“I’d like to see how you fare against me,” Unach says offhandedly, but there’s a hardness to her tone. “Leave her be. She has ears, you know.”
I bite my lip to hide a smile, because I don’t think Unach would react well to my pleasure at her defense of me. I hand her my weapons and a few pitons, and she returns them to the closet.
Afterward, I pick my way back through the city, considering what to do with my few hours of free time. I could visit Perg again, but not a day has passed yet, and he needs his rest. That, and I’d like to have that soup when I see him again.
I wonder if I could barter some writing supplies from someone, just to draw or tell a story, not that I’m talented with either. Thoughts of writing make me think of Azmar, so I turn up toward Engineering. Surely he will have some use for me there, even if it’s just teaching me a new concept and letting me sit in the corner while I work it out.
The uphill climb is tiring. Sleet is on duty, the same guard as the first time I visited. He scrutinizes me but says nothing. I scan the tables but don’t see Azmar’s familiar knot of hair.
“Is Azmar in today?” I ask the guard.
He frowns at me, and I suspect it’s at my boldness, asking him a question when I am without rank. Or perhaps he finds me curious, like so many trollis do. “No.”
I frown and scan the room one more time. Surely it can’t be that hard to entertain myself. Yet I find myself wishing Azmar were here, even if he didn’t need my help or have time to teach me mathematics.
I thank the guard and head up toward the market, stepping aside to let a group of trollis through. The last two notice me and put their heads together, whispering. I wonder what they’re saying, but think it might be better that I don’t find out.
In a little while, they’ll forget, I tell myself, though I’m not sure how true it is. I’ve never stayed anywhere after others “found out.” But surely some other spectacle will happen in Cagmar, and I’ll be forgotten.
The noise of the market filters down the tunnel. I look at Wiln’s clock on the wall. Nearly a quarter past five. I wonder if I could go up to the Empyrean Bridge and watch the sunset, but I imagine I’d need an escort. Might as well head to Unach and Azmar’s apartment and cook dinner. If they’re both out, I can use their bath.
I keep to the side of the tunnel out of habit. Here the trollis are busy, focused on their own tasks, uncaring about a human, even a novel one, in their midst.
I’m halfway through the market when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I rub them with my hand and lift my head. No one has noticed me, no one stares. Swallowing, I continue on, shoulders tense. It’s a strange but familiar feeling that something is wrong. That I’ve forgotten something, or that I’m late—
Grodd.
I spy him across the way in a narrow alley between the launderer and leather repair. The way the shadows fall, the way the lamplight gleams across him, makes him look like a feral cat, eyes aglow, joints poised and ready to strike.
A tremor of fear pulses through my body. Quickening my pace, I pull my braid over my other shoulder as though it can shield me from that glare, but more than my face can give me away in a place like this. I think I’m almost safe when, from my periphery, I see the shadows move.
Grodd is following me.
Oh stars. I hasten my steps even more. I just need to get back to the apartment . . . but Unach and Azmar might not be there, and I have no trust that a trollis, especially one of Grodd’s size, couldn’t get past that lock. And if I move aside for every trollis going the other way, he’ll catch up to me.
Would anyone stop him? He might be only a Pleb now, but I am without rank. I am the lesser species here. Weren’t the trollis ready and willing to kill Colson for his infraction? Didn’t Unach say that all trollis have fought humans, so casually that she might as well have been speaking of crushing roaches?
I grab the handle of the first door I reach and slip inside. It’s a small wainwright’s shop, just enough room for three trollis on one side of a narrow table and two on the other. The trollis manning the table within is older, his hair white, his face wrinkled, his massive back humping. He glances up at me, dismay in his face. “What’s your order?” he snaps.
“I—” I wring my hands together. “I don’t have—”
“Then get out!” He mumbles something under his breath and returns to his lathe and spoke. When I don’t move immediately, he picks up the latter like it’s a cudgel. “Didn’t you hear me, louse?”
I step outside.
Grodd is twenty feet away.
My thoughts cluster into knots, my heart gallops like a warhorse, my skin sweats as though that giant clock were the sun.
I dart down the next tunnel, vaguely recognizing it as the path to the military training grounds. A guard comes up the other way, and when I don’t immediately move aside for him, he shoves me with his forearm, the bony spikes bruising my skin. I teeter and hit the stone wall, then continue onward, trying to look small. If I can find a crowd of trollis, I can hide among them—
I stop short, knowing that going into the training grounds will get me in trouble. But if I’m in the dungeon, Grodd can’t get to me. Or can he?
Backtracking, I take the next offshoot going down and east. It’s empty, so I rise up on my toes and sprint. I just need to hide. I wrap around military storage, which two trollis guard, and pass the food stores. Next should be Engineering, but this corridor juts to the right and forks off, and when I take the path I think will lead to Engineering, I end up at a drop with a lift and several ladders. The lift is in use, so I take a ladder. When I turn to descend, I see Grodd coming around the curve in the tunnel, his face alight like fire, his hands forming boulder-like fists.
A sob chokes halfway up my throat as I scrabble down. My fear bubbles up like vomit. I could just release a tendril, just enough to slow him down . . .
I’ll throw you into the canyon myself.
I grit my teeth and keep going, my lungs beginning to burn. I’m not sure where I am, but it might be Deccor housing, judging by the clothing. I see a woman watching a trollis child and rush to her.
“I’m so sorry, but can you hide me?”
Her expression opens. “You’re the one from the tournament.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Yes. Can you hide me?”
Her expression closes. “I’ll not break the law if you’re fleeing the task force.”