“No. No, I have not tangled with a bunch of flying assholes before. How many of them are there?”
“I counted nine.”
She peered up as another assassin danced over the carriage. There was a thunk as the bolt struck the door above. Gregor noticed the girl did not flinch. “They like us out in the open,” she said softly. “Where we’re exposed.”
“So how do we get to someplace confined where their tools will offer less advantage?”
The girl cocked her head, thought, and then scrambled up to the top window, gripping the edges of the seat. She readied herself, then leapt up with a swift, measured grace, popping up through the window before falling back down to the mud. A chorus of thunks echoed throughout the carriage as she landed.
“Shit,” she said. “They’re fast. But at least I know where we are now. You drove the carriage into the Zorzi Building, which is lucky.”
“I did not drive it into the building,” he said, indignant. “We crashed.”
“Whatever. It used to be a paper mill or something. It stretches across the whole block. A bunch of vagrants live there now, but the top floor is big and open, with lots of windows — and the street on the other side is pretty narrow.”
“How does that help us?”
“It doesn’t help us,” said Sancia. “It helps me, though.”
He frowned at her. “What exactly are you planning, here?”
She explained. And Gregor listened.
When she was done, he considered what she was asking of him. It was not a bad plan. He’d heard worse ones.
“Think you can do it?” she asked.
“I know I can,” said Gregor. “Do you think you can get into the building?”
“That won’t be a problem,” she said. “Just give me that big goddamn crossbow.” He handed it over, and she slung it across her back. “I just point and shoot like a normal espringal, right?”
“Essentially. The cords will wrap around their target, and then they should start amplifying their densities — the more the target moves, of course.”
“Terrific.” She pulled two small, black balls out of a pocket on her side. “You ready?”
He climbed up to the open window, looked down, and nodded.
“Here we go.” She took one of the balls in her hand and pressed a small plate on its side. Then she threw one of the balls out the window, waited a beat, and then threw the other. The instant the streets lit up with that incredible, bright flashing light, Gregor leapt out of the carriage and made a run for it.
Despite the fact that he’d witnessed this phenomenon before, the flash and sound of the stun bombs was no less stupefying for Gregor. He caught the barest glimpse of the Foundryside street, and then it was all wiped away in a flash of illumination brighter than a lightning strike, followed by a tooth-rattling bang. He staggered blindly for the alley ahead, hands outstretched. He tripped on a porch, crashed into the wooden slats, and crawled forward until he felt a corner of wood.
He crawled around the corner, shakily stood, and pressed his back to the wall. There. I’m there.
He stood up and began to wobble down the alley, one hand on the wall, the other outstretched before him, the sounds of the stun bombs still ringing in his ears.
Eventually the world took shape around him. He was stumbling down a dark, decrepit alley, lined with refuse and rags. He looked over his shoulder and saw the lights of the stun bombs were fading. Then six silhouettes emerged in between the building faces of the alley — and, bizarrely, began bounding back and forth among the shop fronts like leaves on the wind.
Gregor stepped into a shadowed doorway. Remarkably odd to see, he thought, watching them drift gracefully through the air like acrobats on wires. After a moment, a seventh man joined them.
That’s two of them unaccounted for, thought Gregor. Then he took Whip out. Still. Time to test the limits of gravity.
He watched their progression, calculated their arcs, and flicked Whip forward.
His shot was true. The truncheon’s head caught the man directly in the chest — and, since the man’s reality had apparently been rearranged to believe he was as light as a feather, he went hurtling off into the sky like he’d been fired out of a cannon.
His comrades paused on a linen shop’s roof to watch him sail off into the night sky. Then they raised their espringals and fired.
Gregor leapt back into the doorway as the bolts thudded around him. Whip came zipping back to its shaft. He waited a beat, then dashed out and started running.
One down, he thought. Eight to go.
Sancia waited quietly underneath the carriage, the big espringal on her back. She tried to ignore her rapid heartbeat and the trembling in her hands. When the stun bombs had gone off, she’d leapt out and hidden in the gap between the carriage and the base of the building. She could hear one of the assassins standing on the top of the carriage, peering down into the empty vehicle. Then she watched, relieved, as he joined his comrades in chasing Gregor down the side alley.
<You think he’s gonna make it?> 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.
<I think he’ll be fine,> said Sancia. <Any more of those rigs nearby?>
<Not that I can tell. I think you’re clear.>
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. <I hope I make it up in time,> 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.