Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(36)

Run home, little man. There are worse things out tonight than angry ghosts.

The man vanished down a dark alley, his footfalls on the cobblestones quickly disappearing with him. A moment later a shadow appeared down the street, cast from above.

I shifted my position quietly and watched.

Alessio crept about on the roofs.

I exhaled behind my mask; my muscles trembled.

Alessio followed the man who’d crossed the square. And I followed Alessio, careful to keep him in my sight, but far enough away to keep his attention off the roofline.

He took his time as he stalked his prey, content to wait in the shadows as the minutes ticked by.

Damn. He wasn’t actually that bad at this, the stalking part anyway. Maybe he was unfinished, but he was a better clipper than I’d given him credit for. Of course, my uncle had trained him, so he had to have some Saldana skill.

The man walked across the street, following the light of the streetlamps until they ended and he was forced to walk in the shadows.

Something flashed on the street. The man shouted but was immediately engulfed in smoke.

Alessio once again performed his showy trick of leaping blind from the roof. He disappeared into the smoke, landing presumably onto his mark to kill him with a single stroke.

The smoke cleared.

Alessio knelt beside the corpse. As he rifled through his mark’s pouches, robbing the man, a bitter taste crept across my tongue. Robbing the dead was deplorable. Not even the lowest of the nine Families would sink so far.

Of course, in Lovero the coin flowed more freely to clippers. Maybe Alessio didn’t have many contracts to fulfill.

Alessio dragged the body deeper into the shadows. After a quick look around, he climbed to the roofs and headed north.

I smiled behind my mask. Finally! He had to be heading home, and his home had to be with my uncle.

I trusted that Marcello, banished or not, still kept to the clipper ways. And clippers didn’t live by themselves. It simply wasn’t done. There was no safety in it. If my uncle was Alessio’s trainer, and I didn’t think Alessio had been lying, then they had to share a home.

Alessio led me deeper into Yvain, where the buildings were not as well maintained and only every other lamp had oil enough to light the streets.

I wrinkled my nose. My uncle must have truly fallen low if he couldn’t find better accommodations.

I thought of my own abandoned building. That was different, though. I’d had no choice. Alessio dropped off a roof and entered an alley. I waited another moment before doing the same.

The alley was empty. Alessio had disappeared.

I searched the roofs above me, making sure he hadn’t doubled back, but no, the roofs were as empty as the alley. He’d vanished like an angry ghost at dawn.

I walked farther into the alley, carefully examining the street. There. A sewer grate suspiciously clear of debris and filth. The Saldanas had always used tunnels to reach their home, and old habits died slowly, if they died at all.

I squatted beside the grate. There didn’t seem to be any lock. I tugged on the bars and it swung up easily, its hinges well oiled.

I guessed if they were the only clippers in a city, they didn’t need locks.

I dropped into the tunnel. It wasn’t anything like our tunnels in Lovero. Those had been designed to confuse and kill intruders. This one seemed to travel in a straight line. I trailed my right hand across a smooth surface until the tunnel ended at a ladder and another grate.

I climbed the rungs and carefully peeked out.

The grate opened into a small room, similar to the tunnel room in my home. The room was dim, the floor, walls, and ceiling nothing more than the stonework of the tunnel, but past a doorway a fire roared in a large hearth.

Alessio stood just a few feet away from me. Only my many years of training prevented me from rapidly closing the grate. The movement would attract his attention faster than the slight gap I peered through.

He stood before a small altar, dedicated to Safraella. He used a knife to cut his finger. When his blood welled up, he rubbed it over a coin and placed it on the altar. It was an old way of worship, but perhaps it was all he knew.

He left, disappearing into the room with the hearth and fire. I watched quietly. Rushing things would only lead to mistakes.

Alessio passed in front of the tunnel room. He’d removed his cloak and was unlatching the buckles securing his leather vest across his chest. He stepped out of sight, and I took the moment to slip out of the tunnel, hiding in a dark corner.

“He didn’t have much,” Alessio said, but from my corner I couldn’t see whom he addressed. I needed to make some decisions about how to proceed. I could simply walk in and announce myself. Or wait until the fire died down and ambush them. No, that would be dangerous, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just wanted what I came for, the location of the Da Vias’ home and Marcello’s help.

I slid to the edge of the doorway, pressed against the wall. In the other room, coins clinked as they dropped into a dish or bowl. A sigh followed, and I could imagine Alessio stretching his arms the way Rafeo used to, when he had finished a job for the night and was glad to be home.

“Any troubles?” It was a man’s voice, low and gruff. Marcello?

Alessio hesitated. “No. It’s been quiet these last few nights.”

Liar.

“No trouble at all?” Footsteps clicked on the floor of the room.