by Jon Evans
Loft moved along the hallway and stood on the other side. Gurnt crouched and when he didn't follow suit, motioned for him to do the same, he glanced to his right, the others were ducked low on the staircase for some reason, heads just visible above the level of the floor, though there was no way they could be seen. They seemed tense but relaxed a little when he followed suit.
Once he was down, he pulled out a short truncheon, meant for giving a criminal a sharp knock to the head to stun them. It was smaller than the standard Watch truncheon and didn't contain a bell mechanism. It was just a heavy piece of shaped wood, suitable for close quarter struggles.
Gurnt moved up from her crouch briefly, pounded her fist on the top of the door several times and crouched down as she drew her long knife shouting, "City Watch. Open up. We're looking for Ulric Stenberg."
There was no answer, and after a few seconds, Loft started to stand, reaching out for the door handle. Gurnt shot him a look and furiously gestured at him, and he hesitated for a fraction of a second, halfway to being upright. Then he fell back on his arse with a start as the wall just above his head exploded in a shower of white powder and splintered wood.
He'd heard the characteristic twang and slap of a crossbow, but it wasn't until the bolt passed above him buried itself in the wall opposite, that he recognised the sound.
Constable Miller raised his bow and loosed a bolt in response, which disappeared into the room on the other side, through the thin, wattle and daub wall. There was a clatter of something being dropped, and the sound of footsteps from within the flat.
Gurnt was already moving, she rose and tried the handle then put her shoulder to the door three times before the lock gave way, and the door burst open. Loft's heart was pounding in his chest and he pulled himself upright as fast as he could.
Gurnt was inside the garret already, Libult and Pelunt were forced to wait behind him, and Miller was reloading his crossbow.
"You're under arrest you bastard," Gurnt roared from somewhere inside the room as Loft dashed through the doorway. She'd closed with a thickset man with black hair and was trying to grab him with her left hand while holding her knife hand back in reserve.
Furniture had fallen or been pulled over between the door and the melee and Loft had to push some aside to make it past, the ceiling was too low here to leap it without risking a concussion and he'd already been flat on his backside once today.
As he did so the fight turned, Gurnt lost her knife somehow; it skittered out of her hand into a dark corner. Stenberg closed immediately, delivering a flurry of blows with closed fist to the upper arms that the breastplate didn't protect and a vicious backhand to her face.
Then, as Loft began to get close, Stenberg darted in, putting his shoulder into the chest of the stunned sergeant and grabbing her arm. Somehow, from starting with his back to Gurnt, he spun her around and launched her bodily at Loft.
Instinctively he caught the falling Sergeant and almost buckled under the force of the impact. He had to take a couple of steps backwards to stay upright and almost dropped her.
Stenberg was already on the move, darting this way and that grabbing things from the apartment as he dashed to ward a door in the north wall. As Loft and Gurnt found their proper footing, he made it through a doorway on the other end of the long loft.
Constable Miller leaned to one side and loosed another shot past Loft. It passed through the now open door and shattered a mirror opposite, above a small sink. Steberg turned and snarled at that, the bolt having just missed his head. Turnabout is fair play, thought Loft, wishing the bolt had found its intended target. Miller cursed as the criminal disappeared into the room.
Loft glanced down; the heavy crossbow Stenberg used lay discarded on the floor near the door, so there was no threat of another bolt at least. They'd found him fully dressed but not yet in uniform so he'd obviously been up for a while. It was cursed unlucky, if they could have got here a few hours earlier, maybe they would have caught him still sleeping but then maybe he slept late and had been up all night.
Either way, he'd been able to grab some things before he went into the bathroom and Loft knew there must be an exit back there. If they had him cornered, he had the distinct impression Steberg would have attacked them all, rather than surrendered.
Most likely Stenberg had picked up money or weapons, choosing to flee not stand and fight. From what Gurnt had said, that was probably a good thing for their safety, but if they couldn't keep pace with him he would get away, and he was disturbingly quick.
Loft spared a glance at Gurnt who had dropped to one knee and was shaking her head and blinking furiously. Stenberg had really rung her bell and she wasn't going to be at her best for a few minutes. She looked up at them all and growled, "Get after that bastard, then."
Loft drew his sword as he advanced on the door. Constable Miller was reloading behind him, and Libult and Pelunt were bringing up the rear.
The bathroom door had swung itself shut, and Loft raised his leg, giving it a firm kick, leaning back in case Stenberg was lying in wait. Nothing happened and he held his sword out ahead of him, as he moved into the bathroom.
It was a good sized room and even had a simple shower over the bath, modest but entirely functional. There was a door in the wall to the left. It was open and led to what looked like a storage area. He could see a flight of steps leading upward, presumably to the roof.
He cursed under his breath and they advanced together down the bathroom, cautiously entering the store room. Shit. There were boxes here and racks for weapons. There wasn't anywhere for him to hide in here though.
Stenberg had only picked up small objects as he'd left the flat, but in here there could have been anything, including another crossbow. None of the racks were full. Judging by the number of empty slots on the stands, they never had been. Stenberg couldn't possibly have picked up that much as he burst through here onto the roof.
The hatch the steps led to was wide open to the sky and bright light streamed in. Loft moved cautiously forward, keen to avoid Stenberg taking a shot, if he'd had another crossbow in this armoury of his.
Then came the distinct sound of footsteps on the roof, moving away from the hatch. Loft glanced back at his team, Constables Libult and Pelunt were ready, swords drawn and Miller was holding his crossbow. Gurnt was back on her feet at the rear, seeming somewhat miffed, to say the least. The look on her face explained why Mohran had flinched on encountering her for the second time.
She waved at him onward weakly and he nodded in silent agreement. Go on, she was telling him, I'm fine and you have a suspect. Or maybe it was, go on, I have to throw up, he considered. Either way, he was going on, constables in tow.
Loft made his way up the steps cautiously; the hatch led out onto a small landing inside a tower with a pointed roof. There was no bell or mechanism now, but the windows at the top and the remaining fittings showed there'd been a clock and bell in here at one time.
Nowadays, it was just a way to access the roof, doubtless left here to make it easier to carry out repairs to the hodgepodge of different roofing styles, presumably based on the materials and cost of replacing them throughout the centuries.
Slate had been in vogue when the building was constructed, but these days, fired clay tiles were cheaper and more practical. The thatch would be from a period when the business was doing particularly poorly, probably before they built the garret flat below.
Stenberg was fleeing across the uneven roof as quickly as possible. He scrambled, looked for all the world like a crab, over the sloped slate and along the lines between thatch and tile. He glanced back over his shoulder and frowned as he saw Loft climbing out of the tower onto the thatch below to pursue him.
Loft had to put his back to the man to get down safely; he didn't dare let go of the tower before he was sure of his footing. It must be at least thirty feet to the cobbles and flagstones of the streets below and everywhere he looked around him, there was some angle or slope that could
lead to it.
Once he was down, Loft put his hands to the thatch and turned, just in time to see Stenberg raising a small crossbow in one hand and aiming at him. He dove forward, into the lee of a chimney stack, long since blocked up. The bolt clattered from the tiled side of the clock tower behind him and Stenberg cursed loudly.
Loft glanced around the corner of the chimney, Stenberg had dropped the small crossbow and had resumed his escape across the roof, toward the north end of the building. He looked about, trying to see if there was a faster way than Stenberg had taken to navigate the roof safely.
There wasn't, but if Loft didn't start moving, he'd lose him. Stenberg knew the building and there had to be some way down if he was fleeing in that direction. Perhaps one of the dormer windows would be accessible, or maybe there was a balcony.
He took the risk, trying to gain ground by sticking to the thatched portions and planting his feet either side of the ridges. Loft sheathed his sword, so he had both hands free for balance and to grab at the roof should he lose his footing.
Either the route Loft took was better than Stenberg's, or he was taking more risk, there was no time to think about it though. He had to get Stenberg, or they could lose him in the streets of Kalider forever. Had had to know why they murdered Perl. He had to have justice for the boy. What was a little abject terror at the prospect of falling from a roof, compared to that?
Regardless of how he did it, he was gaining on his quarry, who was a few feet from the far edge of the roof now. Loft spared a moment and saw him peer over the edge of the roof, a cry came up from the street below and he knew his men had spotted Stenberg. He grinned, heartened to know that wherever the killer climbed down, he wasn't going to get away so easily.
Stenberg cursed again, or at least, Loft assumed that's what he was doing, given the context and tone of voice. The language used was entirely foreign to him though.
Loft watched in amazement as Stenberg moved back from the edge of the roof and then suddenly sprang into motion, running full pelt along a flat section of thatch and leaping off the edge of the building.
Loft's heart hammered in his chest, the blood pounding in his ears. What had just happened? He scrambled the rest of the way across the roof, steadied himself on a chimney stack and looked straight down. He expected to see Stenberg, splayed on the cobbles in a gruesome tableau that would make even Dr Gardener feel queasy.
He wasn't there though. Loft looked up and saw him. The alley was narrow, maybe only six feet and he'd cleared it, landing on the slightly lower roof of the building opposite.
Skorta and Swint were staring up in shock, open mouthed at what they'd just seen. Loft was glad to find he wasn't the only one who thought jumping across an alley like that was either foolish or insane. The roof opposite was flat and modern, a large warehouse building perhaps as it was far bigger than the inn and had no decorative features.
In the alley below, Swint grabbed her truncheon, flipped the catch and rang it with all her might. It was a signal, letting Amuel and Knave it was time to come running, then she went after Skorta, who was already making his way around the building Stenberg had jumped to.
If there happened to be any other members of the City Watch around Westgate, it would bring them too. That was vanishingly unlikely in this part of town, but it was the standard practice in Kalider. It was the sound of trouble, and no member of the Watch wanted to be left alone, not even the guards at The Palace would fail to answer if they could.
Loft moved back, a little further than Stenberg had. He turned to face the alley and swallowed. He was glad to know Skorta and Swint were already out of the alley. Loft didn't want to set an example, and if it went wrong, he didn't want anyone to see the result. He dashed forward as fast as he could manage and launched himself off the roof and across the alley.
He sailed through the air and his stomach lurched as he saw the drop below him. He could hear someone crying out behind him and was pretty sure he'd earned the ire of Gurnt. Time to worry about that later, or not, as might very well be the case, he thought.
Loft felt as if he might suddenly stop in mid-air and just plummet directly to the ground, though he knew that wasn't really possible. He pictured his body slamming into the wall and his hands failing to get a grip on the edge of the roof, then falling to his death on the cobbles below.
With a thump and a searing jolt through his ankles and knees, he landed atop the other roof, a clear foot from the edge. He stumbled forward awkwardly before righting himself and advancing a couple of steps.
Stenberg heard the impact and stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't turn, he just stood there, maybe thirty feet away, his shoulders heaving as he took deep breaths.
"Ulric Stenberg, you're under arrest. Put your hands up in the air where I can see them. We've got you surrounded," Loft shouted between his own gulps for air. He had the distinct urge to drop to his knees and vomit as the fighting spirit wound through his guts in response to his utterly insane and for all he knew, completely unnecessary leap across the alley.
He couldn't really believe he'd done something so stupid and a part of his mind was trying to work out what they would have said to his mother. Something less embarrassing he hoped.
Stenberg rolled his head from side to side, then put his arms in the air as ordered. Loft had started forward when he saw him hold one elbow and gently pull the arm, then repeat the motion on the other side. He leaned over and touched his toes then rolled his shoulders side to side and turned, revealing a feral grin.
He was stretching, Loft thought. The cocky bastard was stretching, as casually as if he were about to have a fencing match at the Academy. He apparently had no intention of surrendering. Loft tried not to show it but what he was thinking was mostly, shit, I should not have done this.
Now they had stopped moving; Loft had time to notice that Stenberg had several weapons strapped about his person. He was wearing a leather harness over his shirt. It was probably supposed to be under a cloak or tunic to conceal it. The crossbow had gone but he couldn't see what else he had, certainly some knives and what looked like a sword, on his back.
At least this roof was flat and seemed sturdy underfoot. Loft drew his sword and tried not to dwell on the fact that, right now, he was entirely alone, with an expert killer. His fellow Thieftakers were either in the building behind him or on the way to surround this one.
They might not even be trying to get up here to help arrest this man, who was so terribly dangerous. The teams on the ground probably had no idea Loft had jumped to the roof of this building.
He licked his lips nervously, wondering just how big a mistake he'd made when he jumped to this roof. Loft was pretty sure of the answer he'd get from Gurnt on that subject. She'd made it clear being alone was about the worst thing a watchman could do.
Too late for analysis now, he thought, he had to win the fight, or die.
Chapter Twenty One
Loft advanced slowly, his brain awash with a flood of advice from his Academy instructors, 'Let them come to you', 'Don't tip your hand', 'Keep your feet on the floor', 'Keep your off hand out of the way.' Most of it seemed useless now. What did it even mean in a fight like this? He wasn't even sure it helped in a fencing match, and this contest wasn't going to be scored on points.
"I should warn you, Stenberg, I was the Academy's fencing champion two years running," he said.
"Disappointing. Your stance is sloppy, your footwork amateurish, your weapon a disgrace and your eyes… You have the eyes of a bureaucrat, not a warrior. If this is the best your Academy has to offer, I pity Kalider," Stenberg said as he advanced.
Bugger, neither a fencer, nor a competent liar, it seemed. Loft wondered, briefly, if he was enough of a runner to get away before Stenberg was on him. He certainly hadn't been good enough to make it through the second round of any of the fencing competitions at the Academy, but then, he could read without running his finger along the text. At least he had been ahead in some categories, and
he knew that here and now, he had one advantage over Stenberg. Loft wasn't alone.
"Fine, I may not be the best the Academy has to offer, but you're still surrounded. Even if you kill me, there's no way off this roof," Loft said, watching Stenberg's feet for signs that he was about to rush him.
"Pah," Stenberg spat, "Are you so sure? I think I can kill you and then cut your men down one after the other like the street vermin they smell of," Stenberg replied.
"That's a bold claim," Loft said, his eyes flicking back past Stenberg's shoulder. A mistake, his opponent was attentive, saw the movement in Loft's eyes and rolled to his right, just as a crossbow bolt shot by Corporal Skorta whistled past.
Stenberg snarled and dashed toward his enemy with the speed he'd shown when engaging Gurnt. He wasn't headed toward Loft as he'd been expecting, but for Corporal Skorta who was closer and now armed with what amounted to a clumsy club.