On Uncle Mammot's shoulder squatted a small winged monkey, whose glittering, half-mad gaze followed the young thief's dart across the room to the window opposite the door. Flinging open the shutters Crokus climbed up onto the sill. Below was a squalid, overgrown garden mostly lost in shadows. A lone, gnarled tree rose upward. He eyed the branches across from him, then gripped the window-frame and leaned back. He drew a deep breath, then propelled himself forward.
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As he passed through the intervening gap he heard a surprised grunt come from directly above, then a wild scratching against stone. An instant later someone crashed down into the garden below. Cats shrieked and a voice groaned out a single pained curse.
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Crokus clung to a bowing branch. He timed each bounce of the resilient wood then extended his legs as the branch pulled him up. His moccasins landed on a window-sill and held. Grunting, he swung himself onto it and let go of the branch. He punched at the wooden shutters. They sprang inward and Crokus followed head first, down onto the floor and rolling to his feet.
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He heard movement from another room in the apartment. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted for the hallway door, flung it open and slipped out just as a hoarse voice shouted a curse behind him. Crokus ran to the far end of the passage, where a ladder led to a hatch on the ceiling.
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Soon he was on the roof. He crouched in the darkness and tried to catch his breath. The burning sensation returned to his hip. He must have damaged something in his fall from the guidewire. He reached down to massage the spot and found his fingers pressing something hard, round, and hot. The coin! Crokus reached for it.
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Just then he heard a sudden whistling sound, and chips of stone spattered him. Ducking, he saw a quarrel, its shaft split by the impact, bounce once on the rooftop then plummet over the edge, spinning wildly. A soft moan escaped his lips and he scrambled across the roof to the far side. Without pause he jumped. Ten feet down was an awning, sagged and stretched out of shape, on which he landed. The iron spars framing the canvas dipped but held. From there it was a quick climb down to the street.
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Crokus jogged to the corner, where an old building squatted with yellow light bleeding through dirty windows. A wooden sign hung above the door, bearing the faded image of a bird dead on its back, feet jutting upward. The thief bounded up the steps and pushed open the door.
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A rush of light and noise washed over him like balm. He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it. He closed his eyes, pulling the disguising cloth from his face and head, revealing shoulder length black hair-now dripping with sweat-and regular features surrounding light blue eyes.
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As he reached up to wipe his brow a mug was pushed into his hand. Crokus opened his eyes to see Sulty hurry by, carrying on one hand a tray loaded with pewter tankards. She glanced at him over her shoulder and grinned.
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"Rough night, Crokus?"
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He stared at her, then said, "No, nothing special." He raised the mug to his lips and drank deep.
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Across the street from the ramshackle Phoenix Inn, a hunter stood at the roof's edge and studied the door through which the thief had just passed. The crossbow lay cradled in its arms.
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The second hunter arrived, sheathing two long-knives as it came alongside the first.
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"What happened to you?" the first hunter asked quietly, in its native tongue.
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"Had an argument with a cat."
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The two were silent for a moment, then the first hunter sighed worriedly. "All in all, too awry to be natural."
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The other agreed. "You felt the parting too, then."
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"An Ascendant ... meddled. Too cautious to show itself fully, however."
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"Unfortunate. It's been years since I last killed an Ascendant."
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They began to check their weapons. The first hunter loaded the crossbow and slipped four extra quarrels in its belt. The second hunter removed each long-knife and cleaned it carefully of sweat and grime.
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They heard someone approach from behind, and turned to see their commander.
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"He's in the inn," the second hunter said .
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"We'll leave no witnesses to this secret war with the Guild," the first added.
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The commander glanced at the door of the Phoenix Inn. Then, to the hunters, she said, "No. The wagging tongue of a witness might be useful to our efforts."
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"The runt had help," the first hunter said meaningfully.
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The commander shook her head. "We return to the fold."
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"Very well."
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The two hunters put away their weapons. The first glanced back at the inn and asked, "Who protected him, do you think?"
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The second hunter snarled. "Someone with a sense of humor."
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