He was literally on the roof of the house next door to Peg’s when he heard a commotion below him. There was an altercation going on at the front door—but that wasn’t what was interesting. What was interesting was that a few moments after the to-do started, he saw a back door open from the inside. A big, burly man held it open while a woman carrying a pack slipped out. It looked to him as if the altercation was being staged—there was a lot of shouting and some wild swinging of fists going on, but he wasn’t sensing anger, and none of the swings were connecting. A distraction to keep anyone from going to see what was happening at the back door?
If it was, then the woman was leaving with the cooperation of at least some of the other inmates of the house.
Acting on a hunch, he followed her. She kept to the alleys, and from the way she was moving, she was trying very hard to keep from attracting any attention.
If that ain’t Senla, I’ll eat Dallen’s hay.
::You stay out of my hay!:: He sensed Dallen peering down through his eyes. ::I would say you are correct.::
::Now why d’ye think she’d be runnin’?:: he asked.
::More to the point, why would one of the ‘house enforcers’ be helping her? The proprietors of such places tend to make sure that the loyalty of their men is firmly with the owner and not the women. After all, if there are going to be any disputes, the owner wants the ones with the muscles enforcing her will, not siding with the hirlings.:: He sensed Dallen thinking some things over. ::I’d have to say the owner knew about what just happened. There is no way it could be kept quiet. Not with all the shouting at the front, and the mock-fight.::
::Then this Peg person had t’ hev ordered ’im t’help ’er git. An’ ordered up yon fight, so’s t’distract any’un what was watchin’.:: That seemed the only possible conclusion.
::Exactly so.:: Dallen went silent for another moment, probably thinking. ::Mind, it was probably not altruistic. If the woman was bringing trouble to the house, or even had the potential to bring trouble, it makes sense to be rid of her.::
And thet might could be why th’ thief was a-feared. The guide had definitely been murdered. The thief might think the same people would come after him. Perhaps because he had enquired about the woman?
Reckon th’ gel thinks she’s in danger, anyroad. Mags made a split-second decision. ::Kin you git outa there?::
Dallen clearly found the question amusing. ::Easily. Rolan tells me our waiting places are deliberately made so we Companions can get out and come assist if we are needed. I see through your eyes where you are, I’ll meet you somewhere. Just keep following her, and I’ll intercept you at some point.::
Mags oozed over to the next roof, and crept along the edge, keeping her in sight. She was moving so slowly and so furtively that it wasn’t hard, even though the alley was in deep shadow. She was wearing light-colored clothing . . .
Not thinkin’ real hard, I reckon.
He was very glad he had decided to try to get her himself; she obviously had no idea of how to get away from potential danger—other than sneak out a back door. And that might not even have been her idea.
She wasn’t even looking up. From everything that he had experienced with the foreigners—if, indeed, they were from the same place as the killers who had tried to murder the Companions—they were skilled killers. They could just as easily have been up here on the roofs as he was.
With that alarming thought, he took stock of his surroundings, thinning his shields just the slightest bit. The quickest way to find out if there was someone lurking was to see if there were any thought-presences near him that were giving out bits of roof-image.
A moment later he was able to relax that part of his vigilance. No... no, there was no one there. All the human presences that he could sense nearby were definitely inside, and most of those were asleep; the only creatures on the roofs were cats and rats.
Dallen interrupted his thoughts. ::I’m almost there. I’m going to stop her at the end of the alley she is in now. Drop down behind her. We’ll get her between us, so that she can’t easily run.::
::Gotcha.:: He worked his way down the side of the building, which was in such a shabby state that there were plenty of finger- and toeholds. It was probably just as well that the inhabitants had so little worth stealing, because a thief who could climb would have no trouble breaking in. He clung to the side of the building and waited for Dallan’s signal.
He never had been able to figure out how they did it, but when they wanted to, Companions could move like ghosts on the wind. One minute the end of the alley was clear. The next, it was full of a large, white beast.
The woman stopped dead in her tracks, her posture showing shock and uncertainty. She started to turn—
And Mags dropped down behind her, trapping her between himself and Dallen.
Things moved very swiftly then. Her eyes went huge and round, he heard her intake of breath. Without waiting for her to let it out in a scream, he rushed her, ramming her up against Dallen’s chest and slapping a hand over her mouth.
She wasn’t accustomed to fighting; she went limp, eyes terrified. Her hands were trapped by the bundle she refused to drop. If he actually had been there to kill her, it would have been ridiculously easy. She wouldn’t even have put up a token fight.
“Whoa-up,” he said softly. “I ain’t gonna hurt ye. Ye knows whatta Companion is, aye?”
Her head moved under his hand, nodding.
“This here’s a Companion. My Companion. Name’s Dallen.”
Dallen curved his neck around and nudged her with his nose. He did that thing that Companions could do and made himself glow slightly, so she could see him clearly in the dark. Her eyes went bigger. “I’m Trainee Mags,” he continued. “We come here t’help ye. I’m agonna take m’hand away. Don’ scream, aye? There’s on’y th’ two on us, an iffen ye got trouble on yer tail, I ain’t sure jest the two on us kin keep ye safe.” He took his hand away from her mouth. She didn’t scream, though she was shaking in every limb. He looked her over as best he could in the shadows of the alley. She wasn’t as slatternly as the women who had sold their stolen finery at the shop, but it was fairly clear what her profession was. Under the huge shawls she had wrapped about herself, her tawdry—and scanty—outfit was a clear advertisement for her services.
“Yer Senla, aye?” he asked. Her eyes widened again, and she nodded. “Aight. I know ’bout that guide whut was yer reg’lar, an’ whut happen t’him. Here now—don’ cry!” he added, with alarm, as her eyes brimmed with tears. “We ain’t got time fer cryin’! I’m agonna git ye somewhere safe, so no cryin’ till I does!”
He knew that Dallen would have been keeping Rolan apprised of the situation, and Rolan would have been keeping Nikolas up to date. So he simply Mindspoke Nikolas without a second thought. ::Got ’er. What d’I do?::
::Take her to the actor’s inn. Keep her in the stable until I get there.::