Only there weren't.
Not here. Not one.
I was being herded.
He'd gambled on my urge to go to ground. He'd guessed my instinct would choose a narrow alley over a busy market street. Maybe he knew Aspira Nero far better than me. Maybe he'd planned for me to see him; picked his moment, made certain I'd go just where he wanted.
Maybe I was running into a dead end.
I could be wrong. But the next turning was close. Beyond it, my options dwindled to nothing. Here, I had a choice. It wasn't one I dared consider. If I picked wrong, I was done for. Chances were I was done for either way. Maybe all I could hope for was to go out my own way, not Synza's.
I vaulted the railing, wincing as my hurt leg clipped the bar. I landed on damp, steep-angled tiles, barely kept my footing. Now I was facing back the way I'd come. Synza had reached the last turning — and for the first time, his face showed a reaction. For the first time he didn't look like a fox who knew the rabbit had nowhere to go.
I'd dinted his indomitable confidence. This wasn't over.
I hurled myself right. Even as his hand flicked up, even as bright metal glinted, I was falling. Striking the tiles blasted all the air from my lungs.
I didn't care. I could roll without breathing.
I heard the clack of knife on slate. So long as it wasn't the squish of knife in flesh. The rooftop was steep. It didn't take much effort at all to tumble down it. In fact, I doubted very much if I could stop. Well, I didn't intend to try. Instead, I snatched an instant of silent pleading to whatever forces governed the fates of dashing sneak thieves.
Something soft! Something soft! Something…
I fell — onto a second rooftop. It could only have been a short distance; just enough to slam out what little breath I'd managed to recover. This roof was even steeper. I picked up speed. The world was a flurry of tiles and ruddy sky, whipping about my head. I scrunched my eyes. I didn't need to see whatever came next.
I knew when I left the second rooftop that it wasn't another small drop. I knew because I had time enough to realise I was falling. Then I hit something. It wasn't exactly soft. Nor could it take my weight. I'd barely registered the sound of tearing cloth before I struck the ground.
The ground was definitely not soft.
Yet neither had it smashed every bone in my body. Once again, it seemed the universe wanted me alive.
Of course. It couldn't very well torment me if I was dead.
I opened my eyes, took a moment to compensate for my surroundings not spinning. I'd come to rest in another market street, shabbier than the one I'd left. Before me stood the remnants of a small, canopied stand. Half of it was more or less intact, though most of the fruit once exhibited on stacks of crates was now displayed in the road instead. The other half was smashed to rags and firewood.
The stall keeper — who happened, thankfully, to have been inhabiting the undemolished portion — was staring down at me, his eyes huge with shock. With one hand, he made a fluttering gesture that took in the explosion of produce pulped into the cobbles.
My eyes roved up, to the edge of the building I'd plummeted from. I'd covered a respectable distance. But it was more than idle curiosity guiding my gaze; I wouldn't put it past Synza to descend more carefully, hoping for a vantage point and another shot at my life.
No… no assassins. Only a few cracked tiles to mark the point of my departure. I wobbled to my feet. Shakily, I took out an onyx, slipped it into his palm.
"That should cover it," I managed.
This was becoming a habit I could ill afford. If I kept falling through things at this rate, I'd be bankrupt in days, not weeks. He looked at the coin, looked at the damage, performed a few swift mental calculations. "Just about."
"Well then." I teetered, managed with considerable effort to stay on my feet. My mouth felt bloated and tasted of blood. "Could you point me to the Fourth Orphan?"
He considered, pointed downhill. "Second left onto White Flag Way, then the first right. Follow Longditch."
"Thanks. Pleasure doing business."
I reeled away, before he could decide he was being entirely too cordial to someone who'd just annihilated his livelihood. Through the fog of pain and disorientation, I tried to make sense of the last few minutes. Might Synza have waited in Aspira Nero on the chance we'd pass through? Then again, I'd hardly been covering my tracks since Casta Canto. It wouldn't have taken a skilled tracker to follow my trail; anyone asking the right questions in the right places could have managed it.
That being the case, I had to assume he knew where I'd be heading now. He might even be moving to cut me off. Perhaps that should have changed my plans, but I was too battered and fuddled to formulate any sort of plan. If I was to survive another night, I could think of only one solution. It was indescribably unappealing — but marginally better than letting Synza bury a knife in my throat.
I'd followed the stall keeper's directions without any conscious attention. Ahead of me was the Fourth Orphan. Though the crowds were thinning with the press of evening, there was still a fair amount of traffic past its entrance. Even if Synza was on my tail, I had to hope that would protect me. I lurched through the throng, across the yard and inside — all without being murdered. Steadying myself against the door frame, I called to the serving girl, "The man I came in with earlier… is he here?"
"He's taken a room upstairs. Third from the stairs." Her eyes stayed on me. Bruised, dripping with the detritus of smashed fruit, I must have made quite a sight. "Do you need me to call a guard?"
"Just an accident," I told her. "More my fault than his. Should have thought about where I was going."
That at least was true.
She didn't look entirely convinced, though. Fortunately, a patron at the far end of the bar chose that moment to call for wine, and I took the opportunity to limp upstairs. I made my way to the door she'd identified, rapped three times.
It took Alvantes a while to open up. When he did, it was with an expression of caution that, recognising me, he changed rapidly to disgust. "I didn't think you'd dare return." Then, registering my appearance, his eyes narrowed. "What in the Hells have you been up to?"
"Alvantes… it's Synza. I know you know the name. Mounteban sent him after me, and he's been on my tail ever since Altapasaeda. I thought I'd lost him…"
Alvantes's blow was so sudden, so unexpected, that it carried me off my feet. It was all I could do to stop myself tumbling over the balcony. Instinct made me tense for another attack. Only when seconds had passed and none came did I dare look up.
Alvantes hadn't moved from his spot. His fist hung tensed at his side.
"You bastard," I mumbled, massaging my jaw, "what was that for?"
"All this time — you put us all in danger. You put Marina in danger. You'd have led a killer to the King's very door if he'd let you. Why didn't you tell me this straight away?"
I hoisted myself to my feet, keeping a careful distance from Alvantes's still-clenched hand. "Because you wouldn't have done a thing. In fact, you'd have probably left me somewhere for him to find, with a note thanking him for all his hard work."
"You damned fool," he said. "Is that what you believe?"
It wasn't, of course. However much Alvantes disliked me, I knew he hated a career killer like Synza more. "All right. What could you have done? How exactly would you have protected me?"
Alvantes's expression changed, the anger ebbing abruptly. "Get inside, Damasco."
I did as instructed — though warily. The room was spare, the only furnishings a narrow bed, a small chest and a single chair. I sank into it, almost sobbing as my battered muscles relaxed. "You didn't answer my question," I said.
"You're right. There probably wasn't anything I could have done. Synza's not just some twelfth-onyx thug. There were a dozen murders in Altapasaeda I suspected him of, but I could never find one shred of evidence."