Shadow Dance Read online

  So far, so good.

  I pried up the clasp on the edge of the box and lifted the lid.

  A horribly familiar green office binder full of papers lay in the bottom of the box. On top of the binder sat a small leather-bound seaman's journal, the two items held together by a length of twine tied in a neat little bow. I didn't take the time to read either of them. Moving quickly, I tucked it all into the secret pocket hidden in the lining of my cloak hood and checked to make sure there wasn't anything else in there. Then I closed the lockbox, shut it back in its slot, found the door, and pushed the green sonulator button marked 'Out.'

  Cool fingers of foreboding slithered down my spine in the seconds it took the guard to open the vault.

  "Find everything alright, Miss?" Fish Tattoo asked, his face creasing into a grin as I stepped past him into the guard room.

  I nodded, smiling back at him, trying desperately not to take off running as he led the way to the exit and unlocked it for me.

  "One coming out," he shouted down to the guard at the other end.

  His merry, "Have a good day, Miss," was lost as I walked swiftly back down the glass-tiled hallway, approaching the door to the vaultier's office.

  Kanosh the Guard came out and around the half wall of his station, his keys rattling as he unlocked the other door. It seemed to take forever, each sound echoing off the walls. My heart was pounding. I barely managed a nod as Kanosh opened the door and stepped out of the way.

  I started forward.

  The vaultier was sitting at her desk. She wasn't looking at me, her attention drawn to something in the lobby.

  I turned to see what she was seeing, and my stomach promptly hollowed itself out.

  7. Into the Fire

  27th of Nima, Continued

  Everything was quiet in the lobby. Too quiet.

  My hair rose along my nape.

  A trio of Clothbadge deputies had NaVarre cornered by one of the teller windows. He was holding up his hands as if to placate them, a large, confident smile on his face.

  But Raggan and the marines that Arramy had sent in with him weren't looking at him. They were watching the other people in the bank – because several of the other people were men. Rough, dangerous-looking men. Men who were positioned strategically at the door and along the walls, where no one would have any reason to be standing if they were there to do honest banking.

  Coventry.

  I dropped like a stone behind the end of the vaultier's desk, praying like mad that none of those men had noticed me.

  Too late.

  As I hit the floor, one of the customers in the lobby let out a cry.

  Then the office window exploded inward, showering the poor vaultier in shards of glass as she screamed and tried to get into the knee-nook of her desk.

  Breathless, I curled up small and wrapped my arms over my head, protecting my face as incendiary rounds plowed into the wall behind me and the floor around me. More and more bullets flew, tearing the file cabinets to pieces, sending up a flurry of paper and splinters, leaving a constellation of jagged holes with an empty silhouette of the desk in the middle.

  The vaultier stopped screaming.

  Then, suddenly, the shots strafed to the right and stopped. There was a tinkle of glass and a thump of footsteps, and then Raggan scrambled around the desk, skidding to a halt next to me.

  "Come on, Sweetheart, we gotta go." He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet.

  I couldn't think. There was nothing to think. We had to get out, so I just obeyed, ducking clumsily behind him, blindly trusting this man who had called me 'sweetheart' more times than I could count. I jumped over the window frame after him, stumbled over the body of the Coventry man who had been firing at me, and kept going, letting Raggan shepherd me toward the front door.

  On all sides, Arramy's marines and NaVarre's pirates were locked in a vicious hand-to-hand fight with a score of heavily armed Coventry agents, somehow holding them back just enough to make an escape corridor. For me. Only me. None of the tellers, none of the Stalwart Vault staff, no one else. Tears were running down my face by the time we slammed through the front door and out into the fierce afternoon sunlight.

  And straight into a shootout between another group of Coventry agents and NaVarre's men.

  Everywhere, people were screaming and running for cover, disappearing into shops and down alleys as repeating rifles coughed and bullets pinged off metal and dug divots into brickwork. A horseless dray stood abandoned in the middle of the street, and a small group of pirates were hemmed in behind it, taking fire from the windows of the building across from the Stalwart.

  Dazed, I crashed into Raggan as he came to a stop and yanked me behind one of the thick stone pillars holding up the Stalwart's entryway roof. It offered scant protection, and I had a full view of the street – enough to see that something had gone disastrously wrong. There were only a handful left of the men Arramy had brought, pinned down behind overturned tables in an eatery. Arramy wasn't with them. I clamped my hand to my mouth, an icy lump forming in the pit of my stomach.

  Then I heard a rough Altyran brogue shout, "Sniper! Second floor, third window from the right!" and I found him. He was down on one knee by the front fender of the horseless, leaning carefully around it to get a better look at where the gunfire was coming from.

  There was a spate of return fire from several pirates I couldn't see, and Raggan gave me a little push. "That's our cue, Miss. Quick-lively now."

  I stopped breathing. Time slowed. As if stuck in a strange dream, I stepped out from behind that pillar and started down the steps to the street. Then we were crossing the twenty meters of empty cobblestone between us and the dray. Raggan's fingers dug into my arm. My feet couldn't move fast enough. All I could see was the white lettering on the side of the dray's green hard-top cold-cargo bin. 'Fruller's Meats.' I aimed myself at those letters and ran.

  Then Raggan was crouching next to the dray, shouting, "I've got her, Captain!" as he pulled me down beside him.

  Arramy whirled, his gaze instantly finding mine. For an instant, he closed his eyes, his jaw knotting up. Then he turned to the Illyrian next to him. "I need you on the flank. You and you, cover us," he barked at the other two.

  They nodded grimly, readying their guns. They might not have been military, but they were willing to do whatever it took, and they followed his orders without hesitation.

  That moment seared itself into my memory: sunlight beating down on two sea-roughened men as they checked their weapons, paying no heed to the impact of bullets hitting the other side of the horseless at their backs. One was bald and bulky, with a red Scorpix gang tattoo crawling over half his head. The other had grizzled grey hair pulled back in tiny beaded Illyrian braids. Neither knew me at all, but they stayed. They stayed so I could get away. I watched them take deep breaths and punch each other on the shoulder. Then they stood and started firing at the Coventry agents while Arramy, Raggan, and the third pirate shielded me in a mad dash for the cluster of produce barrows parked half a block away.

  I did my best to make Raggan's job as easy as possible. I stayed down when Arramy shoved me to the ground behind a stack of cabbage crates. I got up and ran some more when the Coventry stopped to reload and Raggan grabbed my hand again, pulling me along. Arramy took up the rear, returning fire as we tried to put something – anything – between us and the men stalking us down Calderwodde.

  The third pirate died somewhere in that farmer's market. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him turn and face the oncoming rush of thugs in the middle of the street, a pair of long swords flashing in his hands as four men descended on him.

  The next time I looked back, more men had joined the hunt: a handful of the big, rough-looking Coventry agents, followed by a growing number of clothbadges out to claim the bounty on our heads. The raptors had been circling for days, and now there we were, in the open and fresh for the taking, and news was spreading fast.

  I stopped looking back, put m
y head down and concentrated on keeping up, until Raggan ducked abruptly into an alley that wound between the back ends of several manufacturing warehouses and came to a halt a hundred meters in.

  "Keep goin, lad. I'll catch up wi' ye in a bit," he panted, clapping Arramy on the shoulder.

  Frozen, Arramy simply stared down at the older man. Then he dragged in a shuddering breath and pushed his Navy issue pistol into Raggan's hands. "Four rounds left," he said, his voice thick. "Make them count."

  Horrified, I shook my head. "No... No. What are you doing?" My ruined voice fractured. "You can't stay — Captain, tell him he can't stay —"

  "I'll be fine, Sweetheart. You go on, now. Go wi' the Cap'n," Raggan said, giving me that familiar gap-toothed smile. "'I'll see ye on the other side," he added softly.

  "No," I gasped, still shaking my head, something hot tearing through my chest as Arramy took hold of my arm and yanked me roughly around with him. I resisted, craning to get a last glimpse of Raggan's bowlegged figure silhouetted against the sunlit opening of the alley, but Arramy kept going, his fingers like a vise as he wrenched hard and pulled me away. With a sob I gave up and ran with him, hating myself, hating the Coventry, hating every stupid step I took as we left Raggan behind.

  One of the warehouse doors nearby was open to let in some air, and Arramy shot through it, startling the girls working the assembly lines inside as we went pelting between bins of small machine parts and long tables piled with finished product.

  One of the assembly girls met my eyes, her mouth forming a perfect oval as she gawked at us. "Hide," I rasped, frantically turning to face her, lurching sideways in Arramy's wake. "Please hide..."

  Then we were dodging desks in some sort of front office, shoving through the front door, and bursting out onto the boardwalk. Instantly, we were surrounded by bustling city traffic. There were people everywhere – people going in and out of shops and eateries, hustlers combing for fresh arrivals from the continent, scantily clad girls lounging about beneath awnings, street urchins weaving through the crowd gathered in front of a hawker's podium – as if nothing at all was happening only a corner or two away.

  I glanced up at Arramy.

  Breathing hard, he looked one way, then the other, his height giving him an advantage I didn't have.

  "Go!" He shoved me to the right. "Walk, don't run, and don't look back."

  "There are more?" I coughed.

  "Yes," he snapped, falling into step with me.

  I let out a little groan. My leg muscles were jumping and twitching, I had a stitch under both ribs, and my throat felt like it was on fire. I could give Arramy the stupid binder and let them catch me. I could lie and say he was dead. Give him time to get away. Tell them I had stashed the binder somewhere and then take them on a merry trek in the wrong direction.

  I must have slowed or missed a step, because Arramy grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.

  "Don't. You. Dare," he hissed, his words carved out of ice.

  He had left Raggan behind. I should be furious, but even my anger was tired. "How do you do it?" I asked woodenly, letting him half-drag me along.

  "Do what?" Arramy asked, intently watching the windows of a dressmaker's shop across the street. His stride lengthened a little, and he guided me around a group of ladies in orange who were handing out political pamphlets.

  "Keep on marching... like a clockwork man... marching, marching, marching." I ground out, then winced when his grip tightened on my arm as he dodged a woman beseeching him to take a stand for the poor. "How do you leave your friend and just keep on marching."

  Arramy didn't answer. His attention was still on the dressmaker's shop. I glanced over and caught the reflection of four rough-looking men moving quickly down the boardwalk behind us. The next instant, Arramy reached for the handle of the shop door we were passing, pulled it open, and pushed me inside.

  A butcher looked up from the side of beef he was carving behind the counter, but Arramy paid no attention to the man's loud, "Hey! Stay out of there!" and went striding down the shop's back hallway. We had barely reached the kitchen when the door chimes rang, announcing that someone had followed us in. The butcher began shouting angrily in Caraki, and then we were through the shop's kitchen and outside, and Arramy had slammed the back door shut behind us.

  He scanned the tiny walled in yard and swore. There was no gate to the alley, no easy way out. Only a rickety wooden stair that led up to a second-story balcony.

  Arramy jerked his chin at it. "Go."

  Just like Raggan.

  Slowly, I shook my head. "No," I managed.

  Arramy shot an exasperated glare at me before glancing quickly around. There was a latrine shovel beside the door, and he grabbed it, wedging it against the kickplate with the handle in the dirt, stomping it down snug. Just in time. Something hit the inside of the door with a thump. Hard. The shovel shifted a little, digging itself down into the packed clay of the yard.

  "Go!" Arramy snarled, backing toward the stairs. "That isn't going to hold them long."

  I gathered my skirts and took the steps two at a time all the way up to the top. I got a blurry glimpse of a woman's bright yellow dress hung out to dry over the balcony railing, and a bunch of potted plants by the window, and then Arramy kicked the door in and we were scuttling through another kitchen and down a short hallway.

  A tiny blonde woman burst out of a room at the front of the apartment, took one look at Arramy, and started jabbering in Caraki, telling him over and over that there was nothing to steal.

  Arramy ignored her and went stomping down the hallway, poking his head into the other two rooms that opened off of it. "Ask her how to get to the roof," he barked at me.

  "Um... How do you go up on the roof?" I translated.

  Her eyes went wide and she stopped sobbing. "You are not the Carak Retrieval Agency?" she blurted, her gaze darting between the two of us.

  I shook my head. "Men... um... men are... chasing?" I said hesitantly, adding a little walking motion with my fingers, not sure I had the right form of the word 'to chase.' Caraki was one of those languages I swore in, and I was rusty.

  "Talk faster," Arramy growled, coming out of a bedroom and eyeing the kitchen doorway behind us, his body tensing as a loud crash sounded downstairs.

  They were through the back door of the meatery.

  There was a sudden flicker of understanding. "Yes! Yes," she nodded wildly and pulled us down the hall and into the living room, where she unlocked a door on the side wall of the building.

  "Good luck," she said in Altyran.

  "You too. Thank you," I rasped as Arramy stepped out onto a landing in a narrow clapboard stairwell. "Sorry about your door."

  "Come on," Arramy said, grabbing at me.

  The lock slid home behind us, shutting us into overheated darkness as we took off up the stairs. Hope flared wild... until the Caraki woman started screaming.

  8. To the Rooftops

  27th of Nima, Continued

  Arramy came to a halt at the ladder to the trapdoor, and I almost ran into him in the near-dark of the tiny apartment attic. The only light filtered through a papered-over window, just enough to cast everything in a wan, greenish tint, outlining crates and chairs and bureaus.

  The Caraki woman's cries of "Stop! What are you doing? I have nothing!" rang out, and I whipped around to face the maw of the stairwell, my stomach churning. They were there, in the apartment. Lots of them, moving rapidly, their footsteps heavy.

  Behind me, Arramy climbed up the ladder and got the bolt undone, but the trapdoor hatch refused to budge when he shoved at it. With a quick, heavy sigh of frustration he climbed up another rung so his legs were bent, braced his hands on the frame of the trap, and stood up quickly, grunting as his upper back connected with the metal of the trapdoor.

  The walls in the building were thin, and the sound of something shattering in the apartment below had me clamping my hands over my mouth, sobs rising raw in my chest as the l
ittle blonde woman told the Coventry men to do something obscene to themselves.

  Then everything suddenly went very quiet

  "Arramy..." I gasped.

  He stopped slamming his shoulder into the trapdoor.

  "Unlock it," a male voice said in Altyran. "Right now. Where's the key?"

  I couldn't make out the woman's reply, but it must not have been what the Coventry agents wanted to hear. There was a series of muffled thumps and a sob of pain, and then someone was kicking at the stairwell door.

  Arramy didn't hesitate. He lunged upward, plowing into the hatch again. Then again. And again.

  The stairwell door gave way with a crunch of shattering wood.

  Arramy swore and hit the trapdoor again. This time it let out a beautiful, rusty shriek, and a slice of daylight appeared on three sides. He kept pushing, widening the gap by agonizing inches as those heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs below us.

  An involuntary cry tore from my throat as Arramy got the trap open a half-meter, dropped to the floor, grabbed me around the waist, and shoved me bodily up the ladder and out onto the blazing-hot surface of a flat tile roof. My hands met a puddle of sticky sun-heated tar as I scrambled to get clear. Wincing and squinting against the bright sunlight, I turned around... only to find he wasn't coming up after me.

  He had launched himself back down the stairs.

  I screamed. It was the word "No," but it sounded more like a hoarse animal cry. Arramy disappeared from beneath the trapdoor and something snapped in my head. I should have slammed the door back down, gotten up and started running. That's what Arramy would have told me to do. Instead I knelt by the hatch and peered down into the empty attic, my heart pounding hot and ragged in my throat. Come back. Please come back...

  There were no words for what that felt like, seeing the flash of pale hair in the dark of the stairway, and then that stern face lifting to look up at me.