Maren Goldweaver's Arc

Chapter 24 of 42

Miller's hand was on the latch when a knock came at the door. Three quick raps. Then Topper let himself in without waiting. He wore that smug grin, the one Maren had seen too many times. He held his palms up like a man showing he had no knife. "You won't believe me," Topper said. "But it wasn't me who sent him." "Who," Miller growled. "Bounty hunter. Downstairs." Topper tipped his head at the floor. "Asking the barmaid about a brown-haired woman with freckles. Copper coin in his hand already. He's here for her head." Maren stood up from the bed. Her stomach dropped. Gisela pushed off the wall. Kato was already at the shutter, easing it open a finger's width to look down at the yard. "Back stairs pass the kitchen," Kato said. "He'll see us." "Window," Miller said. Maren looked down. Two stories. Barrels below, and a slope of tile from the kitchen roof. Too far to jump. "Rope," she said. There was no rope. There was a bed frame with two lengths of hemp lashing the slats. There was the drawstring from Kato's pack. There was Miller's belt. There was the sash from Gisela's waist and the leather cord from Topper's shirt. Maren stripped the lashings from the bed with shaking hands. Gisela untied her sash and passed it over without a word. Kato pulled the cord from his pack. Miller yanked his belt free of the loops. They knotted it all on the floor. Square knots, the kind Miller showed her once at the forge. Hemp to leather. Leather to sash. Sash to drawstring. Maren tested each knot with her weight before passing the line to Kato. Downstairs, a chair scraped. A man's voice asked something. The barmaid answered, too soft to hear. Miller tied the end to the bed leg and dragged the frame to the window. The cub padded to Maren's boot and she scooped it into her coat. Gisela went first, hand over hand, boots against the boards. Then Kato. Topper looked at the rope like it might bite him. "Go," Miller said. Topper went. The line held. Maren swung her leg over the sill. Miller's hand was on her wrist for one second, steady, then gone. She climbed down. Her palms burned. The cub shifted against her ribs. When her boots hit the barrel, she jumped clear and looked up. Miller came last, fast, and dropped the final feet. They ran. Past the woodpile, through a gap in the fence, into the lane behind the tavern. No one shouted. Not yet. Gisela led south along a drainage ditch, keeping low. Maren's lungs burned. At the treeline she stopped and looked back at the village. No pursuit. Not yet. "How did he know," she said. No one answered. They ran again.