Across the Eastern Rooftops

The first drop of rain struck my cheek as the market disappeared around me.

I saw a burning study instead: a black cloak framed by fire, eyes reflecting red through a narrowing gap, silver beneath his throat.

Another drop darkened the stone beside my boot. Then somebody struck my shoulder while pushing past, and the market returned all at once.

The man was still there.

I followed as he continued to cut through the crowd, but he did not look back.

That was either luck or experience, and I had no intention of deciding which from across the square.

Drawing a sword here was a terrible idea. Letting him disappear again was worse.

Too many shoulders, too many blind angles and far too many baskets occupied exactly the space I needed, but I kept the black cloak in sight.

Thirty paces became twenty.

The silver brooch flashed beneath a lantern as my hand settled on the hilt of my sword.

I had imagined this moment often enough that the real one had no right to feel this ordinary. None of those versions included a woman arguing over onions directly between us.

I went around her.

Ten paces.

The man turned towards a narrow street beside the market. My sword had barely cleared its sheath when something silver crossed my field of vision.

I stopped instinctively.

A throwing knife passed by close enough to feel the air move against my cheek and buried itself in the wooden post beside me.

My eyes snapped towards the opposite side of the street.

A young woman stood beneath a dark awning with one hand already empty. Fitted black travelling clothes showed beneath a short cloak, and crimson hair had been pulled back tightly from her face. Another knife rested between the fingers of her other hand.

Our eyes met.

Hers were a sharp green, although the colour was considerably less important than the fact that she was already reaching for another blade.

The cloaked man heard the impact behind him, and his head turned towards us.

Then he ran.

“Idiot,” we said at the same time.

He disappeared into the narrow street at ground level.

The woman vaulted a stack of crates, caught the edge of a low balcony and used a hanging shop sign to reach the rooftops on the left-hand side.

I stayed below until a carriage rolled towards the intersection ahead.

That’ll do.

I ran beside it, planted one boot on the rear wheel housing and pushed myself onto the carriage roof before the driver understood why his passengers had suddenly gained a mercenary.

“Sorry.”

I jumped for the balcony opposite and hauled myself onto the right-hand rooftops.

Below us, the cloaked man cut through the district without slowing.

The woman and I ran on opposite sides, using the height to see the turns before he reached them.

By then the rain had become steady enough to slick the tiles beneath my boots.

The woman threw another knife, and the cloaked man ducked without looking up.

The blade struck the wall ahead of him, and he immediately changed direction into the next lane.

She had thrown the first knife at me, and now she was forcing him towards a particular route.

That did not fit.

Unless she wanted him somewhere specific—or rather, she wanted me away from him.

The second explanation remained considerably more irritating.

I cut across a sloping roof to keep the shorter angle. She noticed and accelerated on the opposite side.

Below, the cloaked man moved quickly without ever looking hurried. His calmness bothered me more than it should have.

He turned beneath an archway and vanished from sight. I changed direction, and she did the same.

The rooflines met around the corner.

So did we.

Her shoulder drove into mine before either of us slowed.

“Move.”

“You first.”

She kicked at my knee, but I blocked it with my shin and shoved her towards the edge.

That should have been enough.

Instead, she caught my sleeve, used the motion to turn around me and drove both feet into my chest. The closed window behind me became relevant a second too late.

Glass exploded around my shoulders.

I hit the floor inside hard enough to lose the next breath entirely. A table overturned somewhere to my left as somebody screamed, and shards scattered across the boards while something hot opened from my elbow towards my wrist.

For one deeply unhelpful moment, I remained on my back staring up at a ceiling I had never intended to see.

Then a child appeared above the table, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” I said as I rolled to my feet.

Pain pulled sharply along my left forearm. Another, smaller sting burned beneath my ribs, but the cloak outside was already disappearing past the next roofline, and there were more immediate problems to deal with.

The family seemed unlikely to agree.

I crossed their room, stepped over what remained of the window frame and climbed onto the neighbouring balcony.

The woman was already moving.

“Persistent,” she called without looking back.

“You put me through a window!”

“You were in my way.”

“Oh, that makes it so much better.”

Below, the cloaked man appeared again at the far end of the alley. He slipped beneath another covered passage where the buildings pressed too closely together for us to follow from above.

This time there was no useful roof beyond it.

The woman dropped first, catching a balcony rail and landing in the alley below.

I took the shorter option and jumped onto a stack of crates hard enough to make whoever owned them tomorrow’s problem.

We ran.

The alleyways twisted between old stone buildings, narrow enough to force people sideways. Laundry lines hung overhead, water ran beneath our boots, and every corner gave the cloaked man another chance to vanish.

He stayed just ahead.

The woman tried to pass me on the inside of a turn, but I blocked her with my shoulder.

“Still in my way.”

“You could always try going around.”

She slashed towards my sleeve as she moved past. I caught her wrist for half a second, enough to slow her, then released it before the cloaked man could gain another turn.

Apparently, this was as close to a truce as we were going to get.

Ahead, the alley opened onto one of the eastern district’s main streets.

People filled it from wall to wall, and the cloaked man entered the crowd before disappearing.

I saw black cloth once near a fruit stall and pushed towards it. The woman broke the other way.

Someone in a dark coat turned around and swore when I caught his shoulder.

Wrong face.

I released him immediately and searched for silver.

Nothing.

Rain ran from hats, awnings and shoulders until every dark coat looked like the one I wanted.

The woman’s voice came from above.

“You lost him.”

She stood on the edge of a low roof overlooking the street.

“Your knife alerted him.”

“Your sword would have done the same.”

“He hadn’t seen it.”

“He would have.”

She stepped backwards from the edge without apologising, and I climbed after her.

The roof was flat and bordered by a low stone ridge, with gaps too wide to cross casually on either side; rainwater collected between the tiles.

“Who was he?”

“None of your concern.”

“You threw a knife at me.”

“I threw a knife at you because you were about to ruin everything.”

“You were protecting him.”

Her expression changed from irritation to disbelief.

“Protecting—”

She stopped herself when she noticed that my left sleeve had become dark with blood. I adjusted my grip before she could look at it for too long, but not quickly enough.

“Your arm.”

“Still attached.”

“That wasn’t what I—”

“Why were you following him?”

My eyes narrowed, and so did hers.

The first knife was meant for me.

The second had changed his route.

During the chase, every time I had tried to close the distance, she had interfered. But she had never once given him an easy escape. If anything, she had kept forcing him towards streets with fewer choices.

She had known where she wanted him to go.

She wasn’t protecting him.

She was trying to—

Her hand moved beneath her cloak.

I drew fully this time.

“Don’t.”

Two knives appeared between her fingers.

“You should’ve left when I gave you the chance.”

Apparently the explanation could wait.

She moved before I did. The first strike came low beneath my guard; I turned it aside and stepped into her space before the second knife could reach my ribs.

She was already gone.

A blade flashed towards my face. I shifted my head and felt the edge open a thin line across my cheek. The second came for my wrist, and I caught it on the flat of my sword.

Every time I tried to put my weight behind an attack, she changed the angle before I could force the exchange into a distance I wanted.

Fast.

Very fast.

So I stopped chasing and let her come at me instead.

The next knife slipped towards my left side, and I moved just enough to make it miss. Her second hand followed where I expected; I caught her wrist and pulled before the surprise had left her face.

She twisted with the motion rather than against it, planted one foot against my thigh and kicked away before I could throw her. The move freed her wrist but cost her one knife, which clattered across the tiles.

Her expression sharpened, and she came at me harder.

The next exchange drove me backwards three steps. A shallow cut opened across my right forearm, followed by another near my shoulder where her remaining blade slipped past the edge of my cloak.

I answered with one heavy swing, but she avoided it.

I gave her the same attack again, watching what she did instead of where she was.

She stepped outside the swing and drove towards the opening beneath my arm.

An opening I had left for her.

I changed direction halfway through the motion. The pommel of my sword struck her wrist hard enough to send her final knife across the tiles, and when she tried to retreat, I caught the front of her cloak and pulled her off balance.

She hit the wet roof on her back and immediately reached towards her boot.

The point of my sword stopped against her throat.

Neither of us moved.