“No noise,” she whispered. “I’ll go in after the necklace. You watch the roof. Make sure the plank stays right where we need it.”
“Wh-what if something happens?”
“Pound the floor three times. If something happens that you can see before I do, won’t be anything for us to do but flee anyway. Don’t ever use my name if you call out.”
“I won’t. Good … um, good luck—”
But she was already gone, and a moment later he heard a faint set of clicks. Somewhere in the garden, Sabetha was picking a lock. A moment later she had it, and the hinges of a door creaked ever so faintly.
Locke stood guard at the plank for many long minutes, constantly glancing around, although he admitted to himself that a dozen grown men could have been hiding in the darkness of the vines and leaves around him. Occasionally he popped above the parapet and glanced back across the narrow bridge. The other rooftop remained reassuringly empty.
Locke was just settling back down from his fourth or fifth peek across the way when he heard a commotion beneath his feet. He knelt down and placed one ear against the warm stone; it was a murmur. One person talking, then another. A rising chorus of adult voices. Then the shouting began.
“Oh, shit,” Locke whispered.
There was a series of thumps from the direction Sabetha had gone, then the loud bang of a door being thrown open. She flew out of the shadows at him, grabbed him by the arms, and heaved him onto the plank.
“Go, go, go,” she said, breathlessly. “Fast as you can.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just go, gods damn it! I’ll steady the plank.”
Locke scuttled across the fifteen feet to safety as fast as he’d ever moved in his life, so fast that he tumbled off the parapet on arrival and tucked into an ungainly roll to avoid landing teeth-first. He popped up, head spinning, and whirled back toward Sabetha.
“Come on,” he cried. “Come on!”
“The rope,” she hissed. “Get down the fucking rope!”
“I’ll s-steady the plank for you now.” Locke clamped his hands onto it, gritted his teeth, and braced himself, knowing with some part of his mind just how ridiculous a display of such feeble strength must look. Why was she not coming?
“THE ROPE,” she yelled. “GO!”
Locke looked up just in time to see tall dark shapes burst out of the garden behind her. Adults. Their arms were reaching for her, but she wasn’t trying to escape; she wasn’t even turning toward them. Instead her hands were on the plank, and she was—
“No,” Locke screamed. “NO!”
Sabetha was seized from behind and hoisted into the air, but as she went up she managed to swivel her end of the plank just off the parapet and push it into empty space. Locke felt the terrible sensation of that weight tipping and plummeting into the alley, far too much for him to hold back. His end of the plank leapt up and cracked against his chin, knocking him backward, and as he was landing on his posterior he heard the echoing crash of the plank hitting the ground four stories below.
“GO,” yelled Sabetha one more time. Her shout ended in a muffled cry, and Locke spat blood as he clambered back to his feet.
“The other roof!” A new voice, a man. “Get down to the street!”
Locke wanted to stay, to keep Sabetha in sight, to do something for her, but his feet, ever faster than his wits, were already carrying him away. He snatched at the rope as he stumbled along, threw it over the opposite parapet, and without hesitation he flung himself over the edge. The stones flew past, and the pressure of the rope against his palm rapidly grew into a hot, searing pain. He yowled and let go of the rope just as he reached the bottom, all but flinging himself the last five feet to land gracelessly in a heap.
Nothing seemed broken. His chin ached, his palms felt as though they’d been skinned with a dull axe, and his head was still spinning, but at least nothing seemed broken. He stumbled into a run. As his bare feet slapped against the cobbles of the road the door to the target house burst open, revealing two men outlined in golden light. An instant later they were after him with a shout.
Locke sprinted into the darkness of the alley, willing his legs to rise and fall like water-engine pistons. He knew that he would need every inch of the lead he already had if he hoped to escape. Vague black shapes loomed out of the shadows like something from a nightmare, only transforming into normal objects as he ran past—empty barrels, piles of refuse, broken wagons.
Behind him came the slap-slap-slap of booted feet. Locke sucked in his breath in short, sharp gasps and prayed he wouldn’t run across a broken pot or bottle. Bare feet were better for climbing, but in a dead run someone with shoes had every advantage. The men were getting closer—
Something slammed into Locke so forcefully that his first thought was that he’d struck a wall. His breath exploded out of him, and his next impression was a confused sense of movement. Someone grabbed him by his tunic and threw him down; someone else leapt out of the darkness and sprinted in the direction he’d been headed. Someone about his size or a little bigger .…
“Shhhh,” whispered one of the Sanzas, directly into his ear. “Play dead.”
Locke was lying with his cheek against wet stone, staring at a narrow opening into a brick-walled passage. He realized he’d been yanked into a smaller alley branching off the one he’d tried to escape down. The Sanza restraining him pulled something heavy, damp, and fetid down around them, leaving only the thinnest space exposed for them to see out of. A split second later Locke’s two pursuers pounded past, huffing and swearing. They continued after the shape that had taken Locke’s place and didn’t spare a glance for the two boys huddled under cover a few feet away.
“Calo will give ’em a good chase, then get back to us once they’re slipped,” said the Sanza after a few seconds.
“Galdo,” said Locke. “They got her. They got Beth.”
“We know.” Galdo pushed aside their camouflage. It looked like an ancient leather coat, gnawed by animals and covered in every possible foulness an alley could cultivate. “When we heard the shouting we ran for it and got in position to grab you. Quick and quiet now.”
Galdo hoisted Locke to his feet, turned, and padded down the branch alley.
“They got her,” repeated Locke, suddenly aware that his cheeks were hot with tears. “They got her, we have to do something, we have to—”
“I bloody well know.” Galdo seized him by the hand and pulled him along. “Chains will tell us what to do. Come on.”
As Sabetha had promised, Chains wasn’t far. Galdo pulled Locke west, toward the docks, to the rows of cheaper warehouses beside the canal that marked the farthest boundary of the Razona. Chains was waiting there, in plain clothes and a long brown coat, inside an empty warehouse that smelled of rot and camphor. When the two boys stumbled in the door, Chains shook a weak light from an alchemical globe and hurried over to them.
“It went wrong,” said Galdo.
“They got her,” said Locke, not caring that he was bawling. “They got her, I’m sorry, they just, they just got her.” Locke threw himself at Father Chains, and the man, without hesitation, scooped him up and held him, patting his back until his racking sobs quieted down.
“There, boy, there,” said Chains. “You’re with us now. All’s well. Who got her? Can you tell me?”
“I don’t know … men in the house.”
“Not yellowjackets?”
“I don’t … I don’t think so. I’m sorry, I couldn’t … I tried to think of something, but—”
“There was nothing you could have done,” said Chains firmly. He set Locke down and used a coat sleeve to dry his cheeks. “You managed to get away, and that was enough.”
“We didn’t g-get … the necklace—”
“Fuck the necklace.” Chains turned to the Sanza who’d brought Locke in. “Where’s Galdo?”
“I’m Galdo.”
“Where’s—”
“Calo’s ditching a couple of men that chased us.”