The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 21

I sit huddled on the roof of the guards' barracks, watching the moon as it silently rises ever higher in the sky. My eyes trace the Fireline and I instinctively orient myself while I wait patiently for the guards' next shift change. The Palace residents have all long since retired to bed and the footpath below me is silent, but at any moment, I should be able to pick up on the heavy shuffle of the last guard emerging from the barracks to begin his night of work.

The dark clothes I lifted from the laundry help me melt into the shadows. I relax, focusing on keeping my heartbeat slow and steady.

As I wait, it occurs to me how strange it was not to run into anyone during the silent journey from my bedroom to the gaol. Assuredly, the courtiers must feel safe behind the faultless walls of their Palace. They sleep soundly, certain that any threat of Wastelanders would be first felt by the unfortunates at the outer edges of the City.

Finally, the man I was waiting for emerges from the building below me. From my position I see him adjust the sword at his waist before he strolls off toward the gaol, whistling a low tune. I stay perched on the roof, listening for any sounds of someone awake and rustling about inside the barracks. Hearing nothing, I assume that all the men are tucked securely into bed and snoring contentedly.

This is the moment. I roll over the edge of the roof and lower myself toward the window, swinging forward and landing silently on the floor inside. Finding myself between two narrow beds, I drop down onto my stomach between them, slowing my heartbeat so I can make out the individual sounds from the beds around me. I lie stone still, concentrating and counting the number of distinct snores. I repeat the count one more time, just to be certain, before I rise slowly to my feet, assured that every off-duty guardsman is accounted for and dead asleep.

With my breaths shallow and my footsteps light, I ease my way over to the footlocker at the end of one of the beds. I grasp the lid of the wooden chest and lift it, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of the groaning wood. The man in the bed in front of me snorts loudly and I freeze, the lid of the footlocker only half-raised. The man shifts his position and expels wind before sighing and sinking back into his steady symphony of snores.

I wrinkle my nose, raising the lid further and pulling out one of his neatly folded uniforms. Taking stock of a pair of boots, a tunic and pants, I gather the items into a bundle and gently place his sword and belt on top. I tie the assortment quickly and securely before closing the lid and then tiptoe back toward the window, chucking the items out onto the ground below.

I heave myself through the window, my landing muffled as I land on the bundle of stolen clothes. I grin to myself, pulling the items on over my own dark outfit and hoping that the extra layer will help to fill out the uniform. After pulling the boots on, I tie a dark scarf around the lower half of my face, tucking my braided hair down the neck of the tunic and smoothing away any wayward strands. Finally, I pull on the heavy leather breastplate and cinch the belt and sword around my waist, grunting when it slips down my hips. I wrestle with the belt for a moment before impatiently tying the length of leather around my waist in a crude knot.

I pull the hood up over my head and cross the short distance from the barracks to the gaol. I was lucky in that the guard I had relieved of his clothes appears to be on the smaller side, but the boots shift around uncomfortably against my feet and rub blisters onto the back of my heels. I ignore the discomfort and continue onward, adopting the kind of swagger I have seen the guards use; I pull open the thick wooden door of the gaol and stride inside.

A low, flickering torchlight laps against my face and I slow my pace to take stock of my surroundings. The entrance is occupied by a single older man sitting behind a wooden desk in front of an ominous gated door. He glances up lazily at my approach, his expression blank.