Paul Collins - Swords Of Quentaris

Twice during the twilight he saw the City

Watch combing the streets. They could have been searching for more skycrawlers — especially after they found the body of the crewman Rad had pushed from the rooftop. Or they could be looking for him — a deserter.

Rad sank into despondency. He was actually a hero, come to think of it. Not only had he alerted the City Watch, he had also killed a pirate. He wrestled uncomfortably with his conscience. All right, he had not deliberately accomplished either of these acts, but no-one else knew that!

Playing it safe, Rad sneaked across the rooftops like a wraith. Dogs howled at his passing and guard cats hissed at him as he stealthily passed window sills. He waited cautiously above the fence's front door until he was satisfied that it was safe to knock on it.

He grew anxious when there was no reply. Did Gangi think he could get the artifact for nothing just because he was an urchin, rather than a member of the Thieves' Guild? Rad knocked more forcibly.

Someone cursed from three doors down. A

light flared. Rad quickly climbed the wall and squatted on the lichened roofline. What to do?

The slate on the roof was rotted through.

Without much effort he could gain access to the fence's house, but what then? Threaten him? Not likely. Go to the City Watch? Less likely.

The minutes trickled by, during which time Rad grew more and more annoyed. His mind finally made up, he ripped up some slate. Scanning the roofscape for prying eyes, he dropped down into the roof cavity.

Soon he found the attic trapdoor and silently removed it. Gangi's place was ill-lit, but despite the gloom Rad knew something was wrong. Chairs had been overturned and documents thrown across the breadth of the room. Rad hung there in indecision. What if the perpetrator of this mess was still present?

Dropping to the floor, he almost screeched in fright. Lying contorted on the threadbare carpet was the fence. His head listed at an unusual angle and there was no doubt as to his permanent ill health!

Rad's stomach rose to his throat. He had known

much death in his lifetime on the streets, but never anything as personal, mysterious and violent as this.

He backed out from the room as though fearing the corpse might leap up and grab him.

Quickly, he found the room where Gangi had taken him the night before. This too had been gutted. Rad poked through the mess — realising with every passing second that he had lost the precious map and the hope of ever joining the ranks of the Thieves' Guild. Sunk in despair, he was about to leave when he spotted a tarnished sceptre. It was too valuable a piece for whoever had ransacked this place to leave behind, so it had to be fake.

A floorboard creaked and Rad froze. He could imagine all sorts of things moving: rats, giant spiders, feral cats, shifting piles of ancient, mouldy papers. Even a murderer!

Rad turned to leave, but something, some inexplicable intuition, held him back. He released the bellyful of air that he had been holding and gingerly picked up the sceptre. Even in this poor light he could see where the fake gold paint had

flaked away, leaving exposed dull steel. Rad waved it around, hoping at least it might be useful as a makeshift weapon if nothing else.

He stopped in mid-swing. Something was rattling within the sceptre's casing. He shook it gently and listened. Sure enough, he could hear the faint rustling of something. Caution overrode his inquisitiveness so he stuffed the sceptre into his tunic and returned to the room with the attic trapdoor.

Careful not to touch the body of the fence, he righted a chair and climbed up to the ceiling. He had no sooner pulled up his legs when someone screamed a warning from below. 'The bleeder's in the roof!'

With heart in mouth Rad scrabbled through the roof. A jagged piece of slate snagged him.

In his fear-crazed mind he thought someone had grabbed him. He kicked with all his might and popped out of the roof with a squeal.

Someone called out in the street. The Thieves'

Guild, Rad realised with a start. No other Guilds-men would roam Fences Lane so readily and expertly. Rad leapt across the narrow cobbled

laneway, and like a nimble rat sprang across another chasm to the neighbouring roof.

Something metallic clattered against the brickwork and a gutting knife skittled across the flashing. Rad crab-crawled upwards and slid down the adjacent roof. Behind, curses and oaths were uttered. The roofline was crawling with villains!

But Rad was no ordinary street urchin. He lived on the roofs and knew every shingle and gutter. No-one, but no-one, could have followed him with safety.

Even so, some tried. They came scampering across the uneven roofs like crabs, on hands and knees. The wind bit hard and parched Rad's throat — or was fear drying out his mouth? He moved faster. He slipped once or twice, the night's chill on the slates making haste dangerous. All about him guttural voices hissed and spat.

A villain grabbed Rad's foot and he squealed, lashing out with his other foot. The thief cursed loudly, flailed, and fell. His screaming descent bounced eerily between the stone walls.

Rad didn't stop to look back. He was soon lost

among the sloping, hazardous rooftops. Behind him echoed the oaths and curses of the Thieves'

Guild as they floundered about in search of him.

Having returned to the pigeon coop, Rad allowed himself a leisurely look at the sceptre.

When he finally found the release pin, the sceptre parted down its length, revealing the skyship map. Rad sighed with relief. Finally something had gone right!

He leaned back against the wooden strut of the pigeon coop. The fence had known what the map was, of course. Gangi's mistake had been to confide in someone else; someone who had either killed him, or had hired assassins to do away with him and to steal the map. Then, Rad guessed, Gangi had fallen while trying to escape through the attic trapdoor, thus eluding his killers. They had obviously failed to find the map and had waited for Rad to return.

Rad spent many hours that night studying the map with its shifting graphics. When he finally succumbed to sleep, his dreams became tortured nightmares. He was running, but the

faster he ran the slower he went. It was as though he was wading through gluggy pea soup. He pushed and pushed but finally exhaustion drew him deeper into the mire.

He turned frantically to his pursuers. These were bobbing lights that danced defiantly over the swamp into which Rad found himself sink-ing. The twinkling lights drew closer till they hovered over him, laughing at his helplessness.

'Save me! Pull me out!' he screamed. But the lights just winked knowingly.

A mass exodus of pigeons woke him from his fitful sleep. At first he thought that the people outside the coop were part of his nightmare.

'Easy,' whispered a rasping voice. 'I know he's in there. The little scratchnik. Don't forget! I get the spotter's fee. His head's mine!'

Rad clutched the sceptre to his chest. He'd get the first one to stick his head in the coop, but that would still leave the others. He fingered his dirk

— a mere pig-sticker! Not a hope against these odds! Without further hesitation he flew out of the coop, much as the pigeons had moments before.

'Get him!' someone screeched.

Rad half-fell, half-climbed down a rusting drainpipe. A short sword swirled past his head and twanged into the crumbling wall. Its deadly intent lent impetus to Rad's escape, but his pursuers, less hardy or roof-wise, decided not to follow. One threw caution to the wind and gripped the already weakened drainpipe. Its wall bracket screeched loudly.

Rad clung to the brickwork as the thief dropped screaming past him. He had thirty seconds headstart on the other thieves, who were now yelling venomous threats. Taking off across the cobblestones, Rad ducked around the vendors as they set up their stalls. With split-second timing, he glanced about and then hurried up to his aunt's second-floor apartment.