flames were beginning to leak out of the windows of the king’s house.
Vocho had better bloody well appreciate this.
She took a firmer grip on the rail, which ran away at shoulder height, and moved out along another, over a gap blacker than death beneath her, a handspan of steel between her and it. She’d wondered before, that time she fell beneath the streets, what lay at the bottom and how far it would be, but decided then, as now, it was probably best not to think of it. What-ifs had never worried her; it was the right-nows that held her attention.
All that practice Eneko had made her do – running roofs, chasing up and along walls, quick and quiet even during the change – now stood her in good stead. A few steps to get the measure of it – the steel was slippery under her sodden boots, so she kept one hand on the rail by her shoulder – and she started to move more quickly, gliding over the gap.
A sudden burst of swearing behind her told her Petri had made it outside and was now not happy at the prospect before him.
“Kacha! For god’s sake, will you stop?”
She ignored him and carried on, faster now as she grew more confident with her footing. Smoke was billowing out of one side of the house now, and guards were trying to get out but were hampered by the fact the street wasn’t level. One fell, rolling over and over before he managed to break his fall, more by luck than judgement, by slamming into a gatepost. From the crunch of bone and his strangled scream, it didn’t seem all that lucky. The rest held on or moved gingerly from handhold to handhold.
As she approached the angle got steeper. Her foot slipped off the rail. She hung on for dear life, and tried to do it quietly, which wasn’t easy. The guards hadn’t seen her yet, and she wanted to keep it that way, until either she could find a way around them or she decided it was time they saw her, preferably at the other end of Eneko’s dagger in her belt.
The two rails converged as she approached the street, the one by her shoulder dipping and the one she stood on rising to meet it. A noise below caught her attention. A sort of muffled whimper, followed by, “Miss? Miss!”
She tried to ignore it, before she realised the voice was familiar.
“Miss!”
Her feet bumped into something on the rail, and she looked down. A hand gripping the rail in white-knuckled terror. A face below that, one that was as familiar as her own.
“Cospel, what are you doing?” she whispered. The guards were close enough to hear anything louder. “Stop pissing about and get up here.”
“I was coming to find you, and then everything went sideways, and here I am. And I would, only I’ve got your bags and everything in the other hand. Could you pull me up?”
She knelt carefully on the rail, keeping one hand out to steady herself. The street was closer than it had been but far enough that a fall would mean broken bones at the least. Petri was gaining on her – she could hear his muted swearing more clearly. Not much time but enough with luck. She held on to the upper rail, which was now, as she knelt, about shoulder height. With her other hand she grabbed Cospel’s wrist and heaved till her eyes popped. Cospel barely even moved.
“Are you made of lead or something?”
Sweat beaded on Cospel’s forehead with the strain. “No, gold. He’ll kill me if I drop the gold.”
Vocho and his bloody gold – that was what had got them into this mess, his love of money. Cospel wasn’t much better. She didn’t have time to argue or give it another try. Petri came into view along the rail, dripping darkly in the moonlight. She didn’t have time to piss about at all.
“Cospel, listen very carefully. I will kill you if you don’t drop the bags. And bear in mind that I am here and Vocho is not.”
A squeak as Cospel’s fingers slipped a little on the steel.
“A valid point, miss,” he said after only a second’s consideration. He dropped the bags, which clanked and rolled along the tilted street sounding like a muted brass band needing a good tuning. It took about ten seconds for someone to realise what was leaking out of the bag and then there was