Will he live or will he die?
Either way, the outcome for me was flight or death, but I needed to know, if only so I could come to terms with what I had done. Surely, by now, Tanish would be able to tell me that.
I closed my eyes at the thought of returning to Seventh Street, but when I opened them, I saw, standing across the road and looking directly at me, a familiar white man.
He was wearing city clothes: a pale linen suit and a brown cravat, the same clothes he had been wearing when—I was almost sure—he watched the police remove Berrit’s body this morning.
Coincidence?
It was possible. But if he worked in this neighborhood, his clothes were wrong, and there weren’t many gentry or factory owners who would be on the streets close to dawn and still out at dusk.
I guessed he was in his thirties, well built, even athletic under the suit. He turned away when he realized I had seen him, bending as if to tie his shoelace. I ran.
Moving quickly down Pump Street, I took a left by the underground stop, then wound my way through the city’s darkest alleys, back to the shed and the tuppeny tavern on the corner, where the boys gathered for an hour before bed. If Tanish had wanted privacy, he may have already turned in, but I was hoping that he wouldn’t want to be in the shed any longer than necessary.
I was right.
I scaled the timber-framed back wall and crawled to a sooty skylight through which I could see the gang’s usual corner. They were all there—Tanish, Sarn, Fevel, three other boys, and two men, one of whom I didn’t know—somber faced, staring at their beer. There was no sign of Morlak.
Tanish looked small and still, like a mouse hoping to go unnoticed. His face was pink on one side.
I watched them for almost a half hour before they began to trickle out. Sarn went first, then some of the younger boys. Tanish seemed to hesitate, and I thought he was looking around. For me, I was almost certain. In daylight I might have been a shadow against the grimy glass, but now I was invisible.
And then he was leaving. I started to go but realized he wasn’t making for the front door. He was looking for the outhouse at the back.
I slid quietly across the broken slates of the roof till I could see into the yard behind the tavern. It had once been a coach house, but the outhouses were the only structures that had been maintained. I dropped and eased into the shadows, checking for snakes in the tumbledown masonry and fractured barrels. Even in winter it was wise to check for snakes. A moment later, Tanish emerged from the back of the tavern.
I called his name.
He stopped midstride, head tilted like a dog, trying to locate the sound, and I stepped out. I saw the shock, relief, and anxiety that chased each other through his young face. When he came toward me, it was like a guilty creature, hesitant and fearful.
“You shouldn’t be here, Ang,” he said.
“I know,” I replied. “Morlak is—?”
“Not good,” said Tanish. “He lost a lot of blood. They’ve strapped him up, and he’s sleeping in the shed. Can’t walk up the tower stairs.”
“Will he—?” I couldn’t finish the question, but Tanish knew what I meant.
“They say the next few hours are … Whether he’ll live or not, I mean. Ang, listen to me. He has people looking for you. If they find you—”
I reached out to his cheek, tipping his head slightly so I could see the bruising.
Tanish blushed and looked down. “He had Sarn rough everyone up,” he said, “but it wasn’t too bad. He can’t do much himself right now,” he said, grinning wickedly for a moment before panicking as if Morlak might be watching. “But when he’s back on his feet … I don’t know. I’m just going to do my work.”
“Smart,” I said.
“What about you?” he asked. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” I drawled with feigned casualness. “You know me. Always land on my feet.”
“Yeah,” said Tanish, wanting to believe it. “You going to leave the city?”
“Leave beautiful Bar-Selehm, where I have riches at my fingertips and servants to satisfy my every want?” I said. “Never.”
He smiled at that, albeit ruefully, and looked down. “You can’t stay,” he said. “I’ve never seen Morlak so angry.”
“I’ll be all right. What are people saying about the Beacon?”
The boy blinked, then shrugged expansively.
“What about Berrit?” I tried.
“No one’s talking,” he said, again glancing nervously over his shoulder. He fished in his pocket, and a smile—a real, unanxious smile—broke across his face. “I thought I might see you,” he said. “Brought you this.” He plucked out a threadbare cloth toy, soft and shapeless and missing one eye.
“My habbit!” I exclaimed, taking it and pressing it to my heart. “Thanks.”