Page 66 of The Only Way Out Is Up

“Gestian will be watching,” she warns. “He’s a patient fucker.”

“We’ll have to hope we see him first, then.”

It’s not a short walk, and I’ve lost plenty of blood. I have to push myself to keep up with Ky, concussion or no. It’s well after dark now, and the streets are lighting up with crimson sigwork lamps, as though the blood from my wound is spreading all around us. When Ky pulls up short and grabs my arm, it’s all I can do not to fall over.

“Shit. They found us.”

I try to focus. Up ahead is a market, a bustle of people and flickering light, easy to get lost in. But between us and the promise of safety are a trio of Cavcante, identifiable by their expensive Yesod coats. One of them already has a long metal baton in hand.

“Can we get past them?” I mutter.

Ky shakes her head. “They’ll have friends coming. This way.”

She makes a quick right turn down a side street and breaks into a jog. I follow, stumbling, around another corner and then back toward the market. But this street has four of the bastards waiting, and a glance back shows another pair closing unhurriedly from the rear. Ky turns again, then makes an abrupt left at the sight of yet another trio of bad guys.

“They’re herding us,” I mumble.

“No shit,” Ky says again. “Ideas?”

“Somewhere to hide?”

The buildings around us are mostly commercial, closed and dark and more importantly locked up for the night. I look up and down the street as we turn and turn again, following a narrowing spiral as the hunters close the net. We’re down to barely a block’s worth of freedom when I spot something and point.

“There.”

“What?” Ky glances away from our pursuers. “Waste collection?”

“Best shot.” And the door stands half-open. Why lock up a bunch of trash?

“They’re going to corner us in there.” But the thugs are already closing in. “Fuck it. Go!”

We run for it, and I slam the door closed behind us. It’s not very sturdy; even barricaded, it wouldn’t buy us more than a minute. Instead we head deeper into the darkened facility.

“Taj!” Ky shouts as the door shudders.

“Working on it! Give me a minute!”

The door opens, and the crimson light outside silhouettes a tall man, elegantly dressed. Ky backs up, hand dropping to her sword.

“Hello, Gestian.”

Gestian is a sleek figure in a gray suit with a dark overcoat hanging from his shoulders. There’s a sword at his side in a long curving sheath. He’s handsome and clean-shaven, with a mop of brown hair and bright blue eyes. Behind him I can see some Cavcante thugs, but at a gesture from him they hold back outside the entrance.

“Kycilea,” he says, his cultured Hod accent thick enough to chew.

“You’re looking well,” Ky says. “For a traitor.”

“And you,” he says calmly, “have looked better.”

The room is big and empty, the floor scattered with miscellaneous debris left behind when the trash was last swept out. It’s an obstacle course in the semi-darkness. I nearly trip twice and step in something soft and pungent. I fish Star’s sigil out of my pocket, using its faint red glow to light the way.

Gestian begins walking sideways. Ky mirrors him, the two pacing out the perimeter of an imaginary circle. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, but he makes no move to draw.

“I have a little speech,” he says conversationally. “About how you should come back with me and everything will really be fine. You’ll just have to marry some brainless idiot, bear a son or two, and then we can pack you off somewhere to live out your days in comfort. I put it in nicer terms than that, obviously; it’s really quite touching.” He pats his breast pocket. “Any point to my breaking it out?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Ky says.

“No,” Gestian says with a heavy sigh. “I thought not.”