Dark Empress (47 page)

He bit his lip.

Asima could only reasonably be going one place from here: the governor’s complex, and she would be in no hurry. Possibly the most senior of the guards would escort her there, as he’d want to glean a share of the glory for the catch… or perhaps he wouldn’t, since they’d failed to catch Samir. He briefly wondered whether Asima would give chase. No; she’d tell the guards where to look and then she’d go see the governor.

The larger question was over Ghassan. Would they take him to the governor too? Or perhaps to the guard house in the main square that stood behind the civic hall? Then there was also the prison that occupied the northwestern-most tower of the city walls, hanging above the sea and separated from the town itself by a hundred yards of screed slope. And finally, there was the possibility that they would just strap him into a wagon or onto a horse and take him to Calphoris to his superiors.

Shaking his head, Samir realised he could hear the thunder of footsteps in the house below. The guards were coming and there was no time to plan now. He knew where Asima was going as soon as she had the chance and Ghassan would likely remain in the city, in one place or another.

Dropping to a crouched position, Samir smiled. In a curious way, this was refreshing; a hint of his long-gone youth. If it weren’t for the circumstances, he could really enjoy a good chase. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Below, a voice called out.

“The window!”

Grinning, Samir set off with the crunch of gravelly dust on the rooftop and a cloud of choking white. By the time the first guard’s face appeared at the window, he lithe pirate had already reached the far end of the roof and, with practiced ease, leapt across the gap without even glancing down.

As the first guard dropped down from the window to the roof, blinking in the dust and adjusting his armour, the second appeared behind him, staring across the roof.

“Shit, he’s fast!”

The front guardsman nodded unhappily.

“I’ll never make it across there; not in armour anyway.”

As the second man dropped down, a third appeared behind them, wearing the crest and insignia of an officer.

“Stop pissing about and get after him!”

“Sir, we can’t jump over streets! We’ll die.”

The officer clenched his teeth.

“If you don’t get after him, I’ll gut you myself.”

The second guard, a tall and muscular man with the colouring of a desert nomad, heaved off his mail shirt, his helmet falling to the roof unnoticed.

“I’ll get him, sir.”

As the armour fell to the floor with a heavy ‘chink’, he dropped to a crouch and then set off like one of the dusky hounds the desert folk raced at the oases. The officer nodded appreciatively, while the first, shorter, guard stooped to collect the discarded armour. It was a hot day, even for a M’Dahz summer, and the armour was already hot to the touch.

“He’s good” the officer mused.

“Used to run in the Five Gods Games at Calphoris, sir. You’ve never seen anything like it.”

“He’d better be good. I need that piece of shit brought to justice.”

They stared off into the distance as the dust clouds settled. There was no sign of the pirate, but Jûn of the M’Dahz guard had already cleared the first street and was heading for a corner, his quarry’s path revealed by the trail of settling dust.

Streets away and several minutes later, Samir puffed as he ran. The guard that had decided to follow him was so damn fast! He could have no experience of the rooftops, while Samir knew every nook and cranny, and yet still the man gained on him. It was astounding and, more importantly, it was putting Samir under pressure he could ill-afford. With guards rushing through the streets below and trying to keep level with their quarry, shouting instructions across the intervening buildings, and this hound-like man hot on his heels, he had so far had precious little time to plan his route, relying instead on instinct and his memories of old races.

This was no good… without a plan, he would just keep racing until he was caught or cornered. He’d assumed that once he was out on the rooftops he’d be able to lose himself easily. He needed to give his pursuers the slip and vanish, but that meant dealing with the guard chasing him.

The problem was that he had nothing against the man. Indeed, this dogged pursuer was the sort of man that, in his youth, Samir had yearned to be, that reminded him in many ways of uncle Faraj.

He shook his head. His life hung in the balance here, as did Ghassan’s liberty and the only opportunity he might ever get to curb Asima’s lust for power and that outweighed one guard, no matter how innocent he might be.

With a fierce resolve flooding through him, Samir glanced left and right. The roof-garden of the temple-hospital of Belapraxis was only two jumps away and the most dangerous route he’d ever planned passed by there. Time for a change of plan. He couldn’t outrun this man, and he wouldn’t have time to hide, so he had to outthink and outmanoeuvre him.

Veering off to his right, Samir made for the jutting outline of the temple’s upper level, feeling a little bad for the poor man following him. Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he could see his pursuer in enough detail now that he could make out the determination on the man’s face. Of course, the man’s career might well ride on this moment, if not his life, but that couldn’t be Samir’s concern right now. With another deep breath, he made the last small jump to the temple’s main roof.

His nemesis close on his heels, Samir ducked out of sight around the wall surrounding the roof garden and made for the water-bearing pipe that crossed the street. Relief washed across him as he laid his eyes on the blessed escape-route. He hadn’t had the time and leisure to contemplate the possibility that in the decades since he’d run these roofs the pipe had been moved or replaced, or had simply corroded and fallen away.

But it was there, precarious as ever.

A single beam, dusty and narrow, crossed one of the widest streets he had ever used in his routes. In the old days, blanket ceilings in the street had created a possible safety net around fifteen feet below the beam, but such was no longer the case. As Samir came to a halt at the roof’s edge and bit his lip, he could see three storeys down to the sloping cobbled street. A few people milled about below, unaware of the drama unfolding on the rooftops above them but, as yet, no guards had reached this point. It wouldn’t be long, though, given the shouted orders he could hear nearby.

At almost forty feet long, the beam was a nightmare in unfinished ash, worn smooth by the elements over the years and far from even. The only grip provided anywhere along the distance was the iron clamps that held the searing-hot metal guttering pipe that carried the water across the street, and those could only be trodden quickly and lightly in passing, for fear of burning the feet even through shoes.

Asima used to call him mad for planning runs like this. Funny how everything Samir had done in his life had seemed to contribute to his present liberty and health. With a smile of gratitude, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement in the direction of the temple and, holding his breath, began to walk across the beam, keeping his eyes carefully locked on the wooden surface stretching out before him.

He was concentrating hard and his first distraction came when he was almost a third of the way across, as he heard the guard reach the end of the beam behind him and draw a deep breath. Without taking his eyes off the route ahead, Samir called out to his pursuer.

“You should stop there.”

“I imagine that would suit you” replied the man and Samir was surprised and pleased to note a hint of wry humour to the voice.

“You really are very good. Where did you learn to run so fast and jump so well?”

He smiled, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

“I used to run in the games, pirate.”

“Call me Samir. And you are?”

“Getting tired of chasing you. I will make it across and I will catch you. If you stop at the other side, I’ll make sure the captain goes easy on you, though.”

Samir laughed. Two-thirds of the way across now. He’d had a couple of moments where he’d had to readjust his footing and his heart had skipped a beat, but he was sure of his abilities; knew himself and this beam very well.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, officer. You see, I have obligations to help people and I can’t do it while your captain uses me to blunt his knuckles.”

He laughed again.

“Gods, I wish you were on my crew. I could use a man like you.”

“I’m sure the same could be said the other way around but, sadly, things are what they are, captain. Now… Whoa!”

Samir bit his cheek and stopped for a moment, taking the dangerous opportunity to glance over his shoulder. The guard had almost slipped and was wobbling back and forth, regaining his balance.

“That was close, my friend. I have no wish to see you shattered on the cobbles, so do be careful.”

“Thanks” came the dry reply, and the two men began to step forward again. Samir sighed. He hated this with a passion, but there was no choice. He couldn’t allow the guard to follow him beyond the beam. There would be nowhere better than this to halt the pursuit.

He clenched his teeth as he stepped from the end of the beam onto the edge of the flat rooftop, where the water channel continued to run in a narrow gutter and turned to face his pursuer. The guard really was good and had made it almost three quarters of the way across.

“This is my last offer. Turn round and go back, officer. I can’t have you following me.”

The guard shook his head.

“You know I can’t do that, captain Samir.”

“Then I apologise for what I have to do now.”

Reaching down, Samir cupped his hands and collected a scoop of gritty, dirty water, swinging his arms forward and flinging the liquid across the beam. With a splash, the water covered the wood, becoming slick and reflecting the tiny, scudding fleecy clouds in the otherwise clear sapphire sky. As the guard frowned and slowed, reaching the edge of the slippery section, Samir bent and repeated the process twice more, soaking the beam thoroughly.

“Turn round, for Gods’ sake. You can’t safely cross.”

“I wouldn’t say I can turn round safely either. Get running. I won’t let a little water stop me.”

“For fuck’s sake, turn round.”

He grimaced as the guard took a step into the water, shaking slightly and wobbling back and forth. Another step. The man was managing to maintain his balance, but there was a long way to go yet. He’d never make it. Samir shook his head sadly.

“Listen… I’m not a bad man and I don’t really want your death on my hands.”

Another step and suddenly a slight slip to one side left the man teetering. Samir watched with dismay as the man rocked back and forth, picking up momentum. He was about to go.

“Jump for the roof!”

But before the man could get enough purchase, he slipped. Samir watched for only a fraction of a second before leaping into action, quite literally. As the man slipped, he did his best to push himself forward, his flailing arm launching him out from the beam at an angle. As he did so, Samir crouched, grasped the iron clamp at the very end of the beam, the searing heat here only slightly tempered by the water that flowed by and over it and the soaking he had just given it. As he vaulted out over the open space, feeling his shoulder jerk, he clenched the hot iron tightly. His other hand caught the falling man by the arm and the pair of them seemed to hang, suspended in the air for an eternity before the pull to ground began to assert itself.

With agonising force, the pair swung down against the wall, Samir’s arm almost breaking where it held the clamp and carried the weight of two men. Below him, the guard slipped from Samir’s wet grip and, eyes wide, grabbed desperately onto the pirate’s leg, gripping tightly. Samir grunted, the pain intense.

“I’m going to try and pull myself up. If you can find any purchase on the wall to take some weight it would be a great help!”

The guard nodded vigorously and began to scour the plaster wall quickly. There were pits here and there; nothing that could be considered a handhold but, with some effort, he got his toes into one and pushed up.

Samir felt a slight relief in the extraordinary weight of the big man below him. Gritting his teeth, he swung his free arm up and grasped the really rather hot iron clamp with both hands. Groaning with the strain and tearing muscles painfully, he slowly hauled the pair of them up to roof level.

After a minute that seemed like hours he managed to get his elbows over the edge and used his powerful shoulder muscles to haul himself the last stretch. Once his torso was flat on the roof, his legs still hanging, he shouted down to the unseen guard.

“Can you grab the edge of the roof now? There’s a very slight lip; it’s not much but it should be enough if you’re strong.”

The man made an affirmative grunt and, clinging to Samir’s leg with one arm, began to search out a hold with the fingertips of his other. Samir watched with relief as the fingers gripped the edge and he felt a sudden release on his leg. Two hands now gripped the roof.