Bounty (17 page)

“
There are places,” she told Godren, “little corrupt corners of the city tucked away in the darkest shadows, where we criminals like to do business. I’m sending Ossen to tack up my offers in the best location in the northern sector. You, I’m sending to a more central point. At the edge of Castwing Square, there is a bridge spanning an open gutter line. The bridge’s underside is ever plastered with corrupt Wanted Posters and other unlawful offers and requests. These places are where idle bounty hunters go when they need a job.” Collecting a thin stack of papers, Mastodon handed them to him. “Put these up, and make sure they’re secure. There should be a lot of traffic under the bridge after all the rain we just had; I’m sure most everything posted at the time was stripped clean and washed away with the rise of the water level, and there will be a swarm of offenders seeking to replace things. Our timing could not have been better.”

Accepting the posters, Godren waited to see if there was anything else, but Mastodon dismissed him and sent him on his way.

A little sore from his tousle with Damious, Godren welcomed the limbering walk to Castwing Square. The night was cool and fresh, the scent of rain lingering in the clear air, and it felt good to get out of the stifling Ruins. The stars were out and twinkling especially bright, as if the rain had washed and shined them, and the crescent moon was smiling. Throughout the city, the stonework was still stained dark with moisture, but the puddles lacing the cobblestones glinted with the diamond reflections of the glittering sky.

Drenched clusters of flowers were aglitter in the pots that decorated the wealthier windowsills of Godren’s route, painted thick and luscious against the dominant stone landscape piled up elsewhere. Surely the rain had hammered them all down at first, but now they drank in what was left of the cascade and bloomed bolder. Godren took time to appreciate them as he passed, because all too soon they tapered off with the city’s change of class, and the neighborhood became plain and bleak.

The night grew brighter as Godren emerged into the square, no walls flanking his immediate sides and blocking the sky. Suddenly he could hear the river – the gutter, he reminded himself, but it sounded so much more beautiful than that – and he sent his eyes in search of his destination. There, at the southeastern edge of the square, stood the bridge. On the other side, the city took a progressive turn for the worse and crumbled into poverty-stricken decay, and suddenly the bridge seemed so much more significant, as if it spanned the gap between what was clean and lawful in the city and what was crude and corrupt.

Crossing the empty square, Godren treaded to the edge of the gutter bank and peered down into the rushing current. It carried itself along at quite a pace, but roared at a peaceful volume that was more appeasing than daunting to behold. Gauging the water level and determining it was safe, Godren surveyed the area and pinpointed a way down. He carried the posters in his teeth so his hands were both free, just in case, and maneuvered down below the arch of the bridge. There was only a sheer ledge left to support him with the water level as high as it was – a mere sliver of the slanted bank – but Mastodon had been correct in guessing that the bridge’s underside was mostly washed clean, and so it was pretty much his choice where he tacked the posters. It wasn’t necessary to tread deeper and reach any farther.

As he went about the job, he found himself advertising both familiar and unfamiliar faces and names. There was Alice – a plain name to advertise by itself, he thought, but that’s all Damious had given them – and there was Wolf, but then there were half a dozen others that he had never heard of. The name ‘Devlin Wraith’ might have rung a bell somewhere in the back of his head, but then he couldn’t put a finger on it, and so he dismissed it. Probably just some fellow criminal making a name for himself from a different part of the city. Of course, he was clearly a bounty hunter, or Godren wouldn’t be advertising his name as Wanted by Mastodon.

When he was done, he seized the edge of the bridge and used it to anchor himself as he leaned back to admire his work. Now all they had to do was wait until the crooked figures they were targeting took the bait and responded to the new development riding on the shadowed undercurrents of the city’s awareness.

And ‘undercurrents’ was just the right term, Godren thought with another twinge of significant irony stemming from the location of the bait he had set. There it sat, under the bridge where the murky waters of a physical current bridged the gap between corruption and the law.

15:
A Cat on the Wall

W
hen Godren climbed out from beneath the bridge, he heard music. It came from the west, beyond the square. That side of the Castwing was lined by one-story structures, and when Godren climbed onto the bridge railing and treaded to the peak of the arch, he could see over the rooftops.

In the distance, the palace was a radiant source of light in the night. From his height on the balustrade of the arching bridge, Godren caught clearer snatches of the music drifting on the breeze. Soft and sweet, they blew in his face, caught his hair, and made him waver suddenly as they pulled at him. Like an enchantment, they wafted past him, around him – through him, enticing melodies that sang to his jaded soul. It had been so very long since he had heard music, of any kind, and this was too much. Blinking a bit dazedly against the breeze, Godren cast his wistful eyes over the rooftops and stood there gazing at the distant palace, such a beautiful, unreachable fortress at the end of a dreamlike current of wandering music.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Godren set his heart on visiting the palace and descended from his wistful perch only because he had every intention of doing just that.

Seth would call you a dozen different kinds of fool and idiot and drag you without any nonsense right back to the Ruins where you belong, and then dunk your head right back in the courtyard fountain, where
it
belongs,
Godren told himself as he treaded absently in the palace’s direction.

I know,
he thought in reply to his conscience, and didn’t pay it any further attention.

This time, as the neighborhood gradually gained class, Godren didn’t notice the potted flowers decorating the outside of the manor-style apartments, or the silken curtains visible through the windows. He didn’t notice the fancy shutters or the upgrade to double-doors and ornamental knockers. He breezed through it all with a one-track mind, set on gaining sight of the palace again.

And there it was. Across a vast sloping avenue, the palace wall extended from side to side, running off in each direction to encompass the royal estate. Beyond the wall, the angle of the land leveled, and so was made visible from without. Trailing to a stop at the edge of the grouped city structures, Godren set his eyes on the cluster of flickering lights that lit up the palace. The music was still going, louder and steadier at this nearness, but still a wandering, lost melody permeating the outer darkness he was restricted to.

This tranquil, beautiful atmosphere he had stumbled upon was such a contrast to the rank layers tainting the dark air of the decaying Ruins that he found himself at once stricken and addicted by it. He wanted to bask in it, to just listen and breathe it in for the rest of his days, right there where he stood. That he was kept on the outside, restricted to the dark, would not ever disappoint him. That he could never fully indulge in the stirring elements stretching out to caress him was a taunting shame that ached just a little bit, but this was so utterly superior to anything he felt anymore, he just couldn’t find it in him to want anything more.

As he stood there thinking that, at peace and willing to stand there idle for the rest of the night perfectly content, a silhouette appeared on the wall and drew his attention. At first he couldn’t discern anything identifiable about the figure, but then it treaded past the backdrop of the illuminating palace, and a delighted smile broke over his pensive face.

Off an impulse, he moved forward and crossed the avenue, until he stood at the base of the wall. Casting his eyes back and forth down the length of the fortification, he looked for a way up.

Don’t be a complete fool,
he told himself when no obvious solution jumped out at him. Did he really expect that the palace wall would be accommodating when it came to wanting to scale it from the outside? At that point he wasn’t even using his head anymore.

Well there was only one thing for it. He was going to need a ladder.

Conscious that the figure on the wall was escaping, Godren hurried back across the avenue and took a sweeping inventory of the neighborhood. It was a group of multi-story stone apartments, each building equipped with a small stable that was just as much a part of the structure as any of the rooms were. There were no extensions or changes in the building material – just hollowed-out spaces on ground level that were too cramped to house more than one horse and a small carriage. Most of the residents, Godren guessed, were probably wealthy and respectable enough to board their stock and buggies on palace grounds across the way.

Swiftly checking the windows for nocturnal, watching faces, Godren made for the closest stable. There was a soft light inside, and he let himself in and moved deeper into the interior without having to pause for his eyes to adjust.

The stable was immaculate. Not a piece of straw spilled from the single stall out onto the cobbles that made up the rest of the floor. A well-groomed bay dozed at the stall door, barely rousing to acknowledge Godren’s presence. It perked its ears in his direction and cracked its wise eyes, but then dismissed him and went back to sleep.

Godren headed straight for the loft. A tall, sturdy wooden ladder was propped there, perfect for his intended use. It was also secure, but didn’t take much undoing. Then, hefting and balancing it, Godren headed back toward the stable doors. The bay took more notice of him on his way out – doubtlessly it didn’t see a ladder go by on two legs every night, especially in a horizontal position. How abnormal and perplexing a sight he must be to the animal.

It took a little maneuvering to get through the doors and out of the cramped apartment alleyway, but once free on the avenue, glancing both ways, Godren’s troubles were over. He hurried across with the ladder a ridiculous extension propped over his shoulder, feeling an utter excited fool. Wasn’t this a bit drastic? he asked himself, imagining someone spotting him. But no, of course not. It was brilliant.

He cast his eyes about for the figure walking the wall. She was in the distance, to the west, but still alighted. Smiling, he swung the ladder down from his shoulder and propped it against the wall, stabilizing the feet between the cobbles. Testing its hold with a rattle, he sent his eyes in search of the peak of the fortification and began to ascend. The ladder wasn’t quite tall enough to take him all the way to the top, but with a slightly acrobatic leap, he caught the edge and climbed astride the wall. Hopping up, he squared his shoulders, took a nervous breath, and treaded elatedly after the oblivious princess.

She was a joy to watch, unaware of any observers and freely just acting as she pleased. The noble finesse was gone from her demeanor, replaced by an almost childlike carefree temperament. He watched her keep her balance, noted her bare feet, and his smile became foolishly stuck to his face. His original plan had been to approach her, but he found it a delight to wander undetected behind her, watching what she did. He recalled Seth mentioning something about being ‘dedicated to the study of her very existence’, and Godren decided he could probably be happy doing just that. It was true; merely watching her made his day – or his night, rather, but he figured it mattered little since he was unlikely to stop thinking about it for many days to come.

As she walked, the princess began to stargaze. Godren didn’t take his eyes off her, but it felt like he was stargazing right along with her. She was just as dreamy as any sky. Scattered throughout her hair, pearl pins shone softly like iridescent stars, fallen to form their own constellation about her. Even from behind, at a distance, he found her striking.

For quite a distance, the princess traveled the top of the wall. The ladder was left far behind, physically and in memory, but Godren didn’t shelter hopes of ever finding his way back down. Up there with the princess, at the edge of the sky, he was at the top of the world. He wondered if they would circle the entire estate before the princess herself climbed down. As far as he was concerned, that would see the night end too soon. He was content to keep following her as long as she was content to keep walking under the stars.

The music from the palace grew distant as they walked along the wall, carried the opposite direction on the breeze. Godren quieted his footsteps so the princess would not be alerted to his presence. He did not want her to be alarmed. She wandered to a stop, though, and he was forced to do the same.

What is it, Princess?
he wanted to ask, but was still too busy admiring her to really care what the answer would be. It would be lovely to hear her voice again in any case, though, and he almost went through with the question merely in order to gain that. Luckily speechlessness stayed his tongue, and he kept standing silently behind her.

Letting out a wistful breath, the princess suddenly forsook the direction she had been pursuing and spun to face him. Her eyes were downcast toward her feet as she turned, but there was no avoiding spotting him then. Evidently, she had thought she was quite alone; he saw the alarm in her eyes as her head snapped up to regard him, and with a little gasping shriek, she lost her frightened balance and toppled over the edge of the wall.