Chapter 3
Three
Racing through the maze of streets, I lead the guards on a chase they have no hope of winning.
I know this city like the back of my hand, every shortcut, back alley and hidey hole.
There’s a reason I’ve managed to survive the last six years as one of the sullied and part of that is knowing where to go when you are in a bind.
The thick fabric of the guards uniforms and metal breastplates are only going to slow them down.
The baking sun is at its peak now, and they will be burning up underneath all those layers.
While I might be wearing a black veil, beneath it I am wearing a light tunic and airy trousers, perfect for weather such as this if I need to escape.
I’m barely out of breath at this point, and a smile tugs at my lips as I leap onto a stack of wooden crates, climbing onto the roof of the nearby building.
I shouldn’t enjoy this, and my heart pounds with fear, but the adrenaline pumping through my system makes this more like a challenge for me than anything else.
In the market I am at more risk of being caught.
Here, in my own streets, I am confident that I can get away.
That takes away a lot of the anxiety and anticipation.
Besides, making the guards chase me around uselessly feels like a win for me when they’ve disrupted my day.
Crossing to the other side of the flat roof, I sit on the edge and lower myself down using the guttering, gaining me a few extra seconds as the guards attempt to figure out where I’ve disappeared to. It doesn’t take them long but I am already halfway down the street when they do.
“Someone stop that widow!” One of the guards’ shouts again, his voice full of fury and authority. Glancing over my shoulder I spot the golden circle on his collar, marking him as one of the higher-ranking guards.
Thankfully for me, no one listens, some going as far as stepping out of the way to let me pass. Rune might not like widows, but we like City guards even less.
Almost all of the city guards have all come from the Gutter, hired and trained to suppress their own people.
They have no interest in helping those in need or bettering the conditions of the city, their main role is to make sure the poor are kept in line.
This is done through fear and force. Most of us consider them traitors because of this, earning them no respect from the people they are supposed to serve.
Sure, everyone needs to work and earn coin, but they do this by crushing the freedoms of their neighbours.
They were one of us, and they traded that in to work for them.
This only earns them quiet disdain at best, and open contempt at worst.
I’ve run them ragged for long enough now.
It’s time to lose them. Darting down a side street, I immediately tuck into a hidden alcove, discarding my long widows scarf and veil.
Pulling up the hood of my loose tunic to cover my tumble of pinkish curls, I squeeze through the thin gap between the two buildings, reappearing on the main road just as the guards pass.
Even if they turned back now, they wouldn’t see a widow on the run, but a sullied beggar skulking down the road. I don’t like being out in open daylight like this, the sullied aren’t welcome anywhere in Rune, but with the guards storming through the city, no one should bother me.
I’m right. Most of the city act as though I don’t exist and the guards don’t even look my way as they scour this side of the city for the widow that escaped them. It doesn’t take me long to get back to my home, and that’s going the long way to make sure I’m not being followed.
Hood pulled high and chin lowered, I skulk through the city, using back allies and overhangs to move quickly and unseen.
It’s unnecessary as I’ve not seen anyone for a few streets now, but old habits die hard.
This is deep in gang territory and one of the areas that has fallen into disrepair.
Even the guards don’t come here anymore, allowing the gangs to take care of any issues.
The buildings here have been abandoned for years, even the beggars don’t come here.
At least, everyone thinks that they’re abandoned.
If anyone does know of our presence here then they don’t care enough to move us on.
Ahead, several ruined houses come into view, built up against one of the city’s thick outer walls.
Home sweet home. Stalking through the street, I glance up at the building I live in with longing.
I need to get off the streets, but there’s something I need to do first. Passing the dilapidated buildings, I reach a ruin on the corner of the block.
Glancing around, I check I’m alone and climb through the mass of timbers and debris.
It's total chaos in here, which is all part of the disguise. No one would ever suspect that someone lived here.
“Jules?” I call, knowing the old man will be in here somewhere. After all, he never leaves the safety of the wreck.
“What do you want?” A harsh, irritated voice snaps out from the back of the building. “Can’t an old man brood in peace?”
A smile pulls at my lips but I force my expression to be neutral as his head appears from the other side of several fallen planks of timber.
His hair is wild, sticking up at all angles and in desperate need of a brush.
Thinning with age and almost all grey, it makes him look older than he really is.
Not that I know much of anything about him.
Jules is cranky on a good day and downright awful on his bad, and sharing information is something he rarely ever does.
Secretive and suspicious, he's not an easy man to know. All I do know is that he used to be a guard, and then one day, he was redesignated as sullied. Everyone turned their back on him and he came out to the edge of society to die. Only he didn’t.
He’s lived here for longer than I have, and I’m honestly not sure how he’s survived.
“I have some extra water and I-”
“You’ve been causing problems in the market again.”
We both know that I’m lying and he cuts me off.
Water is scarce here, and the water skin I managed to fill at the market was supposed to last me several days.
However, I know the he needs it more than I do.
Snorting, I walk over to the container I know he keeps his water in.
It’s low, so I top it up, shaking my head at his comment.
“How did you hear about that?” Screwing the top back on my now half empty waterskin, I reattach it to my belt and put my hands on my hips, raising my brow. For a man who rarely leaves his hovel, he sure knows a lot of the city gossip.
“I have my sources.” He gives me a rare, toothless grin and taps the side of his nose conspiratory. It quickly drops though as he looks at his water container. “I don’t need your charity.”
“Okay, well it’s here now so you’ll just have to accept it.”
Not bothering with niceties or goodbyes, I turn away and start picking my way through the wreckage and toward the street, really needing to get home.
“How’s the girl?”
His question catches me off guard, as does the soft note to his voice. Slowing to a stop, I consider what he’s asked. I know exactly who he’s asking about, and it makes my heart constrict painfully in my chest. Ella, the reason for my every action and why I put myself through the trials I do.
Glancing back over my shoulder at Jules, I give him a small, sad smile. “She’s doing as well as she can.”
His mouth tightens but he nods slowly, acknowledging what I’ve told him. Sighing, he reaches up and scratches at the skin beneath his black band subconsciously. “She’s too good for this life. You both are.”
My throat tightens and mouth dry, his words hitting me hard. It’s too much for me to deal with today, my eyes stinging at his uncharacteristically kind words. Cruel slurs simply roll off my back, but hearing this from him? It reminds me of the life that I should have had.
“Bye, Jules.” Swallowing the lump at the back of my throat, I face forward once more, not able to look at him any longer with my parting words.
Jules’ comment has put me in a strange mood, and although I try to push it away, it seems to echo in my mind.
However, I’m returning to Ella and I can’t let her see me this way.
I navigate my way through the rubble of the fallen buildings, climbing up several large block of sandstone until I reach a balcony that juts outward.
Leaping forward in a practiced move, I grip the edge of the balcony, my body swinging beneath me, and pull myself up.
From outside, the building looks impossible to live in, the balcony one sandstorm away from collapsing, yet I’ve learnt how to adapt and protect places like this. I’ve lived here for four years now and made changes to it over the years and made it into a home.
Personally, I would live in a hovel, moving from place to place, perhaps even leave the city and fend for myself. However, it’s not just me I have to think about now. Ella deserves better than that.
Once on the balcony, carefully placed broken shutters provide us with a modicum of privacy, and I’m able to straighten up and squeeze through the gap that leads into the house.
Closest to the door is my sleeping space, meaning I can act quickly if anyone was to try and enter.
In the far corner, a nest of brightly colours fabrics brings life to the room.
Any time I find something colourful or sparkly, I bring it back for Ella.
She loves to decorate the room with them and make it more homely.
However, glancing around, I see that the room is empty.
I’m not panicking about it though, knowing exactly where she’ll be. On the opposite side of the room, a doorway is hidden by drapes of fabric affixed to the wall. It might look out of place if the rest of the room wasn’t dressed in the same manor, and blends in well.