Wychling

Chapter 25

Ulrich moved quickly through the alleyway, he was almost certain he had lost his tails back in the crowd, but they could catch up at any second, and there were no witnesses in this place to stay their hand.

His mind was racing. Who knew what the mob would do when Suma and Tal tried to escape from the rooftops? He had to find them. As much trouble as the Night Stalker was, he was the only ally Ulrich had against the Fat Monk and his Acolytes. What was more, the Fat Monk seemed intent on finding Suma too, which gave Ulrich the best chance of getting to the rotten git as he was likely to find.

On top of all that he had a responsibility to watch over the girl too. There was a definite potential for abuse in that kind of magical partnership, and she was awfully young for it. Then again maybe he was just becoming an old miser. He had no idea how he would smuggle himself, an unpredictable adolescent, and a Night Stalker out of a crowded and rioting city, but he felt he had to try. For that though, he had to lose his pursuers and find the source of the civil insurrection that he could hear in the distance. What direction would they go in?

Following an instinct beyond words, he knelt and quickly strung his bow, immediately feeling better for having a weapon other than his knife. The alleyway he was in was ominously quiet. It was strange that he had been surrounded by folk, unable to move, just moments before.

Once again, he found himself thinking about the rules of his environment; generally speaking, sudden change meant danger, especially when it was characterised by this echoing silence. Like every sensible creature had found somewhere better to be. Even with his bow now strung he didn't feel that much more confident. He had too many enemies, and too many obstacles to get over to even reach his only allies. Speaking of...

-If I were a two-ton cat being pursued by a mob, where would I run to?-

Despite the chaos he found himself immersed in, that lopsided grin appeared again. Maybe he was crazed, but he was feeling far better than he had before the scene on the rooftop.

The streets had filled with swirling crowds of angry people, the unpredictable masses surging through tight streets as inexorable as the tide, it was difficult for him to navigate but, in this one instance, their small numbers were an advantage against the Fat Monk's Acolytes and their numerous supporters. At least in the chaos, there was enough confusion to manoeuvre. If he was lucky and quick, he might just turn the tables on his pursuers.

He continued down the long alleyway between two streets, before taking a right turn halfway up to the dead end ahead, concerned he was too vulnerable to being spotted and cornered in the long narrow space. He came out into a wider gap between two buildings and saw a street ahead. As he approached the mouth of the alley, he could make out the street before him.

He stopped dead, muscles clenched. His hand gripped his bow tightly ready to spring up and notch an arrow at the slightest provocation. He moved silently, and ever so slowly into the cover of a doorway on the small house on his left. He tried the handle, gently at first, and gradually increased his pressure until he was sure it was locked.

-Back covered-

His eyes never left the scene before him. A Watchman lay on the floor, battered face tilted towards him, chest up, bleeding heavily. Ulrich didn't like the look of the fast, shallow breaths he was taking.

An iron-banded club of crude but effective construction lay listlessly nearby, with a red clay tile close on his other side, the edge marred in blood. More of the same leaked steadily from the Watchman's side, legs and helmet, but what had made Ulrich pause was the two other figures that had appeared before him. Two brown-cloaked Acolytes were creeping up to the injured man. The same two that had been following him, minutes before.