Seven hours later...
– HOW IN YOUR MOTHER'S NAME DID THIS HAPPEN?! – Katarina screamed so hard the stained glass in the tall windows of the throne room trembled. Before her, like guilty schoolboys, stood three grown men in their years: the head of the city watch (still red from running), the head of the secret police (pale as chalk), and the commander of the capital garrison (sweaty, in a crumpled uniform).
– Well, we... found him, – the watch commander began, stammering.
– Found him?! – Katarina shrieked.
– W-well, I mean, we located him! In that shop! – he hurried. – And he... did a runner!
– Did a runner?! – her voice became a dangerous whisper.
– Well, we chased him! – the head of the secret police interjected, coughing. – And he... went to the roof! After... – he exchanged a glance with the garrison commander, who nodded, taking over:
– After he jumped into the creek, Your Majesty! And... and...
– AND WHAT?! – Katarina stood up, her shadow falling over the men.
– ...and dissolved in the water like a sugar cube! – the enraged woman blurted out.
Silence fell, resonant, crushing. Then – BAM!
A fist, seemingly delicate and feminine, crashed down onto the oak tabletop with a roar. It cracked like a dry branch, breaking in the middle. That fist contained an unseen, beastly strength. The men instinctively recoiled.
– WHERE IS HE?! – Katarina hissed, looking at the crack in the table, not at them.
– M-m-m... We... haven't caught him yet, – mumbled the watch commander.
– THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF YOU! AND HE IS ONE! – her cry returned with double the force. – GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! NOW!
The men hastily, almost shoving each other, scrambled out of the hall. In the corner, leaning against a wall with a tapestry depicting a dragon hunt scene, stood Guard Captain Markus. He had watched the entire scene with a stony face.
– And why are you standing there like a statue? – Katarina turned to him, her eyes still shooting lightning.
Markus pushed off the wall. – And what about me? My men are looking for him too. All over the city, if you're interested. – He came closer and sat on the surviving edge of the shattered table, ignoring the dangerous proximity of the Empress.
– Listen, Katya... why are you so fixated on this guy? – He used the informal address, knowing that in this state she would either not notice or appreciate the bluntness. – The whole city is in an uproar. What's the screaming for? It's all like in that stupid decree about the trial: whoever kills the dragon gets to marry you. I get it. But is it him? The investigation is still...
– Is it him?! – Katarina interrupted, folding her hands in front of her face like a steeple, not for prayer, but to hide the trembling. She stared out the window, where the sunset was painting the sky in bloody-crimson tones. – Do you really think those runts – Linsi and what's-his-name... – she waved a hand towards the door, – ...could have killed Kalis? For real?
Markus scratched his head, pushing his helmet back. – No. Honestly? No. With the appearance of this Saigo and after reading the report on how he gave the entire capital guard the slip... his candidacy became the only possible one. He is your dragonslayer, the one.
– But what if... – his voice became quieter, almost uncertain, – ...he doesn't want... to marry you?
– Do not test my patience, Captain, – her voice dropped to an icy whisper. Markus immediately shut up, his skin sensing a sudden, invisible heat radiating from her body, like from a red-hot furnace. – I just don't understand, – she continued, slowly cooling down but not losing tension, – why did he run? With such skill... he could have explained himself. Demanded the reward.
– Well, that's obvious, – Markus shrugged, carefully choosing his words. – He's an assassin. A mercenary and a member of the Kotto Clan. And a manhunt like this... is akin to a death sentence for him. After all, – he looked her straight in the eyes, – murder for money is strictly forbidden here. They hang people for less, I'm sure he knows that.
– Hmm... – Katarina's slender finger pressed against her chin. – Logical. – She stood up, brushed non-existent dust from her luxurious dress. Her gaze became decisive, imperious. – Captain. I order you, as my guardsman. Find him and bring him to me. Safe and sound, alive and unharmed. Do you understand me?
Markus took a deep breath. The air whistled in his lungs like blacksmith's bellows. – As you wish, Your Majesty, – he stood up, clicked his heels in a flawless bow, and turned to leave.
As he left, he thought: "Kid... I get it. Running, fear of the gallows... I suppose you have your own plans for life, but you'll have to excuse me. I have no choice, an order is an order. And the Empress... she doesn't joke. Especially when she wants something. Or someone."
…
Saigo leaned against the cold, slimy wall of the collector. The darkness here was absolute, like in the belly of a sleeping dragon. Somewhere above, through layers of stone and earth, came a dull roar the stomping of hundreds of boots, the clang of weapons, distant shouts of commands. The city had turned into a giant stirred-up anthill, and they were looking for him.
The murky water of the collector, smelling of rot and human waste, sloshed around his boots. But the smell was the least of his worries. Good knowledge of the capital had saved him.
He knew that under the layer of silt and grime at the bottom of that stinking creek hid an arched entrance to an old, abandoned collector part of an ancient, long-unused system. Swimming with the current, holding his breath, he slipped inside like an eel into its burrow.
Now, sitting in the darkness, he analyzed. And came to disappointing conclusions.
If the Empress herself was interested in him... things couldn't be worse. He didn't delve into court intrigues that wasn't his business. But rumors about Katarina had reached even his ears.
Powerful and unpredictable. They said she'd been ruling for a thousand years. A contract on her? The Kotto Clan wouldn't even consider it it would be suicide. But now she was looking for him, and definitely not for a reward. That alone made cold sweat trickle down his back.
"I have to run." That was the only logical conclusion. "But where?" From the growing roar above, it was clear the city was tightly locked down.
A ring of guards, soldiers, secret agents. A sea of people thirsting for the reward on his head. Help from his own was unlikely. Any signal, any attempt at contact would drown in this frenzy and be intercepted. The Clan valued secrecy more than individual members.
"Why does she need me?" Only one thought came to mind, cold and heavy as a guillotine: execution. For brazenly flouting her decree. For substituting the "hero." For daring to deceive the Empress herself.
And all because of that worthless worm Akino! Saigo's fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked in the silence of the collector. A stupid, unforgivable mistake leaving a witness alive. A violation of the first rule.
A minute later, he exhaled. The rage, like a wave, receded, leaving behind only cold, calculated resolve. Emotions were a luxury he couldn't afford right now.
Escape the city. The only option. He mentally mapped out routes. Sewers, old tunnels, maybe an exit beyond the walls through a drainage grate somewhere on the outskirts or through the wall itself. A dangerous path, full of... people, creatures, and possibly cave-ins. But there was no other.
He brought his wrist to his eyes. There, under the wet sleeve, tiny, glow-in-the-dark grains were sewn in the Clan's improvised clock. Forty minutes until sunset.
"Time, I still have a little time to rest." Give his body a respite it still ached from old wounds and the recent icy bath.
Night - his ally. Under the cover of darkness, when the initial excitement of the chase subsides a bit and the guards' vigilance dulls, he would have a chance. A small one, like the eye of a needle, but a chance.
Saigo leaned his head back against the cold stone. Closed his eyes. Outwardly absolute calm. Inside the cold engine of calculation was working at full capacity, running through every step of the future escape. He heard every sound from above, every echo of the search, translating them into a map of danger in his head.
He waited for darkness.
He waited for his hour.