Kair Toren had none of that. If I were to stumble into a Guard station as I was, wrapped in my nasty rag, they would throw me back out on the street and tell me to thank my lucky stars they hadn’t done anything worse.
The city was huge, filled with tall stone buildings that had sturdy doors and barred windows. The pouring rain had chased everyone indoors, and the stores were shuttered. Theft wasn’t an option. I couldn’t even panhandle, and if I tried, I’d be beaten up. The beggars of Kair Toren were brutal and notoriously territorial. My first evening here, I’d had the bright idea to try one of the temples for charity and ran into a pack of them fighting in front of the entrance. I had never in my life seen people ripping into each other out in the open like that. The last time I’d watched someone fight was in high school and that was mostly two guys rolling around on the ground. These people were literally beating each other to death with rocks and stomping on prone bodies, and nobody was doing anything about it. I got out of there as fast as I could.
I drank rainwater when I was thirsty and prayed I wouldn’t get dysentery. I squatted in alleys when I had to pee. I’d torn two armholes in my blanket and tied it around myself so I could run away fast if I had to. I hid wherever I could to sleep and had only managed a few hours in the last three nights. I had to fight off ravenous magic otter-foxes. The first day I was in denial and expecting the nightmare to end, the second, I was desperate and scared, and now only a grim determination remained. I’d invested weeks of my life into those cursed books. I knew them cover to cover. I would survive. Kair Toren wouldn’t kill me. I wouldn’t give it the satisfaction.
Last night, I stumbled onto a large plaza with a blue obelisk in the center. In the books it was called Bluestone Square, and there was a signboard by the obelisk where the government posted announcements. When I found it, I learned two things: I could read Rellasian and yesterday was the fifth of Planter, the last month of spring, of the year 3044.
I was at the end of chapter one of the first book. Today after four pm a man called Lecke would cross the Estret Bridge. He was a scummy, sniveling prick, the kind of character that makes you wait an entire book for a rock to fall on his head and crush his skull.
When Lecke was eighteen years old, his parents died in a mill fire. He didn’t set it, but it had served his purposes beautifully. He had wanted to get out of the countryside for a while, and now he could sell everything they owned and take off for greener pastures. Unfortunately for him, his two younger brothers, one ten and the other seven, didn’t perish with his parents; so Lecke strangled them in their sleep, threw their bodies into the nearest ravine, and told the village that they had gone to live with his nonexistent aunt and uncle. That was only the beginning of his career, and it had gone from bad to worse. Now he made his money as a fence, buying and selling bloodstained jewelry and other valuables brought to his door late at night by people with vicious eyes.
Today, Lecke would be carrying a bag of money from a particularly good haul. I had to get that bag.
I studied my rock. Normally, a man in Lecke’s profession would have a bodyguard, but he didn’t trust anyone. Instead, he carried a knife and was very good with it. Trying to attack him, with my head swimming from hunger and only a rock as my weapon, was suicide. But I was out of options.
As if on cue, someone walked out from the mouth of the street at the other side of the river and stepped onto the bridge. The Estret was one of the city’s narrower bridges, about a hundred feet long but only fifteen feet wide, guarded by a hip-high stone rail. Surprise was my best bet. I had to snatch the bag and run, because if he caught me, it would all be over.
I scooped up a handful of mud that had accumulated by the wall of the building next to me and smeared it on my face. If I did manage to get away, no need to be recognized later.
The figure kept walking, unhurried despite the rain.
I grabbed my rock, tugged the ragged blanket into place, and ventured out into the open. My bare toes had turned into icicles long ago. I didn’t walk, I lurched like some zombie.
Get the bag. Get the bag. Get the bag . . .
The distance between us shrank, the curtain of rain thinning as we came closer to each other. I could see his cloak now, a deep hunter green. Yes, this was my man.
If worse came to worst, I could grab the bag and jump into the river. I swam in the ocean every summer vacation since I was little.
I glanced over the rail. The waters of the Koreg River churned below, dark brown from silt.
I would probably survive it. Probably.
I stumbled to the other side of the bridge, as if avoiding Lecke. He showed no sign of noticing me.
Twenty feet. Ten. Five.
The world snapped into terrifying clarity.
We passed each other on the opposite sides of the bridge like two ships in the night.
I spun around and charged at him, swinging my rock.
He must’ve sensed me coming because he turned, but not fast enough. My rock connected with his skull. Lecke stumbled. I leaped at him and thrust my hands under his cloak. My fingers clutched thick canvas, and something inside it made a metallicclink.
I yanked the bag away from him with all my strength, throwing the weight of my body into it. It came free.
I did it!
Lecke lunged at me. Something sharp and cold bit into my side, and I saw him up close, deep-set piggish eyes staring at me from a face twisted with rage.
He’d stabbed me.
The cold blade bit into me again and again, slicing through my insides. I tried to back away, but the stone rail of the bridge dug into my butt, and he was so fast.
Lecke grabbed the bag and jerked back. I clung to it.
“Let go!” he snarled.
