"Two hundred and ninety-one… two hundred and ninety-two… and here comes the next set." Day clicked her tongue. "Three hundred, give or take."
"Three hundred," hissed Morveer, and Friendly could see his head shaking in the darkness. "Not enough time."
"Then how?" snapped Monza.
Friendly swept the dice up again, felt their familiar edges pressing into his palm. It hardly mattered to him how they got into the bank, or even whether they ever did. His hopes mostly involved Day starting to count again.
"There must be a way… there must be a—"
"I can do it." They all looked round. Shivers was sitting against the parapet, white hands dangling.
"You?" sneered Morveer. "How?"
Friendly could just make out the curve of the Northman's grin in the darkness. "Magic."
Plans and Accidents
The guards grumbled their way down the lane. Four of 'em—breastplates, steel caps, halberd blades catching the light from their swinging lanterns. Shivers pressed himself deep into the doorway as they clattered past, waited a nervy moment, then padded across the lane and into the shadows beside the pillar he'd chosen. He started counting. Three hundred or so, to make it to the top and onto the roof. He looked up. Seemed a bastard of a long way. Why the hell had he said yes to this? Just so he could slap the smile off that idiot Morveer's face, and show Murcatto he was worth his money?
"Always my own worst enemy," he whispered. Turned out he'd too much pride. That and a terrible weakness for fine-looking women. Who'd have thought it?
He pulled the rope out, two strides long with an eye at one end and a hook at the other. He cast a glance over the windows in the buildings facing him. Most were shuttered against the cold night, but a few were open, a couple still with lights burning inside. He wondered what the chances were of someone looking out and seeing him shinning up the side of a bank. Higher than he'd like, that was sure.
"Worst fucking enemy." He got ready to climb up onto the pillar's base.
"Somewhere here."
"Where, idiot?"
Shivers froze, rope dangling from his hands. Footsteps now, armour jingling. Bastard guards were coming back. They'd never done that in fifty circuits of the place. For all his chat about science, that bloody poisoner had made an arse of it and Shivers was the one left with his fruits dangling in the wind. He squeezed deeper into the shadows, felt the big flatbow on his back scraping stone. How the hell was he going to explain that? Just a midnight stroll, you know, all in black, taking the old bow for a walk.
If he bolted they'd see him, chase him, more'n likely stab him with something. Either way they'd know someone had been trying to creep into the bank and that would be the end of the whole business. If he stayed put… same difference, more or less, except the stabbing got a sight more likely.
The voices came closer. "Can't be far away, all we bloody do is go round and round…"
One of 'em must've lost something. Shivers cursed his shitty luck, and not for the first time. Too late to run. He closed his fist round the grip of his knife. Footsteps thumped, just on the other side of the pillar. Why'd he taken her silver? Turned out he'd a terrible weakness for money too. He gritted his teeth, waited for—
"Please!" Murcatto's voice. She walked out across the lane, hood back, long coat swishing. Might've been the first time Shivers had seen her without a sword. "I'm so, so sorry to bother you. I'm only trying to get home, but I seem to have got myself completely lost."
One of the guards stepped round the pillar, his back to Shivers, and then another. They were no more than arm's length away, between him and her. He could almost have reached out and touched their backplates.
"Where you staying?"
"With some friends, near the fountain on Lord Sabeldi Street, but I'm new in the city, and," she gave a hopeless laugh, "I've quite misplaced it."
One of the guards pushed back his helmet. "I'll say you have. Other side of town, that."
"I swear I've been wandering the city for hours." She began to move away, drawing the men gently after her. Another guard appeared, and another. All four now, with their backs still to Shivers. He held his breath, heart thumping so loud it was a wonder none of them could hear it. "If one of you gentlemen could point me in the right direction I'd be so grateful. Stupid of me, I know."
"No, no. Confusing place, Westport."
"'Specially at night."
"I get lost here myself, time to time." The men laughed, and Monza laughed along, still drawing 'em on. Her eye caught Shivers' just for an instant, and they looked right at each other, and then she was gone round the next pillar, and the guards too, and their eager chatter drifted away. He closed his eyes, and slowly breathed out. Just as well he weren't the only man around with a weakness for women.
He swung himself up onto the square base of the pillar, slid the rope around it and under his rump, hooked it to make a loop. No idea what the count was now, just knew he had to get up there fast. He set off, gripping the stone with his knees and the edges of his boots, sliding the loop of rope up, then dragging it tight while he shifted his legs and set 'em again.
It was a trick his brother taught him, when he was a lad. He'd used it to climb the tallest trees in the valley and steal eggs. He remembered how they'd laughed together when he kept falling off near the bottom. Now he was using it to help kill folk, and if he fell off he'd be dead himself. Safe to say life hadn't turned out quite the way he'd hoped.
Still, he went up quick and smooth. Just like climbing a tree, except no eggs at the end of it and less chance of bark-splinters in your fruits. Hard work, though. He was sweating through by the time he made it up the pillar and still had the hardest part to go. He worked one hand into the mess of stonework at the top, unhooked the rope with the other and dragged it over his shoulder. Then he pulled himself up, fingers and toes digging holds out among the carvings, breath hissing, arms burning. He slipped one leg over a sculpture of a woman's frowning face and sat there, high above the lane, clinging to a pair of stone leaves and hoping they were stronger than the leafy kind.
He'd been in some better spots, but you had to look on the sunny side. It was the first time he'd had a woman's face between his legs in a while. He heard a hiss from across the lane, picked out Day's black shape on the roof. She pointed down. The next patrol were on their way.
"Shit." He pressed himself tight to the stonework, trying to look like rock himself, hands tingling raw from gripping the hemp, hoping no one chose that moment to look up. They clattered by underneath and he let out a long hiss of air, heart pounding in his ears louder than ever. He waited for them to move off round the corner of the building, getting his breath back for the last stretch.
The spikes further along the walls were mounted on poles, could spin round and round. Impossible to get over. At the tops of the pillars, though, they were mortared to the stone. He took his gloves out—heavy smith's gloves—and pulled them on, then he reached up and worked his hands tight around two spikes, took a deep breath. He let go with his legs and swung free, drew himself up, staring a touch cross-eyed at the iron points in front of his face. Just like pulling yourself into the branches, except for the chance of taking your eye out, of course. Be nice to come out of this with both his eyes.
He swung one way, then heaved himself back the other and got one boot up on top. He twisted himself round, felt the spikes scrape against his thick jerkin, digging at his chest as he dragged himself over.
And he was up.
Seventy-eight… seventy-nine… eighty…" Friendly's lips moved by themselves as he watched Shivers roll over the parapet and onto the roof of the bank.
"He made it," whispered Day, voice squeaky with disbelief.
"And in good time too." Morveer chuckled softly. "Who would have thought he would climb… like an ape."
The Northman stood, a darker shape against the dark night sky. He pulled the big flatbow off his back and started to fiddle with it. "Let's hope he doesn't shoot like an ape," whispered Day.
Shivers took aim. Friendly heard the soft click of the bowstring. A moment later he felt the bolt thud into his chest. He snatched hold of the shaft, frowning down. It hardly hurt at all.
"A happy circumstance that it has no point." Morveer unhooked the wire from the flights. "We would do well to avoid any further mishaps, and your untimely death would seem to qualify."
Friendly tossed the blunt bolt away and tied the rope off to the end of the wire.
"You sure that thing will take his weight?" muttered Day.
"Suljuk silk cord," said Morveer smugly. "Light as down but strong as steel. It would take all three of us simultaneously, and no one looking up will see a thing."
"You hope."
"What do I never take, my dear?"
"Yes, yes."
The black cord hissed through Friendly's hands as Shivers started reeling the wire back in. He watched it creep out across the space between the roofs, counting the strides. Fifteen and Shivers had the other end. They pulled it tight between them, then Friendly looped it through the iron ring they'd bolted to the roof timbers and began to knot it, once, twice, three times.
"Are you entirely sure of that knot?" asked Morveer. "There is no place in the plan for a lengthy drop."
"Twenty-eight strides," said Friendly.
"What?"
"The drop."
A brief pause. "That is not helpful."
A taut black line linked the two buildings. Friendly knew it was there, and still he could hardly see it in the darkness.
Day gestured towards it, curls stirred by the breeze. "After you."