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“There’s two guards.” Alf’s whisper was barely audible even this close.
Godric glanced at him, and for a moment his eyes were caught by the delicacy of his profile. Something twinged at the back of his mind—something that bothered him about the boy.
Alf jerked his chin forward, distracting him. “See? One by the door, one at the entrance o’ the alley.”
“And another one on the roof,” Godric replied.
Alf started, his gaze swinging in that direction. “Sharp eyes,” he said grudgingly. “What’ll you do? There’s only one o’ you.”
“Let me worry about that,” Godric whispered, rising to his haunches. “You stay here and don’t get involved. I don’t want to have to worry about you as well as them.”
Mutiny flashed in Alf’s eyes and Godric respected the scamp more for it.
Then the boy looked at the three toughs guarding the workshop and nodded. “Luck, then.”
Godric smiled at him. “Thank you.”
He was off, running silently across the roof in a crouch. He leaped away from the building housing the cellar, moving in a wide circle as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop. He was careful about it, taking a good fifteen minutes to work his way around until he was in back of the guard on the roof over the cellar. Then it was a simple matter of stealth and quiet. Killing the guard wasn’t hard: a firm, quick grasp on the guard’s hair, a vicious tug to bare his neck, and a lightning-strike cut across his throat. The difficulty came in making sure the guard made no sound before he died.
But he didn’t. Godric had more than enough experience to make sure it was so.
The man at the end of the alley was next; the fact that he stood in the open made it a bit more complicated. When the man turned at the last moment as Godric rushed him, Godric was forced to jab him hard in the throat before he could kill him. The man fell, wheezing quietly—the vulnerable hollow of his neck was crushed; he’d suffocate before too long.
Godric’s dagger thrust was quick and merciful.
He couldn’t waste a second after that. It was only a matter of time before the third guard noticed that his compatriot no longer stood at the end of the alley and gave the alarm. Godric scaled the building again, his chest heaving silently, his arms and shoulders burning as he hauled himself up. He ran over the rooftop, pausing only to see where the guard stood below, and leaped into space.
He landed square atop the guard and the man fell, smashing his head against the cobblestones. He didn’t move again.
But as Godric landed on the guard, he tumbled to the side, instinctively bracing himself on his left hand. Pain, white hot and blinding, flashed through his wrist. For a moment, nausea boiled in his throat and he feared he’d lose his stomach.
He stood, staggering a little.
Godric ran down the cellar stairs and kicked in the door.
The interior was black. A figure came rushing at him, but Godric was ready for the attack. He used his left shoulder to deflect the man’s body and then thrust his sword into his belly. The interior guard slumped, his eyes wide as he looked down at his bloody stomach. Godric withdrew his sword with a heave that made him swallow convulsively and looked around.
A second man dropped his pistol and backed, hands raised. “Mercy! Don’t kill me!”
“Bob,” the bleeding man moaned. “Bob.”
“Where are they?” Godric rasped. Sweat drenched his brow and he had to grit his teeth to stay upright. “The girls.”
“In back,” Bob said.
“I’m hurt bad,” the bleeding man said.
“You’re dead is what you are,” Bob replied flatly.
He couldn’t tie the man with only one working hand. Godric hit him in the temple with the hilt of his sword. Bob fell without a sound next to his dying fellow guard. Blackness threatened Godric’s vision and he shook his head hard, stepping over the guards. The room was small with a second door at the far wall. Godric took a breath, aware that saliva was flooding his mouth, and kicked it in as well, his sword raised in preparation for a fight.
But there wasn’t one. Only the eyes of children—girls—stared back at him from the cramped little room. And Godric finally realized what bothered him about Alf, about the delicacy of the boy’s features.
Alf was a girl.
Godric celebrated the realization by vomiting.
MEGS WAS AWOKEN from a deep sleep by someone shaking her shoulder.
