Bring Me Their Hearts(23)
“I’m guessing you don’t want a gold watch because you need to tell the time,” I say loudly. A dark shadow straightens from behind a pile of trash, the sunlight shafting through the buildings barely illuminating the dark leather armor he’s wearing. Silent boots, silent gloves. A hood and mask obscure his face; the only things showing are two eyes so dark they hum with shadow, like the deepest parts of a midnight sky. He’s tall and lean and moves achingly slowly with suspicious tension.
“It’s all right, I won’t snitch. Yet.” I hold my hands up. “I wake up on the marginally more criminal side of the bed, too, some days.”
“How did you know where I was?” he asks, voice low. I laugh, then stop when he doesn’t.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was that a serious question? This alley is the only one small enough to lose a cadre of sword-chests trying to throw you in jail. Dungeon? Dungeon-jail. Not the happiest place, really.”
“I could’ve taken any other alley,” he insists, the gold watch spinning by its chain in his hand.
“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong. The southern alley has too much sun this time of day—that’d give you away. The alley by the grilled fish stall does have a great cover of smoke, but it’s full of lawguards. So that leaves this one.”
“You talk like you know this city,” he scoffs.
“I know thieves,” I correct. “And I know a smart thief doesn’t pick the most expensive item on a noble. The gold pieces are always hardest—around necks, in breast pockets. So either you’re a stupid thief, or you’re after the thrill of the challenge, not the treasure.”
His eyes narrow to dangerous onyx slits. “Now that you have me all figured out, why don’t you turn me in?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I smile.
There’s a tense, fleeting second of silence. Neither of us moves, some invisible string pulled taut between us. An unquiet challenge courses through the air, audible only to those who deal in shadow, only to him and me.
And then it snaps, and the thief runs, and I tear after him. He vaults over a stack of boxes with catlike grace, and I leap with all the forest muscle I have. He is water moving over stones with every turn of his body around street corners and through surprised crowds, over copper watertells and below stone arches. I don’t move in beautiful ways, not like he does. But my brute force is enough to keep up with him—to pivot hard and run harder.
A flock of sunbirds takes off as he runs through them. Red feathers fall like bloodied snowflakes, blinding me momentarily. I spot the thief’s dark figure as he ducks into an alley. At the end of it, a magnificent waterway cuts through the streets. A massive serpent carved in solid marble sits at the head of it, spewing water from its mouth. Children and laborers and the homeless gather to play in its waters, cleaning themselves of the grime and dirt of the hot day. The water-slick ground throws off my footing, but it doesn’t throw off his—he runs up a set of slippery stairs with ease. I can’t lose him now. I clutch the railing and drag myself up. At the top, I spot him standing still, debating between two roads.
This second hangs in the air, the sound of my panting mixed with the joyful cries of the children. Water dances up from the snake’s mouth in quartz fragments, splashing cool against my sweating skin. I haven’t run this hard in so long. I haven’t seen this many new things in so long. Molten excitement courses through my veins—this is what it’s like to be free. To be human. I remember now.
The thief turns his head my way. The moment he locks his dark eyes on me, life kicks up its speed, and he takes off again. As I follow him, out of breath and half in stitches, I realize this is a path with a very specific pattern. He runs it often—and he knows this city like it’s his limb. I can’t cut him off, but I can catch up at the very least. I shove all my energy left into my legs and double my speed. I reach my fingertips out to his shoulder, so very close—
He spins away at the last second, and I stumble. When I look up again, he’s gone. There are at least four paths he could’ve disappeared down. My brain says he went to the next alley, but my gut tells me he’s stopped, just over the wall to my left. I grab the pipe system grafted into the wall and pull myself up and over with the last of my strength. I land on shaky legs and see him standing there, poised in a fighting stance.
“You,” he hisses, panting.
“M-Me!” I exclaim, fully out of breath. “Now that the introductions are out of the way, maybe you can stop the whole ‘being a criminal’ thing and return what you stole.”
He snorts. “I’ve met some self-righteous hypocrites in my time, but you take the cake.”
“Thank the New God. It’d be a waste of good baking otherwise.”
“Whisper?” A tiny voice interrupts us. We both whirl around to see a little girl standing there, her dark hair tangled and her dress worn through with holes. She looks the same age as Crav—no more than ten or eleven—and she’s barefoot. The thief goes to her instantly, kneeling in front of her and offering the watch.
“Here. I got it. You can sell this to the pawners for a good amount.”
She looks over the thief’s shoulder and points to me.
“Who’s that, Whisper? A friend?”
“A stalker,” he corrects.