Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 47 of 57

Damian and Rolo slipped down the inner passage, away from the abandoned cart. The map named a sitting room ahead. That was where the boss took his morning meal. Damian pressed his ear to a door and heard low voices. Two men, close and steady. The bodyguards. They never left the boss. As long as they stood between him and Damian, there could be no duel. Rolo crouched beside him, always in motion, tapping her fingers on the floor. She had run away from a circus and kept its tricks, and now they were the only thing that might work. She jerked her chin at a narrow window down the hall. "Fire drives men out," she whispered. "I saw the kitchen stove. Give me a minute." Damian caught her sleeve. "No fire. If the whole house wakes, we die." He thought of the cart, already ticking toward discovery. He needed the guards gone, not the guards multiplied. "Something quieter." Rolo grinned. She pulled a small clay jug from a shelf, the kind cooks kept oil in, and poured it slick across the passage stones just outside the door. Then she stepped back and knocked hard, three times, and flattened herself against the wall. The door opened. One bodyguard leaned out. His boot hit the oil and he slid, arms wheeling. Rolo flipped past him like a shadow, quick and low, and swept his legs. He cracked down onto the stone and did not rise. The second guard rushed out and Damian met him. He used the flat of his gemmed blade, its runes catching the gray light, and struck the man's wrist, then his temple. The guard folded. For one breath the passage was clear. The two who never left the boss now lay at the threshold. Damian stepped over them into the sitting room. He had done what no wall or hired sword had let him do. He had separated the boss from his shield. The boss sat at a small table, a cup halfway to his lips. He was older than Damian expected, gray at the temples, calm even now. He set the cup down without a splash. "You came through my own supper crates," he said. "Clever boy." Damian raised the blade. "You paid for the marks. You paid to hunt me. Draw a sword and face me." The boss did not stand. His eyes moved past Damian, toward the yard, and a slow smile touched his mouth. From outside came a shout, then another, sharp and rising. Boots pounded the packed dirt. Rolo went to the window. "They found the cart," she said. The boss folded his hands. "My men will be at that door in moments. You reached me. But now you cannot leave." He looked at Damian without fear. "So. Will you duel me, or run?" Damian gripped the sword. The way out was gone. Only the boss remained.