The man's footfalls were audible enough for her to keep track of them, and she followed him through an alley barely wide enough for her shoulders to fit through. She burst out into an old yard filled with cluttered little workshops, huddling tight against the base of the cliff. The yard stank like the privy that people clearly used it as, and was surrounded on three sides by the old brickwork of some kind of warehouse, three storeys high. The fourth side was a row of plastered walls with narrow back doors to the shops.
Gabriella looked around. There was no sign of the man, but she could still hear his footsteps. Something clattered above her, drawing her gaze to the warehouse roof. She couldn't see anyone there, but there was a decaying zigzag of steps leading up the side of the warehouse.
As soon as she started up the steps, two scruffy-looking beggars bounded down the stairs from above.
"Stop her," one of them rasped. "She mustn't catch up to him."
This one leapt at her from half-way up, slashing wildly with a wickedly curved dagger. She spun, letting his attack slide off the blade in her left hand, and slashed with the right. The man fell screaming, filling the air with the coppery stink of blood. The second man stumbled and that gave Gabriella the moment she needed to step forward with a stopping kick, planting her boot in his chest before smashing his nose with a pommel.
She jinked past his crumpled form and ran the rest of the way up the steps, sheathing her swords. As she reached the top of the flight the man was at the far end of the roof, just dropping out of sight and Gabriella sprinted in pursuit, as the man ran across the next roof.
Gabriella dropped off the edge without thinking. She landed on a lower roof, the impact jarring her from heels to hips. She rolled back up without losing momentum, and kept running.
Ahead, the man scrambled up a wooden ladder, pausing halfway to look over his shoulder. He then redoubled his speed, and disappeared up on to a higher roof.
Gabriella reached the foot of the ladder and scrambled up it and then she saw that he was across the roof, almost at the opposite edge already, but she was definitely gaining on him. There was a narrow gap between the end of the roof and the roof of the boathouse across the way and Gabriella kept going, landing not far behind her quarry. The tile under her leading foot gave way with a crack and — her heart in her throat — she flung herself forward, grabbing at the roof as the rotted beam under the tiles collapsed. She rolled forward and was off again as a shower of wreckage clattered an awfully long way down inside the building.
The fugitive had now extended his lead, and she pushed herself to keep up. She wasn't running so hard that she didn't have the energy to smile, as she saw the next gap was wider than any they had so far crossed. The chase would soon be over. There was no way the fleeing man could jump across that the way he had jumped the narrow cuttings so far, but nobody seemed to have told the man about the physical impossibility of such a leap as, incredibly, he accelerated off the edge of the roof.
Gabriella darted forward but was careful to not repeat his suicidal error.
As she reached the edge of the roof she saw the man roll face up in mid-air, and the glint of the crossbow's iron lath, just as his fingers clenched on the trigger bar.
Gabriella was already diving before the bolt was launched, flying headlong, out into the space between the roofs.
There was no sudden pain, so she knew the bolt had missed, but now she was also falling.
She slammed into the end of a cartload of straw bales a few seconds after the fugitive. He was already rolling out of the cart and onto the street between boatyards as she landed with outstretched hands. Gabriella rolled out of the cart and slammed onto the cobbles.
Tasting blood, she staggered to her feet. She stumbled off after the fugitive, drawing a sword. She held no illusions that it would be of any use against a crossbow bolt, but she didn't intend to give him the chance to launch another one.
The fugitive dashed towards the large double doors of a warehouse. A small door set into the main doors was ajar. He ducked inside, and Gabriella pushed through a moment later.
The warehouse was half empty, the remaining crates bearing rough scrawls identifying their ownership. It stank of mould and darkness. Bare wooden scaffolds and stairs led up to a catwalk halfway up the wall. The vast space was dark and gloomy, filled with enough pools of shadow to hide an army of ambushers, but there was plenty of dust on the floor, so it was easy to make out the fugitive's tracks.
Trying her best to stick to the shadows herself, Gabriella crept along after the footprints. They led to a trapdoor near the rear of the warehouse. She listened for any sign of the man. There was none. If the cellar was just a bolt-hole, well, even a cornered rat will fight, and the man she was chasing had already showed a willingness to attack. On the other hand, if there was a tunnel to a neighbouring building, or to Kalten's poor excuse for a sewer system, he could be long gone.
She broke off a piece of wood from a crate, opened the trapdoor and tossed it down into the hole, listening for any reaction. There was none, but the wood sounded as if it had hit something, very softly and quietly just before hitting the floor. Taking a deep breath, Gabriella leapt into the hole.
He was waiting for her ten feet down. If she had taken the ladder down she would have got his knife in her back. As it was, he got both her boots in the head, and they tumbled and rolled. The crossbow clattered into the darkness and Gabriella kept a hold of the fugitive's tunic.
He tried to throw her off, spinning and slamming her back against the ladder. Gabriella kneed him in the groin, and then slammed her elbow down between his shoulder blades when he doubled over. She punched him repeatedly before he could recover, then hauled him to his knees and smacked his head against the slick walls until he fell unconscious.
Shaking as she recovered her breath, she leaned against the wall. Was this the man who had shot Rhodon, or just a random sinner? Three people had attacked her as she pursued him, and at least two of them had done so specifically to end that pursuit. That fact suggested that he was more than a man taking an illicit drink.
Now her problem was going to be waking him up.
CHAPTER 3
Rodrigo Kesar watched impassively from a crenulated walkway. The position gave a good view of both the courtyard within the curtain wall, and the esplanade outside and was mercifully out of the way of the people who had to rush around to go places and get things.
Eminence Voivode had taken charge of several guards, and was having them cover the Healers rushing in and out the castle with their shields, as if he thought they were on an open battlefield under constant arrow-storms. Kesar couldn't fault him for his devotion, but he felt those guards could better serve by helping with the perimeter cordon being thrown around the city.
Eminence Fehr was in some kind of argument with vom Kalten's guard captain, and was gesticulating wildly. Doubtless she was trying to take direct control of his troops. Or perhaps she was blaming, or even implicating, them. Kesar wouldn't be surprised.
For his own part, Kesar was content to observe. That, after all, was his talent. The Anointed Lord would probably have heard the news by now relayed to her by a mage, but he doubted that she would want to take any action before reading the report that he would shortly write. Already a courier was being briefed to take a scroll on the first leg of its journey to the Great Cathedral in Scholten.
Rodrigo was careful to keep his expression calm and unreadable. It wouldn't do for anyone to think that an assassin could ruffle any of the Faith's higher ranks. Nor would it do to make light of things and potentially be proved a fool. Kesar always preferred to let others wonder what he was thinking. Usually he was thinking about probabilities. Not odds, he told himself; odds would have made him a gambler, while probabilities made him a mathematician and thinker.