The second time around, his legs ached but he knew sleep was still a long way off.
The third time around, his muscles strained and his breath came as gasps. He would have to rinse himself well at the basin. Aaron leaned over in the empty street for a moment, dangling his arms over the cobblestones, before jogging over to his door. He unlatched the lock and paused. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
Someone was there. Someone or something.
A gust of wind rolled through, blowing his jacket up, and yet he stood, frozen, waiting. The air stopped swirling and he remained. He might be out of practice with his street stealth. But in light of recent events, he’d better regain it quickly.
He could outlast anyone. The minutes ticked by and the temperature dropped, but Aaron didn’t even pull his jacket to his body. No, he would not be the first to blink. He would not.
Scritch.
The small noise rang in the silence like a shot.
Ha. He was not the only one off balance. His lip curled as he relaxed into character, no longer the hunted, but a worthy adversary. He turned in the direction from whence the sound came, toward an alley across the way. “I know you’re there,” he called. “You might as well show yourself.”
Silence.
“It’s practically morning. The shops are going to open soon,” he tried again, making his voice as confident as possible. “Someone will notice you.” He stepped toward the alley.
No response, but another low scratching noise. Aaron sighed. Probably a cane. Well, he had been meaning to check on Miriam. After all, he hadn’t seen her for a few days. His body slumped as he fell out of the role of false tough and back into his own boring self.
“Come on, Miriam. You can stop toying with me. If you have information for me, I’d be grateful. If you need something, let me know. If not, let me sleep, but don’t hang around like a ghost.” He cupped his mouth to make his words heard in the dark.
And another gust of wind whirled through, blowing bits of debris through the street, almost hard enough to force him backward. Aaron pressed a hand over his face to shield himself, holding steady as the howling breeze calmed enough to reveal the sound of scurrying feet.
“Mr. Ellenberg?” a voice called out, followed by coughing.
He whirled around.
“Miriam?” He glanced back at the alley, his heart now in his throat.
“What are you doing out here?” The woman stepped from the shadows, her ever-present cloak hiding her features as always and—wait. Aaron paused—hadn’t the noise come from the other direction . . . ? He squinted. Was he imagining things? Perhaps the lack of sleep was really getting to him.
“I just got back from the Lira house and . . .” He bit his lip, his mind working out how to ask the question without seeming as if he was hearing things. “I beg your pardon, but were you in the alley?”
“The alley? No.” Miriam’s hood shook. “I came from my house. I do have one of those, you know. I may spy on the streets, but I don’t actually live on them.” She tapped her cane against the stones. “On the matter you had me look into, I have news. Or at least an opportunity to convey.”
Which was good. Except . . . he’d heard something. Hadn’t he? His heart sped again as he gazed around the still-empty street.
Something was off.
Though with the woman there, it was certainly not the time to investigate, only to protect her. Because having her hurt due to her association with him . . . Aaron shook his head.
Never. He’d never let that happen. He moved around the woman, shielding her body as he indicated his door. “Let’s step into my room.” He offered his arm, which she refused, but she still moved in the direction he’d pointed. “For some privacy.” And some safety.
Aaron swallowed as he gave the ominous space one last glance. Pulling his coat closer to his body, he unlocked the door and followed Miriam down into limited safety.
After lighting the lamps so the windowless room was more cave at dusk than forbidden cavern, Aaron leaned against the door. Miriam sniffed around before sitting on the edge of his rumpled bed.
“If you don’t like it, you should tell the Commission of Delegates to get one of those big machers to make a nice donation to the synagogue to improve the furnishings. Or perhaps send someone to do the cleaning and keeping, like I do for the main building,” he grumbled before testing the air himself. Oy. He probably should wash the sheets. Though truth be told, he’d barely slept since that first night in Isabelle’s garden.
At least he’d been using the basin regularly for his body. He had some pride, after all. And his garments were new and clean—sort of. Borrowed and clean—ish.
“Perhaps I shall. And perhaps I’ll ask for a little aid myself. After all, I’m not the kind of woman who’s talented with laundry either.” Miriam settled her legs on either side of her cane.
“Fair enough.” Aaron rubbed the back of his neck. “I hate to be rude, but what is this news you have for me?” Oy, still rude. Mercy, he was tired and out of sorts.
“I’ll answer that shortly.” Miriam shifted, and the bed creaked and groaned. “But first, I think you need to tell me some things.” She pressed down further on the cane. “What’s happening with Miss Lira and Mr. Weiss?”
