The plate twitched. He turned it over, and saw that something was happening to the back.
Someone was writing there, gouging letters deep into the metal, and it was not Berenice’s clear, perfect script. This was harsh and jagged, and it spelled out one word.
“Run?” said Orso, perplexed. He scratched his head. Why would Berenice message him to run?
He looked around his workshop, and he didn’t see anything he needed to run from. There were his definition tomes, his scriving blocks, his test lexicon, and the open window on the far wall…
He paused.
He didn’t remember opening the window.
There was a creak from somewhere in his workshop. It was something akin to the creak of a floorboard as you walk across the room — but this did not come from the floor. It came from the ceiling.
Orso slowly looked up.
A man was crouched on his ceiling, in full defiance of gravity, dressed in black, wearing a black cloth mask.
Orso’s mouth dropped open. “What in he—”
The man fell on him, knocking Orso to the floor.
Cursing, Orso struggled to get up. As he did, the man calmly walked over to Orso’s desk, snatched up his page of secret accounts, walked back, and kicked Orso in the stomach. Hard.
Orso collapsed again, coughing. Then his attacker slipped a loop over his head, and pulled it tight around his neck. He gagged and his eyes watered. The man hauled him to his feet, the cord cutting into his windpipe, and whispered in his ear, “Now, now, poppy. Don’t struggle too much, eh?” He jerked the cord back, and Orso nearly blacked out. “Just come along, then. Come along!”
His attacker shoved him toward the window, then ripped the cord hard, pulling Orso along like a dog on a leash. Orso clawed at the cord, coughing, but it was tight and ferociously strong. The man glanced out the window. “Not quite high enough, is it?” he mused aloud. “We do want to make sure. Come along, poppy!”
Then — unbelievably — the man slipped out the window and stood on the side of the building as if it were the ground. He adjusted something on his stomach, nodded, and ripped Orso out after him.
Sancia stared as the carriage hurtled through the gates, one after the other. She realized, to her alarm, that they were careening into the deepest enclaves of the Dandolo campo, where the richest, most powerful people resided. She’d never even dreamed she’d get into such areas — especially not under these circumstances.
“There,” said Berenice. “The Hypatus Building is just ahead.”
They peered through the front window of the carriage. A sprawling, elaborate, three-story structure emerged from the rosy glow of the streets. It looked dark yet peaceful, as most buildings would in the middle of the night.
“It…doesn’t look like anything’s wrong,” said Gregor slowly.
Then something moved in the window on the third floor, and they watched, horrified, as a man in black climbed out the window, stood on the side of the wall, and hauled out a struggling human form, dangling from a rope of some kind by the neck.
“Ohh dear,” said Gregor.
Berenice shoved the acceleration lever forward, but it was too late — the man in black hopped up the wall and tugged the helpless person onto the roof.
“No,” said Berenice. “No!”
“What can we do?” asked Gregor.
“The way up onto the roof is the south tower! It’ll take forever to get there!”
Sancia looked at the side of the building, thinking. Perhaps this was the opportunity she’d been waiting for — she was well aware she was now dealing with some powerful people, and she was at their mercy.
Which she did not like one bit. It would be handy to put them in her debt.
“So, that’s your guy, right?” she asked. “Orso, or whatever?”
“Yes!” said Berenice.
“The guy whose box I stole?”
“Yes!” said Gregor.
“And…you want him to live?”
“Yes!” said Gregor and Berenice at the same time.
Sancia stuck Gregor’s stiletto into her belt and tugged off both her gloves. “Pull up close to the corner of the building there,” she said.
“What are you going to do?” asked Gregor.
Grimacing, Sancia rubbed her temple with two fingers. This would be too much, she knew. “Something real dumb.” She sighed. “I sure hope this asshole is rich.”
“Up, up, up we go!” said the man. He hauled Orso up over the edge of the roof, adjusting the device on his belly as he did. Then he dragged Orso across the roof to the east side of the building, which overlooked the square.
The man dropped Orso and turned around. “Now, don’t get testy, poppy!” he said. He kicked Orso in the stomach again. Orso curled up, whimpering, and barely noticed as the man slipped the loop off of his head. “Can’t leave any evidence, dearie. You must be immaculate. Simply sparkling.” He walked around and kicked Orso again, rolling him toward the edge of the roof.
“This will be handy,” said the man, pocketing Orso’s page of accounts. “All your pilfered money, all for a key. Once everyone finds this, no one will suspect a thing.” He gave Orso another brutal kick, again pushing him toward the edge.
No, Orso thought. No! He tried to fight, to grab hold of the roof, to push back against his attacker, but the blows kept coming, landing on his shoulder, his fingers, his stomach. Orso watched through teary eyes as the edge of the roof came closer and closer.
“A bitter, old screw,” said the attacker with savage relish. “Deep in debt.” Another kick. “In over his head.” Another kick. “A dumb bastard who has thoroughly shat where he ate.” He paused to position the final blow. “Who’d be surprised to think you’d go and kill yourse—”
Then someone small and dressed in black came sprinting down the edge of the rooftop and tackled the man, knocking him to the ground.
Gasping, Orso looked up and watched as the two people in black wrestled. He had no idea who this new arrival was — it appeared to be a small, bloody, and somewhat dirty-looking young woman — but she tore into the man with savage intensity, slashing at him with a stiletto.
Yet the man was far more skilled in combat. He rebounded quickly, dodging her attacks and managing to land a fierce blow on her chin, knocking her to the side. She coughed and cried, “Dandolo! Are you scrumming coming or not?”
Orso’s attacker dove at the woman hard enough that the two rolled over and over again, tumbling right toward…
Orso watched as they rolled close. “Oh no,” he whispered.
The two combatants knocked him toward the edge. He felt numb and slow and stupid as his body tipped over. He reached out frantically, scrabbling for a handhold, and then his fingers finally found purchase on the edge…
Orso let out a rather undignified shriek as he dangled from the edge of the roof. The man and the young woman were just above him, almost on top of his fingers, wrestling and clawing at each other. Orso’s attacker finally overpowered the young woman and climbed on top, fingers around her throat, clearly intending to choke her to death, or throw her off the roof, or both.
“Stupid little whore,” the man whispered. He leaned down on her throat. “Just a bit more, just a bit more…”
The young woman, gagging, clawed at the device on his stomach, twisting and turning it.
Then something on the device slid into place.
The man froze, horrified, let her go, and looked down.