Chapter 11 – The Maze
Movement at the edge of his vision alerted him to danger. He instinctively ducked and slid part of the way down the roof on the other side. Something clattered across the tiles where he’d been a heartbeat before. He glanced back at the heavy net. That was a new consideration. Out in the open on the rooftop, he was vulnerable. He scrambled back toward the ridge line and peered over the cap tiles.
Several men stood on the rooftop across the street. One of them pointed at him. “The net missed. Dagal, he’s on the other side not far from you. Grab him!”
Askaro saw the man coming toward him, stepping carefully across the old clay tiles. He looked in the direction he’d been headed. The roof appeared to end at a lower building whose roof was less slanted. That roof ended at a wall of a slightly taller building. It was time to get down. He sprinted toward the lower roof. He saw several men down in the street begin to follow. They had to run up a set of stairs and dodge around pedestrians. He was ahead of them by the time he reached the lower section. He jumped down and didn’t stop.
The street teed. In front of him was a gabled building above which rose a wall. A multistory house was hidden by the stonework but it seemed to rise up the side of a mountain. The street to his right appeared to dead end quickly so he turned to his left.
The buildings on either side of the street were still stone and brick with gabled roofs but most of the shops were closed. Some had boards nailed across their windows. People crouched in the doorways, their tattered clothing barely better than his own. The streets turned and intersected. He was soon disoriented.
Shouts echoed up the streets. The men must have split up to look for him. His body was shaking. He desperately needed a place to hide. He looked down another cross street, seeing the dead end made him worry. What if there was no way out?
Askaro paused at the corner of a building. All the streets looked the same. He remembered his grandfather’s lesson and looked up. He could no longer see Cloud Tower. It was hidden by the mountain top that rose to his right. A flash of light caught his attention. Ahead of him rose a tall circular black and white banded column. He thought back to the map. It must be Bright Tower. That meant he was close to the original harbor. The other Sky Ships should be docked there. If he could find a Captain that he knew, he might be able to convince him to take him back to the Falcon. His fingers rubbed the chain of the pendant pressed into the skin of his wrist by the leather band. Would it be enough?
He saw the men come around the corner at the far end of the street. He had to make a dash for it. Askaro ran down the street that led toward Bright Tower. He had to take several more turns before the street lined up with the massive lighthouse. He pushed his muscles harder. The narrow street opened into a stone-paved plaza in front of the lighthouse. He didn’t pause but ran to the stairs that led down to the docks.
He glanced along the row of smaller Sky Ships and recognized one. It was the Magnificent. He’d never met the Captain but this was the ship that had carried the news of the Falcon’s coming. Captain Delkaro had talked to him in Kells. Perhaps he could help.
The trackers were catching up. He needed a way to lose them. He noticed a wagon a short distance down the dock. It had lost part of it’s load of straw. The draft animals stood flicking their long tails while men used hay rakes to reload it. Their bare backs glistened with sweat. Askaro raced toward it. He slid under the wagon and his momentum buried him in the hay. He rolled out the other side and crawled between two men who were heaving recaptured straw back into the wagon. Several shirts had been tossed over barrels stacked against the wall. Askaro grabbed one and scurried toward an open doorway beyond the wagon and working men. He ducked around the corner and looked back.
The first of Golarin’s men arrived and pointed at the pile of hay. “He went in there!” There was a commotion as the rest of the trackers caught up. They grabbed the hay rakes and began stabbing at the pile.
Golarin and another man were the last to show up. Golarin went up to one of the men and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? You idiots! We need him whole!”
There was no way to get closer to the ship without being seen. Askaro looked into the building where he’d taken shelter. No one seemed to be inside. Sheets of canvas hung in the wide open space at its center. He grinned. It was a sail loft. He found the stairs to the next level up. Large windows let in light. He glanced around the first level balcony. More sails lay on workbenches and over lines attached to the walls. He saw a water casket and rushed to it. He dipped his finger in. It tasted slightly of thread and canvas but was otherwise fresh. He quenched his thirst.
Shouts from outside drew him toward the window. A Master had joined the group outside and was faced off with Golarin. The workers had retrieved their rakes and stood leaning on them, watching the scene. Askaro looked down at the shirt he was carrying and felt bad. He hoped the man that it belonged to wouldn’t get in trouble.
Askaro looked upward at the riggings that held the canvas suspended. There was a narrow catwalk at the very top. It was in shadows. It should be a good place to hide. He ascended the stairs to each level, finding more work benches and hanging sails. He discovered a set of closed doors on the third level but they wouldn’t budge. He went to the window next to the doors and looked out. It was a street like all the others he’d just run down.
He continued upward until he found the ladder that led to the narrow catwalk. He walked the entire length back toward a large window that faced the docks. He could still see them from here but could no longer hear them.
Askaro undid his belt and pulled off his shirt. The blood had dried to a dark brown and numerous stains and rips marred the once white fabric. He pulled on the other shirt. It was much too big for him but he crimped it at his waist with his belt. He laid his original shirt down on the catwalk and curled up on it. His body shook and he closed his eyes.
The screech of metal hinges startled him. He looked around in confusion until the dim interior came into focus. Someone was closing the main doors below. The building was dark except for the flickering light of the lamps along the edge of the dock that filtered in through the windows. He peered out into the darkness. A few people still moved along the dock but there was no way to tell who they were. He was probably safe for the night. He closed his eyes again and drifted off into nightmares.
A ringing bell woke him. He looked out but saw only gray. The clouds had closed in. He got up and went to the nearest workbench. The water keg there was a little fresher. He used a corner of his old shirt to clean his face. He went back to the window. He could just make out the rotating beacon of Bright Tower. By the lightness of the fog, it must be morning. He turned slightly and caught his own reflection in the glass. He reached up and touched the collar. Golarin and his men were looking for a slave. He reached behind his neck and undid the buckle. He took it off and held the leather in his hands. He’d worn a collar forever. A slight breeze tickled the bare skin. He shivered. He tucked the collar into one of the pouches on his belt.
He didn’t want to be discovered. He crept down. The doors on the third floor were still locked. He continued down to the dock level. The main doors were closed. He pushed on them but they didn’t budge. He was trapped.
He ducked under the workbench closest to the doors and dozed. The squeal of the hinges woke him. A man in tunic and breaches walked by him and went up the stairs. Askaro quietly crept from his hiding place and moved to the door. He looked both ways down the dock. The swirling mist made it hard to see. He slipped out and stayed close to the wall, making use of the crates and barrels stacked there. He worked his way down the dock, hopefully toward the Magnificent.
Dark shapes appeared in the fog ahead of him. He ducked behind a barrel. Several men walking together passed only a few units away. They all wore leather armor. One of them paused. “Did you hear that?”
Another man ran into him. “Will you stop that! It’s soup out here, damp and cold. Quit making it
worse. Just keep going.”
The third man leaned on a crate only a few steps from Askaro. “Dagal, we’ve been up and down this dock all night but ain’t seen nothing. What makes Golarin so sure the slave is still here?”
The second man shrugged. “He didn’t come out at either end. So he must still be here.”
The first man laughed tightly. “In this mess, he could have walked right by us and we’d been none the wiser.”
Dagal took a seat on a barrel. “He ain’t going to get by the men at the stairs. They got both ends covered. All we have to do is wait.”
The bell rang again. The man sitting on the crate got up. “That’s the second morning bell. Things are going to get busy here soon. We should probably keep moving.”
Dagal got up. “I suppose. Sure hope this one is worth all the trouble. Don’t recall ever taking this long before to wrap up one slave.”
The men moved off together down the dock. Askaro drew in several deep breaths to calm his shaking limbs. He began moving again. A large door right in front of him swung open. He had to back peddle to keep from getting crushed. A man wearing a heavy leather apron stepped out. “What are you about?”
Askaro swallowed down his fear. “I’m looking for the Magnificent.” He thought fast. “I have a message to deliver to the Captain.”
The man eyed him. “You ain’t wearing yellow. You don’t look like no messenger to me.”
Askaro wasn’t sure what the man meant but he had to respond. He didn’t want to lie. “I’m from the Falcon, sir. I need to get a message to the Captain of the Magnificent.”
The man shook his head. “Doubt the Captain is on the ship. He’s most likely up at his house.”
“And how can I find that, please?”
The man laughed coldly. “You can’t. He lives up on Snob Nob. The bridge guards would never let you pass. You best go back to your ship and tell your Captain to use a messenger. That’s why we have them.” He turned and went back inside. He began to push on a bar. Red light glowed from a large forge.
Askaro leaned against the wall. What was he going to do now? If Golarin did have men at all the stairways, he’d never get back to the Falcon.
The fog swirled as a group of men carrying a long rolled canvas walked by. They must be headed to the Sail Loft. Askaro remembered the doors on the third floor. He’d seen a street outside the windows at that end of the building. Were Golarin’s men watching that, too?
The line of men was almost past him. He heard a curse in the direction they were going. “Hey! Watch it! Golarin, how long are we supposed to stay down here? No one has seen anything since yesterday afternoon. Maybe he’s already slipped through.”
Golarin and another man were walking down the dock on the other side of the rolled canvas! Askaro saw a drooping section and jumped into the line, lifting up the sag. The roll rested on his shoulder, hiding his face from their view.
Askaro stayed with the line until they reached the third floor. He ducked away from the row as they went up the stairs. He turned and ran into a solid body. He looked up at a stern face. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you were there.”
The man squinted his eyes. “You’re not a member of my crew. What are you doing in here?”
“I saw a sag in the canvas as it was being carried. Master Elvarian always told us we should never let a canvas sag or it will stretch.”
The man’s thick eyebrows went up. “Elvarian? How is it you know him?”
Askaro struggled to swallow. “From the Falcon, sir. He’s one of the Sail Masters.”
The man chuckled. “So he is. Met him when I was still on the Endeavor, I did. I heard the Falcon had come in. What brings you down here, lad?”
“I was supposed to get a message to the Captain of the Magnificent but a smithy said he wasn’t on the boat so I’m headed back to the Falcon.”
The Master put a hand on Askaro’s shoulder. “Good of you to lend a hand on the way. When you see Elvarian tell him that Gustav sends his greetings. He should come round the shop and pay me a visit.”
Askaro’s stomach rumbled. He ignored it. “Yes, sir. I’ll pass that message on when I see him.”
Master Gustav pulled him gently toward a workbench. “You shouldn’t be out on a damp morning like this with an empty stomach.” He pulled a roll from a cloth covered basket and handed it to him.
Askaro took the warm bun. “Thank you, sir!”
The man smiled and pointed to the big doors. “I’ll let you out the top side. It will save you the run around the stairs.”
Askaro followed him to the entry of the third floor. The Master reached up and released a lever. They swung open. “Thank you again, sir.”
Master Gustav patted him on the shoulder. “Mind you don’t get lost in this fog. Go to the corner then straight up that street and you’ll run into Fouler. You no doubt came in on that one. Off with you now.”
Askaro waved and hurried into the swirling mist. He heard the doors close and lock behind him. He hoped that if any of Golarin’s men were in this area looking for him that hearing the Master give him directions might throw them off.
He bit into the soft roll as he hurried down the street. Lanterns glowed under the eves along the narrow passage. No doors were open but dim light shown from some of the windows on the ground floor of the buildings he passed. A few people moved in various directions but no one got close enough to recognize or to grab him.
He’d eaten half the bun by the time he reached Fouler Street. He tucked the rest of the bread into a pouch on his belt and studied the buildings around him. Askaro had no idea if he’d been this way before. Everything looked the same in the mist. He tried to remember all the street names he’d seen on the map but there had been too many. He’d been more interested in the buildings. He came to what he thought was the teed intersection. He looked up at the roofs of the buildings. There were gables on the one to his left but not the other. He turned and went down the street. He was relieved when he saw the lower roof he’d jumped down from.
Askaro followed the street as it curved around. It ended at Low Street. He looked up at the building beside him. He couldn’t see the roof at all. As he turned down Low Street, he realized the roof slanted sharply downward and then leveled off. He knew where he was! He picked up his pace and began to jog.
Two figures came out of a door ahead of him. They paused and one turned to the other. “What do you suppose is taking that tracker so long?”
Askaro’s heart missed a beat. He knew that voice all too well. He quickly turned around, hoping Mister Fantori hadn’t seen him. He knew that the next street led to the Harbor Master’s building. It was a dead end. He didn’t want to risk getting trapped there. He went back to the corner and turned down Fowler Street. A group of people were coming in his direction. He could hear the slight slap and squeak of leather and buckles.
He turned down the side street between him and the trackers. There was a shop beside him. Light from the windows made faint brighter patches on the walkway that ran along the building. The door was open. He ducked inside. Lamps along the edge of the ceiling lit rows of bins. Each contained different objects that he supposed were some kind of food. He slipped past the busy shopkeeper and moved toward the back wall where windows looked out into the mist.
Voices caught his attention. He’d heard them before. He peered over the bins. Two men in leather stood by a bin filled with purple and white lumps. The trackers had their back to him. They were picking up various pieces and smelling them. The taller one made his choice. “Come on, Bor. We’d better catch up with the others.”
Bor held one in each hand. “Which rutabaga do you think is riper?”
“Those are turnips, dunce, and they both look fine. Just pick one and let’s pay and get out of here. Golarin will have our hides if he notices we ducked out.”
Askaro watched as the two men moved toward the shopkeeper at the other end of the shop. He relaxed slightly. Something brushed his leg. He
reached down and his fingers made contact. They curled around something warm. Askaro looked down. It was a hand.
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