screaming his head off and stirring up the whole marketplace, but Rag, concentrating on escape, only thought to get to the nearest alley and disappear.
Before she could make it, she caught sight of a figure moving fast and purposeful towards her through the crowd. A Greencoat – young and eager, unlike most of the others, and definitely in better shape than Gunta. He had the determined look of a man with something to prove, and catching Rag was his way of doing it.
Ducking a swipe of his arm, she dodged sideways into one of the narrow streets that led from the market. Her bare feet mashed the shit of the alley as she increased her pace, but the Greencoat continued his pursuit, helmet rattling and crossbow slapping against his back. Rag sped through the tight labyrinthine alleyways with practised ease, but her pursuer was matching her pace with sheer power. For a brief second she considered her knife – pulling it on her pursuer might make him wonder whether catching her was worth being cut – though she hadn’t used a blade in anger for years. Truth was she’d never been convincing with a shiv. She remembered how Gus the Puller had just taken it off her once and put a stripe down her cheek for her trouble. After that she never bothered again.
Rag realised she wasn’t going to outrun the lad so she would just have to disappear. As she turned another corner she jumped, planting her bare foot against a narrow windowsill and propelling herself upwards, catching hold of the lintel and dragging her body up above head height. Within two breaths the Greencoat turned the corner, splashing through the puddles and heaving air into his lungs. Thinking Rag had gone, he stopped, cursing loudly and slapping his thigh in anger. All the while she watched from above him, holding her breath, but this Greencoat obviously wasn’t a clever one; he never even bothered to look up.
When he was gone Rag climbed down from the sill, with neither food nor coat. All in all it hadn’t been a good day’s work, but the day wasn’t over yet – something else might come along.
With the market too hot to return to, she headed for Slip Street where she usually bedded down. Slip Street was on the edge of Dockside, not the worst place in that district, but certainly worse than anywhere in Eastgate. It was generally filled with drunks looking for a good time, and expecting to find it there. Aside from the alehouses that lined the street, almost every spare doorway housed a whore of one type or another. Rag would have felt uncomfortable here, vulnerable even, but this was where she’d grown up; her face was known to most of the girls and boys who plied their trade, but for the most part she was ignored. But then that had always been her talent.
She climbed the rickety stairs at the side of the Silent Bull inn, her filthy feet padding lithely across the cracked and broken wood. Her weight made the whole staircase creak violently, but it held beneath her. A full grown man using those stairs might have made them collapse; he’d certainly have made a hell of a racket climbing them. It was the kind of early warning that kept Rag alive in the foul and dangerous streets. Rag and her fellas.
As she made her way up, past the third storey and onto the roof, Tidge was there waiting for her as usual. His big sad eyes stared hopefully from his dirty, podgy face.
‘Didn’t get nothing, mate,’ Rag said, walking past him towards the rickety shack that sat on the flat roof of the inn.
‘Where’s your coat?’ Tidge asked.
‘I had to lose it, but don’t you worry, I’ll find another before the cold nights come.’
She stooped below the broken lintel of the makeshift shack that sat in the centre of the roof and climbed inside. The previous night’s fire had burned down to embers, which smoked feebly in the bottom of the rusted old shield that made do as a fire pit. On the bench opposite were Migs and Chirpy, sitting close enough to be hugging, as they
Before she could make it, she caught sight of a figure moving fast and purposeful towards her through the crowd. A Greencoat – young and eager, unlike most of the others, and definitely in better shape than Gunta. He had the determined look of a man with something to prove, and catching Rag was his way of doing it.
Ducking a swipe of his arm, she dodged sideways into one of the narrow streets that led from the market. Her bare feet mashed the shit of the alley as she increased her pace, but the Greencoat continued his pursuit, helmet rattling and crossbow slapping against his back. Rag sped through the tight labyrinthine alleyways with practised ease, but her pursuer was matching her pace with sheer power. For a brief second she considered her knife – pulling it on her pursuer might make him wonder whether catching her was worth being cut – though she hadn’t used a blade in anger for years. Truth was she’d never been convincing with a shiv. She remembered how Gus the Puller had just taken it off her once and put a stripe down her cheek for her trouble. After that she never bothered again.
Rag realised she wasn’t going to outrun the lad so she would just have to disappear. As she turned another corner she jumped, planting her bare foot against a narrow windowsill and propelling herself upwards, catching hold of the lintel and dragging her body up above head height. Within two breaths the Greencoat turned the corner, splashing through the puddles and heaving air into his lungs. Thinking Rag had gone, he stopped, cursing loudly and slapping his thigh in anger. All the while she watched from above him, holding her breath, but this Greencoat obviously wasn’t a clever one; he never even bothered to look up.
When he was gone Rag climbed down from the sill, with neither food nor coat. All in all it hadn’t been a good day’s work, but the day wasn’t over yet – something else might come along.
With the market too hot to return to, she headed for Slip Street where she usually bedded down. Slip Street was on the edge of Dockside, not the worst place in that district, but certainly worse than anywhere in Eastgate. It was generally filled with drunks looking for a good time, and expecting to find it there. Aside from the alehouses that lined the street, almost every spare doorway housed a whore of one type or another. Rag would have felt uncomfortable here, vulnerable even, but this was where she’d grown up; her face was known to most of the girls and boys who plied their trade, but for the most part she was ignored. But then that had always been her talent.
She climbed the rickety stairs at the side of the Silent Bull inn, her filthy feet padding lithely across the cracked and broken wood. Her weight made the whole staircase creak violently, but it held beneath her. A full grown man using those stairs might have made them collapse; he’d certainly have made a hell of a racket climbing them. It was the kind of early warning that kept Rag alive in the foul and dangerous streets. Rag and her fellas.
As she made her way up, past the third storey and onto the roof, Tidge was there waiting for her as usual. His big sad eyes stared hopefully from his dirty, podgy face.
‘Didn’t get nothing, mate,’ Rag said, walking past him towards the rickety shack that sat on the flat roof of the inn.
‘Where’s your coat?’ Tidge asked.
‘I had to lose it, but don’t you worry, I’ll find another before the cold nights come.’
She stooped below the broken lintel of the makeshift shack that sat in the centre of the roof and climbed inside. The previous night’s fire had burned down to embers, which smoked feebly in the bottom of the rusted old shield that made do as a fire pit. On the bench opposite were Migs and Chirpy, sitting close enough to be hugging, as they
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