on, completely oblivious. I count off a full minute before rising into a crouched position, keeping my eyes trained on the back of the unconcerned driver while I ready myself for my next move. Shadows flicker across my vision as I sway along with the unnatural movement over the carriage. My weak knee trembles and I grit my teeth, sidling towards the side of the carriage just as we round a corner.

Taking advantage of the sudden lurch, I grip the carriage roof and roll over the edge, swinging through the open window and landing in the cushioned interior with less grace than I hoped for.

"What the-?" Someone cries out in alarm and I fight to make sense of my surroundings, grappling for the dagger stashed in my boot and brandishing it in front of me.

The abbot's eyes are wide and staring, flicking down to the point of my blade and back up at me.

I let a grin escape me as I raise a finger to my lips, warning him to remain silent. The old man shuts his mouth tight, curling his weathered hands into fists in his lap.

For a moment, I am too stunned at how smoothly everything is going to think of my next move. It could be that I never expected to get this far. Nevertheless, I make myself comfortable on the plush bench across from the abbot, ever-mindful that each passing moment brings us closer to his flat. I need to complete my business before the carriage draws to a stop and the driver discovers his holiness ensconced with a scruffy Fragment girl and a dagger.

"What is the meaning of this?" The abbot hisses. His fingers twist nervously as he fusses with the folds of his robe. "How dare you threaten a man of the gods. Have you no sense of decency?"

"Apparently not." I keep my dagger leveled at his throat as I scan the interior of the carriage. A conspicuous, gold-laden trunk tucked beneath the abbot's bench catches my eye and I feel my grin widen.

"You would rob the King's holy advisor?" The abbot's gravelly voice rises a decibel. "Have you no moral conscience?"

"I do, in fact." I gesture to the oversized, gilded key hanging about his neck, indicating that he should open the trunk. "Don't worry, holiness. I promise that these coins will go directly to the people who can benefit the most from it."

"And that is for you to decide, is it?" The abbot tugs the key from his neck and pulls the trunk out from beneath the seat, taking his time in unlocking it. I glance out the window, noting that we are only a few blocks from stopping.

"A touch more haste, if you please." I pull my rucksack off of my shoulder and hand it to him. "Chop chop, Eminence."

He grumbles under his breath, choosing some decidedly unholy words as he fills my rucksack with the trunk's shining contents.

"Don't be so sore." I lean back in my seat, crossing one leg over the other and tilting my head at him. "You know, I had the pleasure of visiting your temple recently, and I've seen first-hand that your place of worship has more than enough to spare. You should be grateful that I've given you the opportunity to help your fellow man. Trust me, these coins will be much better served lining their pockets than yours."

He glares up at me and his eyes narrow. "I knew that I recognized you. You're that muddy novice, from the temple."

"Oh, I'm much more than that." I snatch the rucksack from his hands and make to stand, swaying with the motion of the rumbling carriage. "Thank you for your donation to a most noble cause. Your generosity is much appreciated." I wave my hand in an exaggerated flourish as I bow, flashing the abbot my most charming grin.

"The King will hear of this, you realize." I note with satisfaction that the abbot's sagging face has nearly purpled with rage. "But rest assured that his wrath pales in comparison to that of the gods. Your path of thievery will end in nothing but the fire of the eternal Burn."

"If that's the case, then please save me a seat." I sheath my dagger and push open the door of the carriage, considering the cobbled path rushing beneath my feet.

"You won't get away with this." Spittle flies from his thin lips. "I don't know who you think you are."

"Haven't you heard?" I sling the heavy rucksack over my shoulder and place one foot through the open door. "I'm the Runner."

I throw the abbot a quick wink and a jaunty wave, stepping free of the carriage and disappearing from sight.