Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,70

into the empty vehicle. Then she watched, relieved, as he joined his comrades in chasing Gregor down the side alley.

asked Clef.

There was a thud, a cry of pain, and then one of the men came rocketing out of the alley, tumbling ass-over-head.

said Sancia.

She wormed her way out from underneath the carriage, pulled Clef off her neck, and stuck him in the side door to the Zorzi Building. There was the usual click, and Sancia darted inside.

The place reeked of sulfur and whatever other chemicals they’d used to make paper back in the day—as well as a variety of other, more human smells, because the bottom floor appeared to have been totally taken over by vagrants. Piles of rags and straw and refuse were everywhere. A few of the occupants cried out at the sight of her, a huge espringal slung over her shoulder.

Sancia knelt, touched a bare finger to the ground, and let the layout of the building unscroll in her mind. Once she felt the stairs, she popped up, leapt over one of the shrieking vagrants, and darted over to the hallway that led to the stairs. she thought.

* * *

Gregor turned the corner on the fairway, then turned again, until he was headed toward the other side of the Zorzi Building—but hopefully his attackers didn’t realize that. He looked ahead and saw a welcome sight: there were dozens of clotheslines strung up over the narrow fairway beside the old paper mill, running about four stories up, old dresses and gray undergarments and bedsheets drifting in the night breeze.

Ah, he thought. Cover. That should do nicely.

He ran to the left, finding shelter under a thick set of off-white bedsheets, and looked up. With the clotheslines above, he was much less exposed.

And hopefully, he thought, glancing up, the girl will be getting into position sometime soon…

He saw an iron baluster on a balcony across the street, which gave him an idea. He took Whip out, aimed carefully, and flicked it at the baluster…

With a loud clang, Whip’s head caught on the iron railing. Gregor pulled the cable taut, hid in a doorway, and waited.

He couldn’t see them coming through the clothes above. He could only hear the soft scrape of their boots on the building fronts, echoing all around him. He imagined them dancing from rooftop to rooftop, weaving through the hanging clothes, drifting like dust motes on a gentle breeze. But then, as if he were fishing, his line suddenly gave a great leap…

There was a gagging sound, and a cough. Gregor peeked around the corner and saw one of their attackers spinning wildly through the air, having apparently been caught on Whip’s cable. The man sailed through the clotheslines, flying end-over-end, the lines and clothes wrapping around his form as he coughed. Finally he crashed into the street below, trailing tangles of clothing like some kind of bizarre kite, and was still.

Gregor nodded, pleased. That worked nicely. He hit the switch to retract Whip’s head from the baluster. It took a jerk or two from him, but soon the truncheon’s head came zipping down—and accidentally pulled a string of clothes with it.

Which, he realized, told his attackers exactly where he was.

He looked up as a black-clad man did a flip over the clotheslines, tumbling like an acrobat. Then the man adjusted something on his stomach, which caused him to fall rapidly back toward the building face opposite Gregor. Once the man’s feet were steady, he looked up at Gregor, and raised his espringal.

Gregor started to flick Whip forward, but he knew it was too late. He could see it happening, see the bolt whipping down at him, see its black tip glinting in the moonlight. He tried to withdraw farther into the doorway, but then his arm lit up with pain.

He cried out and looked at his left arm. He immediately saw that he’d been lucky: the bolt had caught him on the inside bottom of his forearm, slashing it open. The unnatural momentum of the bolt meant it’d shredded his flesh as it passed directly through, but it had not speared his arm, or hit the bone. Scrived bolts did tremendous damage to the human body.

Cursing, Gregor looked up just in time to see a second assassin join the one who’d just