~by Catherine Thompson~

Run.

Don't think.

She fled through the maze of alleys, choosing her way almost by instinct. Innumerable paths opened before her, as if a map of Arcadia had been imprinted on her mind. This alley led west, into the slums; that one northeast, towards the market-place. Her feet led her southwards.

Don't think.

Run.

No-one walked the streets this night, nor any night. Guards now strictly enforced curfew. Unless you had a special pass, if they caught you outside after dusk, they would arrest you. Your family, supposing you still had some, would be allowed to collect the body for burial--for a price. Not even the alleys were safe anymore. Her heart beat hard and fast; her ears strained for sounds of pursuit.

Run.

Chain mail jangled to the beat of double-marching boots. She changed course automatically. She would have to go up to avoid the patrols.

Don't think.

Terraced houses loomed on her right. The brick face of a chimney provided the means. She scaled the chimney and gained the roof. Her feet slid against the slates. She grappled for purchase with her soft-soled boots and her fingers. Finding her grip, she ran noiselessly up the peaked roof to balance on the ridgepole, just as Dirk had taught her.

Dirk . . .

Don't think.

Run.

~*~

Cat pushed the egg around on her plate with a bit of toast. Dirk sat across from her, eating his breakfast without any obvious enjoyment. He paused often to stare out the kitchen window. Cat had noticed that her master had been moody and distracted for some weeks now. "Dirk." She pronounced the name as another might say, "Dad." He glanced at her. "I wish you'd tell me what's wrong," she said.

Dirk shook his head. "Nothing for you to worry about, Kit."

Cat sighed. "You always say that."

"Because it's true." Dirkhan mustered a smile; it seemed more like a grimace. "You've worries of your own. The small matter of a swordsmanship test, I believe."

Cat pulled a face. "Don't remind me. Conor keeps telling me if I don't pass, I'll never make master."

Dirk's smile this time was genuine. "Yes, you will. I've not wasted the past six years. You're very good, Kit." The smile faded. "Maybe the only good in my life right now."

~*~

Dirk . . .

She clung to the roof-tiles of the middle house in the terrace, pressing flat against the peak while guards hurried past. Tears welled up in her eyes; she blinked them back. Now was not the time.

The footsteps faded into the night. She waited a few moments longer, then scrambled upright again, running sure-footed. When she reached the end of the terrace, she paused. Ahead was another terrace of houses, separated from this one by a narrow alley. To her left stood a rank of buildings across a dirt lane; on her right was a sheer drop into the cobbled High Street that led from the South Gate to Lord Rhodan's stronghold and Arcadia barracks.

She opted for the alley. Sliding down the slates, she grasped the eave and used her momentum to flip herself off the roof. She miscalculated, however, and landed in a pile of garbage, although she did manage to throw her pack clear before she hit. Extricating herself as quickly as she could, she brushed off the clinging debris. Luckily, no-one would be sending dogs after her, she reflected, wrinkling her nose.

She grabbed her supplies. The South Gate was perhaps a quarter-mile distant, well guarded as always. She slipped from the alley into the dirt lane. She would have to go over the wall itself. From the street at her back came the echo of boots.

Run.

She bolted across the lane. The moon was just past the full, making this a bad time to be on the run. She dove for the cover of the shadows surrounding the nearest building, pressing her back against the wall. A soft crackling noise accompanied the movement.

~*~

A sound awoke Cat, and she lay quietly in the dark, trying to determine what it was. After a moment, she realized that it was Dirk, swearing under his breath. Slipping out of her bed, Cat went to investigate.

Her long hair loose about her shoulders, she padded barefoot along the corridor to her master's bedroom, her linen shift brushing her calves. Cat paused outside to listen, then eased the door open. Dirkhan sat on the bed, a lamp throwing faint illumination over him. In his hands he held what looked to be a piece of cloth. Dirk flinched and swore as he stuck himself with the needle again.

"If you needed mending done, why didn't you send it to Lys the seamstress?" Cat asked, her tone flippant. The look Dirk gave her alarmed her, and she hurried to him. "What is it?" Now that she was nearer, she saw that her master wasn't doing his own mending. "What're you doing to my jerkin?" When Dirk didn't answer, she tried to snatch it from his hands.

"No, Cat," he ordered.

Cat stopped with her hands on the garment and stared at Dirk. "You haven't called me that since--"

"The night we met," Dirk finished for her. "I'm sorry."

Cat sat down next to him. "What is it?" she murmured.

Dirkhan sighed. "Listen," he began, "listen close. I want you to remember every word." His tone frightened Cat; she nodded mutely, her gaze fixed on him.

"There's trouble in the Guild," Dirk said. "I don't know who among my men I can trust. So far, I've managed to piece together a little information. I won't tell you what it is," he added, holding up a hand to forestall her protests. "You wouldn't be safe if I did."

He patted the jerkin lying across his knees. "I've sewn a letter into the lining. If anything should happen, head for Ashby. Take this letter to the Guildmaster there--he's the only one who'll be able to understand it. Remember, it's vital that the letter reaches Ashby Guild's master."

"But--"

"None of that," Dirk said, shaking his head.

Cat ignored him. "But if there's trouble, I won't leave you."

"You'll have to."

Cat felt tears starting up. "No! Dirk, I'll never leave you!" She threw her arms about his neck and pressed her face into his chest. Dirk held her for a moment, then gently sat her back. "As you love me, Cat, you must." Cat dropped her gaze to the altered jerkin, and she nodded. "By the Gods, I should send you now," Dirk whispered, half to himself.

~*~

She waited in the shadows until the guards passed in the High Street, then she slid around to the front of the building, which faced a side-street. Moving as swiftly as she could, she made her way along this street and into another, then yet another, unwilling to take a direct route. She didn't know if anyone was following her, and she wasn't about to take any chances. Better to let them believe she was wandering the streets out of grief than that they learn she had a purpose, one last mission from her master.

A wave of anguish hit her, and she swayed on her feet. Don't think, she berated herself, just do it, get the job done. Somehow, she managed to stay upright, and she struck off for the South Wall again, glancing over her shoulder from time to time.

~*~

Cat found that conversations stopped whenever she entered the Guildhall. She suspected the reason, but pretended ignorance, acknowledging other Guild members with nods or a word here and there. As she directed her steps to the meeting-chamber, Cat shuddered. The Guildhall had always meant safety and security; now, it was rife with suspicion and rumour. The only place she could feel safe was in their quarters, behind the barber-shop.

She met Torr, one of the master thieves, outside the meeting-chamber. She greeted him, then said, "Is Dirk ready for my report?"

Torr gave her an odd look. "Ramsall's in with him now," he said. Cat narrowed her eyes in a puzzled frown. "Okay," she replied. "I'll just wait, then." Torr stared at her, then nodded and continued on his way.

Cat could hear voices from the chamber. She nudged the unlatched door open. Dirkhan and Ramsall faced each other in the middle of the small room. Ram's hand rested on the pommel of the sword he affected to wear. Animosity hung in the air like smoke. "It's over, Dirk," Ramsall said, a swagger in his voice. "The men have lost confidence in your leadership."

"Because of you, Ram," Dirk responded. "You've poisoned their minds." He gazed at Ramsall with more sadness than anger. "Blood and bones! I wish I'd known I'd brought a viper into my home."

Ram smirked. "Perhaps you taught me too well, Master," he said in a mocking tone. Cat didn't like the way his fingers fondled his sword-hilt. She thrust through the door and strode to Dirk's side. Ramsall's smirk broadened into a grin. "And here's the apprentice, come to the master's aid," the thief said. "How now, young Kit?" He took her chin in his fingers, tilting her face up and forcing her to look at him. Cat hardened her gaze. Ram winked at her in a sly manner. "Your cheeks are still beardless, I see," he murmured, releasing his hold. He cut a glance at Dirk, then turned on his heel.

Her heart thudding against her ribs, Cat looked to her master. "He knows." Her voice came out in a strangled whisper.

Dirkhan nodded. "I told him."

~*~

The South Wall rose before her, higher than the houses. Three hundred yards to her right, guards paced in front of the South Gate. Any sound would bring them straight to her. Shouldering her pack, she ran her fingertips over the stones, seeking a grip.

She inched her way up the wall, each toe- and finger-hold hard won. Keeping an eye on the guards, she had to feel her way, the shadows that cloaked her both a blessing and a curse. Once, she dislodged a chunk of mortar; it fell to the ground with a soft thud. She froze in place as one guard came to reconnoitre. She followed his progress with her eyes, hardly daring to breathe as he passed beneath her feet. He scuffed his boots about for several moments, staring at the ground. She felt her muscles tremble.

Just when she thought her arms would give out altogether, the guard walked back to his mates. "Nothing," he called as he went. She heaved a silent sigh and pulled herself up to the next handhold.

At the top, she slid a leg over and lay flat a moment to catch her breath and survey the situation. The road to Ashby began at the South Gate, then dog-legged eastwards into the forest, where it eventually joined with the North Road. Directly ahead of her, she could see the silver gleam of the river, lying about a mile away, before it, too, disappeared into the trees. She peered over the edge. It was a sheer drop of twenty feet or so to the ground, but she had no choice. Fixing her pack more firmly, she took a deep breath and rolled off the top of the wall.

The shock of landing jolted her from foot to head; she fell back against the wall and slid to the grass, her pack slipping from her shoulder. She could do little more than breathe and hope the guards hadn't heard.

~*~

Cat dashed through the rear door into the living-quarters behind the barber-shop and dropped the heavy wooden bolt into place. "Dirk!" she cried. "Ram's taken over the Guild! He's declared himself Master--nobody will stand against him--why weren't you there?" A lamp burned in the kitchen; she looked in, but saw no-one. "Dirk?" She turned to her master's bedroom. Light shone through a gap, showing that the door was ajar.

"I ran all the way here. Things were looking pretty ugly, and someone said something about traitors and hanging, so I reckoned I'd better get out." On the threshold, Cat paused. No sound came from within. An awful chill raised gooseflesh over her body, and her heart began to pound. She pushed the door open.

Dirk lay on his bed, face up, feet towards the door. Cat slowly crossed the room. "Dirk?" she whispered. The lamp on the bedside table gleamed on something wet, something that shone red on Dirk's clothing and dark skin.

"No," Cat murmured, staring at the wound in her master's throat. She touched the hand that lay across his chest; it was cold. An animal-like wail tore loose from her throat, a sound of pure grief. Cat sank to the floor and began to sob. "No, no, no, no, no, no," she moaned. "No, no, no, no . . ."

Long moments later, she still sat by the bed, silent now, rocking back and forth. She knew she had to go, but she couldn't bring herself to leave. Her eyes were drawn irresistibly to Dirk's motionless body. She reached up and took his hand, pressing it against her cheek. Somehow, she got the strength to stand again.

Cat rushed to her room and exchanged her short jacket for her leather jerkin, then grabbed her pack. In the kitchen, she crammed in as much food as the rucksack would hold, then blew out the lamp. She returned to Dirk's room to do the same. She paused a minute, gazing at his face. Dirk seemed almost peaceful, as if he knew she was with him. Cat leant down and placed a light kiss on the cold brow before blowing out the bedside lamp.

~*~

No guards came. Gathering her wits and her pack, she scrambled to her feet. Scanning the terrain, she chose her path.

Run.

She hurled herself from the safety of the shadows and zigzagged through the long grass of the field towards the river. She heard voices behind her, but ignored them. The guards at the gates had only swords and spears, no crossbows. They were supposed to keep people out, not in. The shouts faded as she approached the river.

Don't look back.

The cold water shocked her body, but she pushed through the current. The water rose to her thighs, then her waist. The tide dragged at her, trying to pull her down. She slipped on the rocks of the riverbed, floundered until she got her feet back under her. Twice, she nearly went under, and only adrenaline saved her. Panting, she half swam, half ran until she found shallower water.

Don't think.

She reached the far bank and hauled herself out of the river. Not even pausing for breath, she stumbled towards the trees. Gradually, her ragged gait developed a steady rhythm.

Don't think.

Don't look back.

Run.

© Catherine Thompson, 2002. All rights reserved.

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