by JD Byrne
“Alban?” the voice called out again from up the corridor. This time Antrey recognized the speaker. It was Jamil, the Arborian she had met at the reception before the Grand Council session began. If he had a scheduled meeting with Alban, he would eventually make his way back here, regardless.
Antrey turned and faced the balcony. It was only about ten feet off the ground. The jump might hurt her, but it was better than staying in this room and waiting for whoever that was at the counter to jump the desk, walk down the corridor, and find her. She ran to the balcony and flung open the glass doors. Before she stepped out onto the cool marble platform, Antrey turned and took one last look at the scene behind her. Then she turned, slung one leg at a time over the marble railing at the edge, and jumped off. The landing was clumsy and painful, but it did not appear that she had broken anything.
From the open window above her head, Antrey heard the voice say, “Alban, really, are you… oh my…”
The voice trailed away behind her as she ran.
Chapter 8
Antrey’s first instinct was to race through the sun-filled courtyard to Alban’s apartment, her home, the only safe place she had ever known in her life. But she realized that would be suicide. Someone was there now, in the office, looking over the scene and trying to come to terms with what happened. The bloodied pikti lay on the floor. The doors to the balcony were wide open. It would not be difficult for someone to figure out that the killer must have jumped from the balcony out into the courtyard. Nor would it take long for someone to suggest Antrey as a suspect. Of course the halfbreed beat her mentor to death—did you expect anything else? Sentinels would be sent to the apartment, if not to search for Antrey then to protect Onwen and the girls.
She had heard people talk about tunnels, a network of warrens that ran underneath the entire compound. She hadn’t had a good reason to pay attention to such talk. It sounded so fantastic and unlikely. Now she wished she had paid a bit more attention, as knowledge of the tunnels could make escape much easier. She pushed the disappointment out of her mind.
While she worked out what to do, Antrey absentmindedly wandered out into the courtyard before she realized how exposed she was. She stopped and tried to think. There was one bit of luck on her side. Because she had been in the Grand Council session this morning, Antrey was dressed conservatively, in a long dress with sleeves that covered most of her arms. Only the light turquoise skin of her face gave away her heritage. Unless someone was looking specifically for her, she was unlikely to attract attention. Thankfully, her clothes were not themselves covered in blood. Small drops here and there could be explained away, if needed.
Antrey walked quickly, but did not run, to a large tree with ample shade set in a corner near a storage building. When she reached the tree, Antrey looked around and confirmed that there was no one following her. Not yet, at any rate. Safe for the moment, she collapsed on the ground, propping her back up against the massive trunk. Her heart was racing, her breathing shallow. Perspiration ran down into her eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It did little good. When she closed her eyes, all she saw was Alban’s dead body lying in the office and bathed in sunlight. It illuminated the blood and brain spilling onto the floor. In her mind, there was no way to hide from what she had done. She forced herself to open her eyes. All this—the guilt, the pain, and the sorrow—would have to wait. Now there was only one thing on which she needed to focus: getting away.
But where would she go? She did not know, and her mind, as rattled as it could be, was not in the place to make suggestions. She needed to get off the island, at the very least. That would be difficult enough. She could worry about other details if she made it that far.
Aside from the clothes on her back, Antrey had nothing useful or of value with her to aid her escape. She cursed to herself as she remembered even leaving her pouch behind, in the niche of a room that had been her office. There was certainly no possibility of going back there. As much as she dreaded the thought, Antrey knew she had to go to the apartment. She had to gather what belongings she could to take with her as she ran. Anything that was not immediately useful could be traded or sold.
She cursed again, realizing that her key to the apartment was in her pouch. Even if she made it into the apartment somehow, what would she tell Onwen? She would be suspicious of her sudden appearance, at best. At worst she would be hostile. Assuming she could make it in, there was no guarantee that Antrey could make it out. But she had no other choice.
Antrey stood up, took a deep breath, and scanned the courtyard. The sun crept slowly towards her spot by the tree as it traveled across the sky. Unexpectedly, Antrey laughed. She had forgotten what a beautiful sunny day it had been. On days like this, Onwen tried to take the children out so they could play. If Antrey was lucky, Onwen had taken them somewhere out of sight of the apartments, so that she might slip in unnoticed. That also meant that the front door would almost certainly be locked, but that was an obstacle she could overcome. Antrey formulated a plan and realized that she had precious little time to act on it.
Before leaving the safety of the tree, Antrey scanned the courtyard again, this time looking and listening closely for any sign of pursuit. It was quiet. There was no suggestion that something awful had just happened nearby. Convinced this was her only chance, Antrey began to walk across the courtyard. She did not run, lest she draw the attention of some passerby.
The apartments were on the opposite side of the courtyard, about a quarter of a mile away. As she walked, Antrey’s eyes were in constant motion, scanning back and forth in front of her, vigilant of everything. She resisted the temptation to look over her shoulder to see if anyone was following her. The farther she went, the more the silence began to frighten her. She expected uproar. She expected the hue and cry to go up. The ordinary nature of the day made her question everything she knew she had to do to get away. Her mind whirled with possibilities. What if no one had discovered the body yet? Unlikely. What if the search was already underway, but was focused on the Grand Council building itself? More likely, she told herself. But it didn’t matter. Either Sentinels would come for her or they wouldn’t. She could only hope it was the latter.
Antrey’s mind shifted as she approached the front door of the apartment. It was impossible to tell if anyone was home, but she needed to come up with a story to explain why she was there. Something Onwen and the girls would accept. Her heart sank at the first thought of those two girls, now without a father. Antrey adored the girls, and they treated her like a big sister. She pushed aside the pain and put such thoughts into the back of her mind.
The plan was simple. First Antrey would go to the front door and try to open it, as if nothing was wrong. If it was locked, as she expected, she would have to find another way in. If, by some luck, it was open, she would try and slip past anyone that was inside. If someone was there, she would tell them that Alban had forgotten an important paper in his study and she needed to find it and return right away. That would give her some cover to gather a few things and get back out of the house.
Antrey climbed the stairs and gripped the doorknob. She took a deep breath and gave it a turn. The handle moved slowly with her hand and she heard a “click” as the bold slid out of its tab in the doorframe. It was unlocked. At least she would be able to get in. She opened the door slowly, stepped into the foyer as lightly as possible, and then closed the door quietly behind her. Before she walked further into the foyer, she turned and locked the door behind her. If she was alone here, the racket of a key in the lock would at least provide some warning if someone else arrived.
She stood in the foyer for a moment, listening for sounds of life from the other rooms. She heard nothing. Unless everyone was asleep in the middle of the afternoon, Antrey was alone. She did not deserve these two strokes of luck, she knew, and was determined not to waste them. She dashed up the stairs to the third floor and into her room. Looking around at her belongings, she knew there was only so muc
h she could take with her. Aside from the problem of exhaustion if she tried to carry too much, running through the streets laden with things would undoubtedly attract attention from Sentinels and others. She went to the small closet where many of her things were kept, dug around in the back, and found a small satchel she could wear on her back. She also pulled out a long, dark-brown cloak that had been put away after the winter.
The satchel was big enough to hold a change of clothes, a few personal items, and a few necessities, but not so large that it would slow her down. She put in a set of clothes that would be more practical and comfortable for living in the countryside than the long dress she had on. Then she took a few trinkets that might have some sale value, and put them in as well. Finally, she found the journal Alban had given her as a gift for the new year, along with the fountain pen that came with it. The journal was empty. Antrey had never had anything she felt the need to write down. Until now. It occurred to her that she would have to put down some of her thoughts about what she had done.
She put on the cloak, then slung the satchel over her shoulder. Once everything was secure, she ran down the stairs. At the second floor, she paused and looked in on Alban’s study. That was where she had been taught to read, with Alban sitting behind his desk and Antrey perched across from him. It was where he had given her the tools to learn about the world around her. Tools that she had turned against him. For the first time, she grasped the mistake that Alban had made by being so kind to her, by bringing her into his home. His faith in her had been rewarded with violence and a family shattered.
Before she returned to the stairs and left the apartment, a gleam of sunlight from inside the study caught her eye. It was light reflecting off a glass display case that sat on one of the bookshelves behind Alban’s desk. She walked into the room to take a closer look at the case and what was inside. The case was made of a fine-grained light-brown wood, with a clear glass top. To Antrey it appeared to be seamless, with no way to put anything in or take anything out.
Inside the case was an elaborate ceremonial dagger. It was a gift Alban had received when he retired as a Sentinel and became clerk of the Grand Council. It had an expertly wound leather grip and a gleaming steel blade, polished to a high sheen. On the hilt were small jewels of various colors, mostly red and black. Each end of the hilt curved into a carved head of some kind of beast Antrey did not recognize. Like so many things Antrey had seen from the Guildlands, it was both beautiful and entirely functional.
It quickly occurred to Antrey that the dagger would fit in the satchel. A time might come where she could use a weapon. The small blade would be easy to wield. In addition, such a fine piece of craftsmanship would bring a high price in trade, if it came to that. She picked the case up in her hands, pushing past the twinges of guilt in her gut. Alban did not need this anymore, she told herself. She needed it to survive. Convinced, if only barely, Antrey closed her eyes and flung the case to the ground. The glass shattered and the dagger fell free, clattering to the floor. She picked it up and put it in the satchel, next to her journal.
She slipped out of the study and quickly made her way downstairs. In the kitchen, she stopped and looked around for anything else that might be useful to take with her. On the table there was a tall, slender glass bottle with a cork stopper. She picked it up, removed the stopper, and was greeted by the strong smell of alcohol. She went to the window that opened onto the back garden, opened it a few inches, and poured out the contents of the bottle. Once it was empty, she went to the cistern and filled it with water. She put the stopper back in place and slid the bottle down in her satchel. There was a loaf of bread perched on the sill of another widow, left to cool after coming out of the oven that morning. She found a dishcloth, took it, and wrapped up the bread, then put the loaf into the satchel, crushing it to make it fit.
As she closed the satchel and slung it back over her shoulder, Antrey heard a sound that made her shudder. It was the sound of jammed metal being scraped against itself over and over again. Someone was trying to open the front door. After a few moments without success, the metal scraping was replaced by three slow, loud thumps on the thick wooden door.
“Missus!” called a voice from the outside, muffled by the door. “Missus, this is Davik. I am a Sentinel attached to the Grand Council,” he continued, nearly shouting.
Antrey froze in fear, uncertain what to do next. There was at least one Sentinel, and probably many more, not fifteen feet from where she was standing. Were they looking for her? Were they just looking for Onwen and the girls? Did it matter, at this point?
“I am very sorry to disturb you, missus, but we need to speak with you,” the muffled voice said. “It is quite urgent. About your husband. Something has happened.” There was silence for a few moments, followed by a new series of pounding on the door. He struck three times, purposefully and calmly. “Missus?”
There were no windows in the front door or around the frame into which anyone could see. Antrey crept from the kitchen towards the door, careful not to make any sound that would carry through the thick wood and alert the Sentinels to her presence. She knelt down and looked through the keyhole of the lock. It was just big enough for her to see that Davik was not alone. He was flanked by two others, to whom he turned and said something. Antrey was able to pick up a word here and there before Davik and one of the others walked away. One was left behind, either to await Onwen’s arrival or simply guard the door.
Antrey cursed silently at the Sentinel who remained, blocking her easiest escape route. At least, she thought, they had not tried to force their way in. She looked out the keyhole again. The remaining Sentinel was standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door, leaning on his pikti. He seemed amazingly relaxed, given the incident that prompted his presence there. Antrey realized she was assuming that any of these Sentinels would know the entire story. Perhaps all they had been told was that there was an incident, without getting details.
It did her little good to speculate. Her only focus needed to be on getting out of the apartment and then getting out of the compound. That way was blocked by a single Sentinel. At first, her thoughts went to the dagger in the satchel on her back. If she could slip out quickly, without attracting his attention, she could take him by surprise. A quick thrust of that blade in his side should not kill him, but it would prevent him from following her closely. It would not silence him, however. Given that she did not know for sure if the Sentinels were looking for her, drawing attention to herself made little sense. At any rate, sneaking up on a Sentinel at the height of his training and skills would be far different than bludgeoning a surprised old man. She put the idea out of her mind.
She would have to leave another way. There were windows on the first floor of the apartment, but they all opened onto the Grand Council compound rather than the city streets. The window to the garden was still open, but much too close to the Sentinel outside to assure getting away unseen. Even if she made it out that way, she would still need to run past the Sentinel to make it out of the compound. That was assuming the gates to the compound had not yet been closed and locked. She could not assume her good luck would continue.
Antrey dashed back up the stairs to the second floor and into Alban’s study. There were two windows along the wall opposite the door from the hallway. She went to the one on the left, unclasped the lock, and opened it wide. Beneath the window was one of Tolenor’s busier streets. That would be true of any of the surrounding streets, however. Given the compound’s status as the center of the city, it was only natural that the streets around it teemed with activity nearly all the time.
She leaned out the window and surveyed the scene. It was four or five feet higher than the balcony from which she jumped earlier. The height did not bother her as much as what awaited her beneath. Under the balcony had been a soft, manicured lawn to cushion her landing. Underneath her now were simple paving stones, hard and endless. She also worried that jumping from here would attract unwa
nted attention.
Antrey ran across the hallway and into Onwen’s small study. It had only one window, but it was much larger than the ones in Alban’s study. She sprinted to it and flung it open. The street below, unlike the other, was a bit more subdued. It was lined by large trees that were just coming into bloom for the spring. There was a thick branch of a tree about five feet from the window. Close enough to jump to, if Antrey could ensure grasping it and not falling to the pavement. She looked out and saw that the tree was much taller than she anticipated.
That gave her another idea. Antrey moved so quickly that she nearly slammed her head against the window frame, dashing out of the study, up the stairs, and into the bedroom shared by the girls. The window between their two small beds opened in the same direction as the one in Onwen’s study. But here, the tree grew much closer to the building. It was close enough that Antrey thought she could make a solid landing and work her way down the tree to the street. If she was wrong, she would plummet to the stones below in an uncontrolled fall, perhaps breaking her neck. Either option, the second or third floor, could lead to a bad end.
She forced herself to make a decision. She took off her cloak and tossed it towards one of the smaller branches of the tree. It caught among the budding green leaves, not far from where Antrey intended to land herself. She waited a few moments for a lull in the traffic on the street, then she climbed up into the window frame, holding on to it behind her. It was all she could do to force herself not to look down.
Then she jumped.
Chapter 9
After another few useless nights in the taverns, Strefer decided she needed to hunt elsewhere for new leads. Or at least try new taverns. So she traded in her late-night crawl at the Battered Pikti for a daytime drop in at the Great Antlered Hare. The Hare had certain charms that the Pikti lacked. For one thing, it was actually clean. For another, its location inside the Triumvirate compound made for a higher class of customer. Unfortunately, it shared its downmarket cousin’s emptiness when it came to leads because the clientele wasn’t interested in talking to her.
