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Maximus caught his breath. Below, Trevillion was riding like a demon, skillfully guiding his horse around obstacles and leaping the ones he couldn’t avoid. It had been so long since Maximus had hunted like this, in tandem with another. Once, long, long ago there had been the others, young men, one just a boy. They’d sparred and fought, joked and wrestled. But somehow he’d grown apart, forever stalking the stinking streets of St. Giles alone. His quest hadn’t room for others.
It was good, he realized as he panted and ran. Good to have someone at his back.
He heard a shout from below and slid to the edge of the roof to peer over. Trevillion had come to an alley entirely blocked by an empty cart.
The dragoon captain looked up, a shaft of moonlight catching the gleam of metal on his tall hat and illuminating the pale oval of his face. “I’ll have to find a way around. Can you go ahead?”
“Yes,” Maximus shouted down.
Trevillion nodded curtly without another word and backed his horse.
Maximus ran. The rooftops were jumbled here. The buildings were from before the Great Fire. They listed, tired and crumbling, waiting for another fire or merely a strong wind to send them crashing to the ground. He leaped between two buildings so close that a grown man would have to turn sideways to sidle between them. He made the second roof, but his boot slipped. He fell, sliding on his hip nearly off the edge. He caught himself just as his boots flew into space. He could hear the clatter of hoofbeats now. Trevillion couldn’t have found a way around so fast.
It must be Old Scratch.
Maximus twisted, peering beyond his dangling feet, and saw as the shadow entered the alley below. He didn’t give himself time to think.
He let go.
Whether by instinctive timing or simple good luck, he landed on Old Scratch. The highwayman just had warning enough to raise his arm in defense. Maximus caught an elbow to the side of his face, and then he fell to the horse’s haunches as the horse reared beneath both of them. Maximus slid, his booted toes brushing the ground before he kicked back up to straddle the horse. His weight pulling on the highwayman’s upper body, combined with the horse’s movement, should have dragged Old Scratch from the saddle. Somehow, the highwayman hung on with unnatural strength and skill. The horse’s front hooves met the cobblestones again with a teeth-crunching jolt, nearly throwing Maximus from his prey. Maximus punched at the man’s head, missing as the highwayman twisted like a snake. Maximus grabbed for his hat, trying to reach the scarf. If he could only see Old Scratch’s features.
The highwayman turned almost all the way around in the saddle, gold and green glinting at his throat. A knife flashed. Maximus hit out with a gloved hand, felt a tug, and the knife clanged against the bricks on the nearby building. But he’d had to let go to defend himself. The horse lurched forward as the highwayman put spurs to its side and at the same time Maximus felt a hard shove.
He tumbled to the ground, heavy hooves flying close to his head. Instinctively, he ducked and rolled as the sound of hoofbeats retreated.
For a moment he lay against a wall gulping air.
“You let him get away.” The voice was Trevillion’s and slightly out of breath.
Maximus looked up with a glare. “Not on purpose, I assure you.”
The dragoon captain grunted, looking tired. He was leading his horse, having entered the alley from a very narrow lane.
Maximus rose, glancing from the narrow lane to Trevillion’s rangy mare. “I’m surprise you didn’t get stuck in there.”
The other man raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I think Cowslip’s surprised, too.” He gave the mare an affectionate pat on the neck.
Maximus blinked. “Cowslip?”
Trevillion glared. “I didn’t name her.”
Maximus grunted noncommittally. He supposed he hadn’t any leg to stand on, considering the names his sister had given his dogs. He bent to examine the ground close to the wall of the opposite building.
“What are you looking for?”
“He dropped his dagger. Ah.” Maximus bent and picked up the knife with satisfaction, stepping closer to the dragoon and the better moonlight.
The dagger was a two-edged blade, a simple, narrow triangle, with hardly any guard and a leather-wrapped handle. Maximus turned it in his hands, peering for any sort of mark without result.
“May I?”
Maximus looked up to see the dragoon captain holding out his hand. His hesitation was only a split second long, but he saw Trevillion’s knowing glance anyway.
Maximus handed over the dagger.
The dragoon examined it and then sighed. “Common enough. It could belong to almost anyone.”
“Almost?”
