Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(28)

Three men in the alley stood over the body of the boy. They wore gray-and-blue uniforms with round hats. Yvain lawmen.

I couldn’t make out their muffled words, but it suddenly seemed important to find out what they were saying.

I reached my arms over the boat and grasped the moor line. I dragged the boat closer to the alley.

“It’s different from the others,” one lawman said. “I think this was just a regular robbery gone wrong. Nothing else is missing but the coins.”

“Not all the coins, though,” another lawman said. They turned to look at the third lawman, who held a gold coin in his fingers, examining it. My gold coin. The one stamped with the Saldana Family crest that I’d slipped into the boy’s mouth last night in a fit of exhaustion and stupidity. They didn’t worship Safraella in Yvain, so chances were they didn’t appreciate a murder.

“What do you make of it, Captain Lefevre?” one asked.

“It’s Loveran.” He flipped the coin over. “See this stamp? It’s a crest from one of their clipper Families.”

“Clipper?”

“Their assassin Families, who serve Safraella by murdering people.” One of the lawman spat to the side, but lawman Lefevre continued, “They clip people’s lives short.”

Lawman Lefevre was either well educated in Loveran customs and culture, or he’d spent some time in my country.

“Then what is it doing here?”

Lefevre whistled a short tune, turning the coin in his fingers again. “They only leave these coins on someone they’ve killed, so it means this boy wasn’t killed by our mysterious serial murderer, but instead by a Loveran clipper.”

I hadn’t killed the boy, though. I’d only tried to make his passage to his next life easier. It was a kindness, what I’d done for him.

The third lawman grunted. “So, not only do we have our own serial murderer on the loose, but now we have a Loveran one as well?”

“Seems so,” Captain Lefevre said. “And the clipper will be a professional killer, proficient in all manners of murder.”

Beside me, a canal bird landed on the edge of the boat. I looked at it, and my movement sent it skyward in an explosion of feathers and shrieks.

All three lawman looked up at the sound. Their eyes followed the bird before settling on the boat. Where I lay hidden, arms grasping the moor line to keep me in place, masked face peeked over the edge to eavesdrop.

One gave a wordless shout. All three rushed to the end of the alley and the canal I floated in.

I swore and dropped the moor line. The boat began to drift away.

“Stop right there!” one shouted.

I declined and instead grabbed my closest weapon, my favorite stiletto hidden in my boot. I sliced and sawed at the moor line, but the rope was thick and crusted from the canal water.

The two junior lawmen found a boat pole in the alley and used it to snag the moor line. They hauled on the rope, and my boat jerked toward them.

Captain Lefevre stood at the edge of the canal and stared at me, twisting the coin in his fingers.

I eyed the rope, and then the water. There was no guarantee if I jumped into the canal that they wouldn’t follow me. And I had two bags of weapons and belongings that would weigh me down.

I used all my strength and pressed the edge of my stiletto into the fraying rope. My shoulder stretched painfully.

The rope snapped. I almost fell into the canal at the sudden freedom. Shouts erupted from the alley, and I scrambled to my knees. The sudden slack had caused the junior lawmen to tumble to the ground.

My boat drifted downstream. The fallen lawmen scrabbled to their feet and ran out of the alley. Captain Lefevre continued to stare at me, a slight smirk on his face.

“I’ll be seeing you later, clipper,” he shouted. He turned and walked away, whistling a tune that echoed around him.

I somehow managed to steer the boat down a side canal away from the lawmen. As soon as I could, I pulled myself to the streets and escaped the boat, shoving it on its way.

The lawmen would still be looking for me. They didn’t know my identity because of my mask, so I’d be safe without it, but they’d surely recognize my mask again if they saw it. I’d need to be careful, stay in the shadows. Which meant I needed to find somewhere to hide, somewhere I could stash my belongings to keep them secure.

My shoulder ached. Everything about me ached after the night spent in the boat, but getting to the rooftops was the safest option. The lawmen likely wouldn’t look there.

I scurried down the dark alleys, avoiding the main streets and the people starting to fill them. I wore my leathers and cloak and mask, and even if I hid my mask and cloak in my bags, my clothing would still look odd. And people remembered oddness and would talk. Better to wear the mask and have people remember that than take it off and have people remember me.

Down another alley, bordered by a canal, leaned a pile of pallets and refuse against a single-story building. I rotated my arm and grimaced at the pain, but this would be the most help I’d find.

I once again tied my bags to me, and then tested the resiliency of the pile. It wobbled with my shoves but seemed fairly stable. I’d have to take care and take my time.

The pile turned out to be easy to climb. The nooks and crannies of the refuse made for plenty of hand-and footholds. And though my shoulder protested the entire time, my night of sleep must have done some good, because I was able to keep going until I found myself at the top of the pile.