His gaze dipped to my weapons before he sat, letting his legs dangle from the roof. The leather of his boots shone in the weak lamplight from below, and the silk kept his face perfectly concealed. Still, with the relaxed set of his shoulders and the easy way his hands rested on his knees, he looked comfortable. Cocky. “I don’t think a robbery like that is beyond your skill.”
“A compliment and an insult in one sentence.”
“Would you like to sit?” He leaned his weight onto one arm, glancing down into the quiet alley. “People rarely look up, but we’re not the only ones to use the rooftops as a second street. I’d rather not be seen.”
Cautiously, I found solid footing and crouched, keeping my daggers in my hands. “Are you following me?”
“How can I when I don’t know who you are?” The words sounded like a sneer.
“That makes us even. I don’t know who you are, either.”
“Good.”
What did he want with me? “Why do you wear a mask?”
“To hide my face. That’s the function of a mask, after all.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why do you hide your face?”
He went still for a moment, almost a statue’s shadow. “I think the more pressing question is this: why don’t you wear a mask, considering your suspicious proximity to crime?”
I repeated Patrick’s belief: “The best mask is a face no one will remember.”
“Oh,” he said, and looked at me as though I were a mystery. “I don’t see how anyone could forget your face.”
Compliments again. Why couldn’t he just chase me, like normal? Unless—no, he couldn’t know me from the palace. If he recognized me, I wouldn’t still be there. “Are we going to fight?” I asked.
“Do you want to?”
“Not particularly.” But fighting would be a lot more straightforward.
He shrugged. “Then we don’t have to. As you said, standing on a roof isn’t illegal, and I can’t prove you’re responsible for the warehouse robbery.”
“Is that how it works? You prove that the people you capture were breaking the law?”
“Sometimes.”
“What about the rest of the time? What if you caught someone about to break into that warehouse, but they hadn’t actually succeeded yet?”
“I’d bind them and leave them where the city police would find them.”
“With no proof they’d done—or were about to do—anything?” When he didn’t respond, I said, “Who gave you the authority? If you have your heart set on stopping violence and crimes, there are less dramatic ways to do it. Or do you enjoy the reactions to your theatrics?”
“I have my reasons. As I’m sure you have your reasons for fighting and stealing.”
Wind howled through the alley below, bringing only the normal odors of the city: sweat and smoke and waste. The thuds and squeaks and cracks of humanity’s presence softened as Skyvale residents headed to bed.
“I’m not admitting to anything—”
He laughed. Laughed. “No, I don’t imagine you ever would.”
I hefted a dagger in his direction, and he held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Sorry. You were saying?” There was still a hitch of laughter in his voice as he made himself comfortable again.
“If I were going to fight and steal, it’d be because I had no choice. It would be for survival.”
“When does fighting and stealing become more?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Like what? Murder?”
“How interesting that’s where your mind turned.”
“Well, it was recently suggested that my life might be easier if I’d let someone die.” I squeezed my dagger hilt. “But I left one of these in a glowman’s hand to keep that from happening, you see.”
Black Knife shrugged. “I thought that was simply a diversionary tactic, to allow you time to get away.”
“It served two purposes.” I smirked. “But I’m not a murderer, and I wouldn’t just let someone die. Even a menace like you.”
He cocked his head, leaving his hands motionless in his lap. “Do you think others feel the same way? About stealing and whatnot, I mean.”
I hesitated. “Some. Maybe most. There are parts of Skyvale where people feel they cannot afford to be civilized. Desperation makes them dangerous. But I’ve seen others who would fight and steal regardless of their circumstances. Like those glowmen, and the gangs that supply them with chemicals and wraith. They just like the thrill of violence. They like hurting people, even children. They like making things burn.”
“That’s a very bleak outlook.”
“No. It means I know to be careful. You can’t always tell which way someone leans.” I shifted my weight to keep blood flowing through my limbs.
“And you lean toward desperate danger.”
I scoffed, gesturing at his black uniform and the array of weapons. “I suppose you think your reasons for fighting are nobler than mine.”
“I was going to ask about your circumstances. What led you to this life.” He paused. “Hypothetically, that is.”
Not that it was any of his business: “Hypothetically, I fight and steal to help others.”
“The other Ospreys. The children I saw.”
The Ospreys. The victims of the One-Night War. The people still of Aecor. Yes. I leaned toward desperate danger; I would do anything for my people.
In Hawksbill, the clock tower chimed midnight. Starlight, and a sliver of moonlight, set the mirrors aglow, half illuminating the boy across from me. His long, lanky body appeared relaxed, but I’d seen him spring up and fight frighteningly quick before. I could not relax.
“I think I agree with you,” he said at last. “Most people want only to survive. Perhaps, if they were able to afford to be civilized—as you put it—even the gangs and glowmen would be kind and generous and law-abiding.”
The thought made me snort. “That’s an optimistic view.”
“You make optimism sound like an accusation.”
“Maybe you haven’t seen as much of the city as you think.” Hadn’t he heard the glowman the other week? When I’d asked why he attacked my people, he’d simply claimed they looked easy.
Black Knife waited a moment before asking, “What about flashers? Do you think they’re deliberately using their magic to bring the wraith closer? Do you think they like making things burn?”
Every muscle in my body tensed. I wanted to leap to the other roof and strangle him, but that would get me nowhere—except maybe shoved to the street below. I took measured breaths until I could speak calmly.
“I need to go.” My thighs ached as I stood.
In only a heartbeat, Black Knife pushed himself up and crossed the gap. I raised my blades, but he grabbed my forearm and twisted me around, bending my wrist so the dagger fell to the rooftop. With one arm around my waist and his free hand clutching both of my wrists, his breath came in harsh gasps by my ear. “Who are you?”
Trembling with how easily he’d disarmed me, I hissed, “Take off your mask. Then we can discuss identities.”
His breathing grew deeper and even. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Let me go.” Dull pain throbbed through my wrist where he’d bent it.
“Once you tell me what you think about flashers. Do you think they’re just like gangs and glowmen, and eager for the end?” His body was warm against mine, even as the night cooled around us. Gusts of wind brought the scent of an oncoming storm. Veils of clouds blew eastward, shrouding the stars.
“No,” I said. “I think most are desperate. Everyone knows about the wraith, but it’s hard to care about that when your children are starving or cold or sick, or when gangs are demanding tolls for traveling streets you can’t avoid. They have nothing but this one ability, and the people in power forbid it. They’re terrified to use magic, but more afraid not to.”
“Even though it’s destroying our world?”
“Several problems are immediate. One is not.” I shivered. “Everyone knows about you.”
He was quiet.
“You seek flashers. And once you find them, they’re never seen again. What do you do with them?”
“Good night, nameless girl.” Black Knife released me.
I staggered away, scooped up my daggers, and spun. The tip of one blade rested under his chin.
His eyes found mine, and he stilled.
I could turn the dagger blade vertical. Cut a slit in the silk that covered his face. Maybe find out who hid behind that mask.
He’d disarm me as soon as I moved. We’d fight, and I’d have to explain away strange cuts and bruises when I returned to the palace.
“Are we going to fight?” he asked, echoing my earlier question.
My voice grew hoarse. “What happens to the flashers?”
“Good night.” He reached up, as though to shove away my dagger.
“Black Knife.”
He held my gaze and didn’t move. His black-gloved hand hung suspended in the air, just breaths away from my wrist.
I licked my lips. “Are they killed?”
Carefully, gently, Black Knife took my hand and pulled away from the dagger. His tone turned darker. “I will find out.”
Then he stepped off the edge of the roof and vanished into the shadows.