"Sit," he suggested. They sank onto adjacent buckets, sagged into silence, and waited.
"What if this place gets searched properly?"
The Masked shrugged. "Too many 'what ifs' keep you from doing anything in life. Think less, and do more. The gods can decide who lives and dies without any help from our over-careful planning."
"A life-view I've heard a time or two before," she replied-and yawned, suddenly tired. "And would be more interested in hearing again after I'd had a good night's sleep. Hopefully somewhere that wouldn't end with me spied upon, or clapped in chains, or branded on my behind for Mereir or Telcanor."
"Forehead," The Masked corrected her. "Insolent slaves get branded on their foreheads."
Tantaerra yawned again. "More fascinating lore, masked man. Tell me in the morning."
∗ ∗ ∗
A prodding finger found her ribs a long and silent time later, and she struck it away sharply. "No, I'm not asleep. I just want to be. It's quieter; have they finished killing each other yet?"
"No," The Masked whispered. "In fact, they're searching the stree-"
"More here, sir!" came a crisp, loud voice that rang with satisfaction, startlingly close, as a suddenly unhooded lantern flared blindingly. "Hiding back around-urrrkh!"
Satisfied that a Watchsword communicates far less articulately with the end of a freshly cut floorboard thrust hard into his throat, The Masked used the plank to ruthlessly drive the gurgling defender of Braganza over backward, loudly shattering the lantern. He and Tantaerra sprinted out of their hiding place and across the now dimly lamplit street.
"There!" someone shouted. "After them!"
"Again?" Tantaerra sighed. "Don't any Braganzans ever sleep? Or do they save their snoring for broad day when they're up ladders and scaffolds, raising fresh edifices to stand empty to the greater glory of Abadar?"
The Masked was loping along just ahead of her, familiar worn bootheels flashing, and she contented herself with following him, dodging when he dodged.
He ran right past a pile of stained wooden forms, mallets, and old rope, then a cluster of barrels, only to suddenly stop at a second stand of barrels, heave one out of a cross-cradle, and set it to rolling with a dull thud and sloshing sounds.
Tantaerra leaped for the stars, only just in time, coming down beyond the barrel. It rumbled on across uneven cobbles, back the way they'd come, and she hastened to get past The Masked as he wrestled more barrels over with various crashes and sent them after the first one.
"First lot were sand," he panted, "but these're water and only half-full …we'll see how good at jumping these Watchswords are!"
Behind them rose the first startled shouts, thuds, and pained groans and curses.
Not all that good, evidently.
There was still enough lamplight for Tantaerra to see The Masked turn away, snatch up something from the ground, and hurry for a dark gap in the night-shadowed walls ahead. Another alley mouth.
"Halt!" a man's voice snapped out of it, as they came running up. "I thought you'd flee this way! In the name of Lord Ravnagask, stand and yield!"
A drawn sword flashed out to underscore the commands. The Masked parried that blade with something in his hands-then leaned forward and dropped it, with some care.
There came a thud, a wild howl of pain, and the clang of a dropped sword as the Watchsword bent to clutch at his crushed toes, boot still caught under the roof-slate The Masked had so thoughtfully gifted him with.
Then they were past and sprinting hard into deeper darkness, skimming unseen stone walls with their right elbows as they went.
The clangs and crashings were all coming from behind them now, and growing fainter.
"Slow, now," The Masked murmured, an instant before Tantaerra had been about to say the same words. They went from running to walking, trying to pant as quietly as they could, as they crossed another street and then another, their alley wider and straighter now. All around soared dark and empty stone mansions, tall and new and splendid. Twice The Masked halted suddenly and crouched low, peering into the night ahead.
"Watchswords?" Tantaerra hissed, the second time.
"No. Rats. The human sort. Lairing in these empty houses, and coming out at night to forage."
"Steal, you mean."
"Such candor, little one!"
"Cut the cleverness, masked man, and devote your wits to finding us a safe place to sleep! Preferably before the sun is up!"
"Ever the loving ally," The Masked sighed.
"Ever the overconfident scoundrel," Tantaerra shot back.
"Thank you," he said grandly, bowing as if she'd paid him the greatest of courtly compliments.
Tantaerra gave him a snarl. "Well? Safe sleeping place?"
"Being as we don't know the local sewers and cellars, and the rooms aboveground house honest citizens or their less law-abiding kin, that leaves us roofs as our best shelter-being as it doesn't look or smell like rain soon."
"Agreed. So find us the best roof."
The Masked leaned close to murmur in her ear, "I work best in silence."
Tantaerra nodded and gave it to him, and he strode on.
There will come a time, she thought, when I don't have to be always running, always fighting. When I can lounge around, and doze, and not have to be always on my guard. I just hope that time comes before I'm on my deathbed.
Tantaerra left off that line of thinking as she saw a faint reflection off something metallic in front of her. She whirled around. The lanterns of a Watchguard patrol had turned a distant corner, and were coming closer.
"Whither now, masked man?" she hissed.
"Wait and watch. Our safest sleeping place will be one they've searched, and so won't search again. Unless, of course, you snore loudly."
"I do not-" Tantaerra caught hold of her temper with both hands, then whispered icily, "Know, sirrah, that ladies do not snore."
"So I've heard, though I can say from tiresome experience that some do. Yet I wasn't speaking of ladies. I was speaking of you."
Tantaerra gave him her best glare.
The lanterns arrived at a swift trot, voices rising in gruff excitement, and a Watchsword barked an order that brought many swords from sheaths.
"So?" Tantaerra hissed. "Just where do we hide, hey?"
The Masked shrugged. "We don't. Come on."
"There!" a Watchsword bellowed promptly. "Fleeing from us!"
"A man and a boy!" another Watchsword barked. "Take them for questioning!"
The heavy-booted charge sounded like a stampede of frightened oxen. It was quite loud enough to cover Tantaerra snarling into The Masked's ear, "What happened to waiting until they checked the building, then hiding?"
"New plan."
Tantaerra ran after him, seething. "Do you always act the reckless fool?"
"No," The Masked replied calmly. "Only when I must." He flung himself around a half-seen corner and added, "Since I entered your service, it's seemed a 'must' fairly often. That might just have something to do with your act, little one."
"You," Tantaerra seethed, "are the most gods-damned annoying-"
Some of these Watchswords were fast. They were right behind Tantaerra now, and she swallowed the curses she felt like spitting and saved her breath for scampering. Really scampering.
They charged into a pitch darkness, and The Masked gave a grunt that sounded like he'd been hurt, followed by a crash as someone slammed heavily into a wall-and then the thunder of the onrushing Watchswords.
Tantaerra shrank back into a corner, trying to look small-and then blurted out an involuntary "Eep!" as someone grabbed her by the back of the neck, half hair and half her gorget-collar, and pulled her down and back, through a hole or panel she hadn't known was there, and down, down-