I bolt out the door after him, yelling for Boulder. By the time Boulder reaches the entrance, the intruder and I will be long gone, but at least he’ll be able to close the door behind me. I’m not pausing for even a second to haul that big-ass door shut.
The man I’m chasing is already scaling the bridge wall. I’ve climbed the same wall more times than I can count, and I’m lighter. It takes me half the time to get to the top and launch myself onto the wide stone balustrade. I race along it, but damn—he’s fast. Long-legged, obviously fit.
In Belgate, even in the wee hours, there are always people on the bridges—pedestrians, lurkers, streetwalkers, hustlers, and peddlers, along with a passing wagon, a carriage, or a couple of cabs. I don’t see any constables or watchmen though. As long as they’re not in view, I don’t have to worry about anyone interfering. And from what I know of the City Watch, most of the guards wouldn’t care about a couple of lowlifes involved in afoot chase. They’d probably shrug and go back to drinking from their pocket flasks or flirting with the sex workers on the corner.
The intruder runs lightly along the bridge balustrade, leaps off the end, and veers sharply left, nearly getting trampled by a horse. I dart behind a passing coach and chase him down the nearest alley.
He does a one-footed bound off the alley wall, springs onto the tiled roof of a shed, grabs the balcony railing above him, and swings nimbly onto it. His boots stay on the railing for only a second before he’s climbing higher, crawling up the building like a spider. There’s a blithe swiftness to his movements, a gleeful flair to his body language, almost like he’s enjoying himself.
I match him move for move, annoyed because until now, no one has been able to best me when it comes to running Belgate at night. Of all my skills, I’m most proud of my ability to navigate the crooked streets, slopes, and rooftops of the city with speed and stamina unmatched by any other thief. And yet tonight, I’m being outrun.
Who is this fool, anyway?
The Javelins are far from being the only gang of thieves in the city. I know most of the members of the Clappers, the Rotten Hands, and the other major players under the umbrella of the Consortium, our regional thieves’ guild. This man doesn’t move like any of them.
He could be from Swallowfox. They’re newer to the scene, a hot gang with especially vicious members. They’ve snagged a few gigs I had my eye on. But they primarily work in the Ivory Quarter. I haven’t seen them near the Lesser Canal before.
If the members of Swallowfox are trying to broaden their territory, it could mean increasing hostility and an all-out war. If that happens, the Consortium will get involved. They might even dictate that my crew must be absorbed into Swallowfox to avoid chaos and bloodshed. They’ve forced similar mergers in the past.
A thieves’ war, abandonment by my crew, or a forced blending of the Javelins with another gang. All the possibilities I can foresee make me so frustrated I want to scream. But instead of screaming, I push my anger through my muscles, willing them to work harder and faster as I scamper and leap after the intruder.
He’s running along rooftops now, the stupid motherfucker. These aren’t the well-constructed brownstones along the waterfront; these are some of the poorest tenement buildings in the Lesser Canal area. The roofs here are not very sturdy. He’s going to end up crashing through somebody’s ceiling.
“Are you insane?” I yell. “Stop!”
“Then stop chasing me,” he calls over his shoulder, skidding down a slanted bit of roof and jumping over to the next building. He pauses there, lightly balanced on a ledge.
There are streetlamps below and a partial moon above, but all I can see is his silhouette. He’s covered head to toe in black gear, including gloves.
“What were you after?” I ask. “Did you come to kill us?”
“If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead,” he says cheerfully.
“Bullshit. You couldn’t get through the door without getting tangled in a tripwire. I could have slit your throat while you were bumbling around like a clumsy toddler.”
“Really?” He chuckles. “A pitiful insult, given how easily I’ve been outrunning you. True, you caught me off guard with the trip wire, but it won’t happen again.”
“It won’t. Because you’ll be dead.”
“Is that why you’re following me? To slit my throat? Or maybe you want something else. Are you still looking for a little carnal comfort?”
I frown, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The promise I made you. That I’d be the best fuck of your life.”
Ohshit.
“You’re that asshole? From the Puzzled Coin?” My rage mounts even higher. I wish I could remember what that man looked like. He was attractive in a nondescript kind of way, and I can’t conjure an image of his face in my mind. But he’s obviously been thinking about me. “Is that why you broke in? To—have me?”
“Sure, sweetheart.” He strikes a dramatic, languishing pose, with the back of his hand against his masked brow. “Fair thief, ever since the night I met you I’ve been obsessed with your body, simply crazed with desire. I will not rest until I can run my hands over those skinny legs and that flat chest.”
My face flames at his sarcastic tone. I’m suddenly conscious of what I’m wearing—a scanty black shirt with tiny straps, shorts that barely cover my ass, and a pair of black socks through which two of my toes are showing. My heels are already protesting at all the running I’ve been doing on hard stone. I should have put on my boots before I chased him.
“Relax, love,” he continues. “My interest in you is purely professional, and that’s all I’m going to say. You may as well give up and go back to bed. You won’t catch me, and if by some miracle you do... well, let’s just say I’d rather not harm a woman—not even the notorious Devilry of the Javelins.”
When I met him at the Puzzled Coin, I used a false name, but he has learned my thief name. It makes sense that he would, if he’s a member of a rival gang who’s targeting us.
“You’re worried about harming me?” I bark a laugh. “You should be more worried about how you’ll manage to drag your sorry ass home when I’m done with you.”
