– I thought you'd escaped through the window, – Thorn mumbled, entering and closing the door.
– Wanted to, but not an option, – Saigo replied evenly. – There were two outside. Another pair in the alley. Hmm… – He put a finger to his lips. – Covering the escape routes, they didn't used to do that.
Saigo caught his questioning look, still drilling into him with a silent question. How? Where?
– In apartments, they used to make recesses for storing food, particularly in the walls, – Saigo explained without emotion. – And since this house was once residential... the recess remained. Behind that wardrobe.
He pointed a finger at the side wall. Thorn approached, noisily moved the heavy wardrobe aside. A small but deep niche gaped in the rough masonry, covered from above by a sliding panel of thin boards and plaster.
– Clever, dirty, and effective. Luckily, they didn't check the walls, – Saigo noted. – Otherwise, it could have gotten awkward...
– That's an understatement! – Thorn imagined the depth of the shit he'd be in if Saigo were found in his shop.
His face immediately turned from pale to ashen. A slight smirk, which appeared for a moment, gave way to utmost seriousness, almost cruelty, in his small eyes. He turned to Saigo: – Would you care to tell me, my dear friend, – Thorn's voice became low and dangerous, – why the Empress's guard is personally looking for you? Which means, essentially, the whole city? Huh?
Saigo just shrugged; he'd arrived half an hour ago and hadn't had time to grasp the local affairs yet.
Thorn grabbed the back of his head, rubbing it nervously. – Oh right, you probably don't know?! – The butcher scratched his head…
– The whole city's in an uproar! Linsi, well, that fat merchant who supposedly took down the dragon? He was accused of cheating! Grabbed and given the full treatment! And yesterday it all came out... – he paused, looking Saigo straight in the eyes, – ...thanks to the testimony of his own servants. The loyalty of those who work for gold, you know...
Saigo listened, not moving. His face like a stone mask showed no emotion. When Thorn continued, his voice was quieter, ominous:
– ...and all thanks to the one who ratted him out. Some psycho burst right into the middle of the engagement ceremony and started screeching like a stuck pig... Mmm, let me remember... his name was... Akino, I think? A baron, apparently...
Saigo's fingers clenched. Not just clenched they cracked so loudly and clearly in the room's silence that Thorn instinctively took a step back toward the door. The air suddenly became thick and prickly.
– My mistake, – Saigo said aloud. His voice was even, but steel vibrated in it. – Where is he now?
– Don't know exactly... Probably in the palace dungeons... Wait! What are you doing?! – Thorn saw Saigo's gaze become utterly empty, directed somewhere through the walls, toward the palace. Anger—cold, murderous—flowed through his veins, clouding his reason. The professional had learned of his failure. And the price for it was one completing the job.
– I'll handle it, – Saigo threw out shortly, taking a step toward the door.
Thorn grabbed his arm firmly. His palm was strong, accustomed to chopping meat.
– Kid, don't be stupid! If what he said is true, the whole city, the whole guard will be looking for you now! You need to get out! Right now! Through the back way! I'll help! I have reliable people!
Saigo jerked his arm sharply, breaking free. His movement was fast, like a snake strike.
– No! – his cry, quiet but full of undeniable force, made Thorn recoil. – No witnesses left alive. One of the golden rules of the Kotto Clan. – He looked straight at Thorn, and his eyes held no doubt, no fear. Only icy resolve. – I made a mistake. And I need to fix it. Personally and now. While he still breathes, while he can still talk… who knows what else he might share with the royal personage…
…
As soon as Guard Yang stepped out onto the mud-filled street, doubt began to gnaw at him. Years of service in the palace, among bootlickers, intriguers, and outright liars, had honed his attention to detail to a razor's edge.
And that butcher... he was a red flag on almost every point of suspicion: too calm, too "clean," found the right key too quickly, shrugged his shoulders too deliberately. Everything was too...
He walked, his mind spinning: "Maybe I should have offered him money?" Of course, no one would allocate funds for such an expense —"for a bribe to an informant."
He'd have to use his own, hard-saved money, put aside for a rainy day. But the reward... If he could pull even a single thread leading to this Saigo, it would be worth it. The Empress wasn't stingy with those who found her "interests." And the farther he got from the stinking shop, the deeper this worm of doubt burrowed into his brain, the stronger the feeling of a missed opportunity grew.
– Ah, to hell with it! – he muttered sharply under his breath, suddenly turning 180 degrees. The watchmen, trailing behind and already dreaming of a mug of beer, exchanged puzzled glances.
– Where are we going, sir? – one asked, scratching behind his ear.
– I'll try to talk to him alone, – Yang said shortly. – Wait for me nearby, and… – He moved closer, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets… – You sit quieter than water and wait... – The slightly frightened watchmen nodded.
He left them in a dirty neighboring alley that reeked of rotten cabbage and urine, and headed back himself. Not to the front door, where they'd just been thrown out, but to the butcher shop's back entrance.
He moved stealthily, pressing against the walls, trying not to splash his boots in puddles. Approaching, he heard muffled but tense voices from behind the door. An argument? Reproaches? He couldn't make out the words, but the tone was harsh.
Yang cautiously pressed against the keyhole. He saw blurrily: the butcher Thorn, his face contorted with anger and... fear? He was holding someone by the sleeve. Yang strained his eyesight.
– Are you an idiot?!
– Let go, you moron! Or you'll really lose fingers! – an unfamiliar voice came from inside, louder than the others. – A dissatisfied customer, then? I'm just in time...
This was the chance. Yang shoved the door sharply. The old wood gave way with a crack, tearing out the rotten lock. He burst into the shop, ready to play the role of savior from the "dissatisfied customer," and... was stunned.
In unison, as if on command, two pairs of eyes stared at him. Thorn, his face still twisted with rage. And a kid. About twenty. Hair carelessly cut. Gray hair (not white, but unusual enough), falling over his forehead. And cold green eyes that in the shop's semi-darkness seemed almost glowing. Just like in the portrait.
Time froze for a split second. Yang saw how those green eyes Saigo's eyes instantly assessed the situation: one guard, door blocked, but the exit to the street was clear. But there was no fear. Only lightning-fast calculation.
Before Yang could shout "Stop!" or draw his sword, the kid, with a deft, snakelike movement, twisted his arm out of the stunned Thorn's grip. Not a push, not a blow just a disappearance from the hold. And shot like an arrow not towards the exit (where Yang stood), but deeper into the shop, towards the narrow stairs to the second floor!
– Stop, kid! ALAAARM! – Yang yelled at the top of his lungs, his cry tearing through the shop's resonant silence. He instinctively gave chase, knocking over a barrel of pickles.
Greenish brine spilled across the floor. But he didn't care. His boots thumped loudly on the steps leading upward, to where the gray shadow had just flashed. His career was on the line. Maybe more. He knew—he couldn't be let go!
Saigo burst onto the second floor, cursing himself for his excessive emotionality. "Damn, this never used to happen to me!" The thought burned hotter than the pain in his muscles. "So stupid to miss a grown man clanking in armor, who blatantly entered from the back, even if it was closed!" The stench of anger and sweat overpowered the smell of blood from the shop. From the hallway, he dashed into the room. Planning to escape through the window.
– Hey, stop! – a breathless voice of the guard called from below. The abundance of iron on Valerka certainly didn't help movement on the creaky stairs. – Stop! The Empero... wants you!
He didn't get to finish. Saigo, without slowing down, slipped through the narrow window frame. Didn't jump flowed in, like a shadow. Holding onto the rotten cornice with one hand, he swung across with a nimble leap to the cornice of the neighboring house lopsided and just as dirty. Yang leaned out of the window, his face purple with rage, and roared:
– Get him! Take him alive! ALIVE ONLY!
Meanwhile, Saigo, pulling himself up with his arms, scrambled onto the sloping roof covered in moss and tile fragments. Under the bewildered shouts of the watchmen below.
– Where?!
– He's on the roof, psycho! – he started running. Not straight in zigzags, using ledges, pipes, changes in height. His body ached the not fully healed wounds throbbed, muscles burned.
"Damn, I'm not fully recovered yet... Maybe the butcher was right?" But now was not the time for reflection. As if by magic (or rather, by Yang's cry), a avalanche was already chasing him through the streets—first a dozen watchmen, then more, townsfolk eager for a reward joined in.
Shouts, whistles, barking dogs all merged into a deafening roar.
The row of buildings, across whose roofs he leaped like a mountain goat, abruptly ended. Below, murky and not wide, but deep, flowed a small river dividing the slums in half. The kid stopped sharply on the very edge of the roof, tiles crunching under his boot.
– Hey, kid! – a calm, but unfriendly voice came from behind.
Saigo turned around. Opposite, on the roof, stood two men. Clothing dark, practical, without frills, but quality. Not as worn out as his.
The recognizable uniform of Her Majesty's secret police. They stood confidently, blocking the way back. One, who seemed like the senior, stepped forward slightly. Face stony, eyes like a snake's.
– Okay, – he said without emotion, slowly pulling his hands out from under his cloak. – Let's take it easy. You'll just come with us. And the Empress will... reward you. Generously. – His voice held everything greed, sincerity, and fear.
Saigo silently looked at them. Then at the murky green water of the small river below. Then back at them, and time was ticking. The operatives, in sync, like mechanisms, began to slowly but inevitably move closer, blocking any room for maneuver.
SWOOSH!
Not forward, not sideways. A backward somersault. Saigo dropped like a stone downward, into the murky water. Without a loud splash just a quiet "glug," and the dark water closed over him, not leaving even bubbles.
The two operatives ran to the edge of the roof, staring down in astonishment at the spreading ripples.
– Well, I understand, – the younger one muttered, – I wasn't too keen on getting married myself back in the day... But not to that extent!
The senior didn't comment. He was already shouting down to the running watchmen:
– What are you standing there for?! Raise the garrison! Not a single mouse gets through the capital! And call the divers! Have them comb the river bottom to bottom!