Cethe by Becca Abbott

streets was much different from their orderly lines on a map. It had seemed to take no more than a blink of an eye to ride
    through Fornsby in the coach, yet after an hour’s trudging, he had not yet reached the Cathedral.
    Being late, most of Fornsby was deserted, shops closed, their shutters drawn against the perils of the dark. As he continued
    to wander about, the streets narrowed and became dirtier. He came upon taverns stil open, their doors spil ing out noise and
    drunken laughter. Men and women stumbled up and down the walkways, arm in arm, and once Stefn gave wide berth to a fight.
    He could see the Cathedral’s towers silhouetted against the sky, but no matter how often he turned toward them, the streets
    he chose meandered off in other directions, forcing him to backtrack again and again. Final y, out of sheer frustration, his foot
    throbbing unbearably, he chose one of the quieter taverns and slipped inside. Uncertainly, he stood just inside the door, trying to
    make out details in the thick, boozy haze.
    “And what can I get for you, my pretty lad?”
    Starting, Stefn looked up. A barmaid appeared before him, smiling broadly. Her gaze, as it traveled up and down the length of
    him, made him blush.
    “I… if you please, ma’am… I’m trying to get to the Cathedral. Could you give me the direction?” He spoke as quietly as he
    could, but even so, the men seated at the tables nearby fel silent.
    “Cathedral? Why, sure, honey.” Seizing his arm, the woman swept out of the tavern, dragging him with her. He tried to keep
    his eyes averted from her breasts, plump and round and doing their best to spil out of her shabby, low-cut gown. “Take that street
    there al the way to the end, love, then turn right. Another quarter mile and you’l be there. They lock up the gate, though, at
    midnight. Why not stay here until morning? Let Emilia show you a good time.”
    Somehow, Stefn managed to extricate himself. “Thank you,” he managed. “I… I must go.” He hurried away, aware she
    remained on the tavern stoop, hands on her hips, watching him. Not until the road curved out of sight did he breathe a deep sigh of
    relief and slow down.
    The Cathedral locked their gates at midnight? He hadn’t reckoned on that. Would they open them for him? And, if they did,
    what would they do when they realized who Stefn was? Would they even give a sin-catcher an audience?
    Away from the tavern district, the town was quiet and dark again. Moonlight laid a silver path down the middle of the street, but
    the edges stayed deep in shadow. Here and there, a second- or third-story window showed the gleam of lamplight, but most of
    Fornsby’s good citizens had long since sought their beds. His footsteps echoed, abnormal y loud, against the wal s.
    A new sound, coming from behind, stopped him in his tracks, spinning him around. It seemed the shadows moved, but he
    couldn’t be sure. After a moment, when nothing stirred, he told himself it was a trick of the moonlight and walked on. He reached the
    end of the street and, as the barmaid had instructed, turned right. Behind him came the rattle and clank of a bottle rol ing across the
    paving stones. This time, when he turned around, he saw a handful of slouching figures step out into the open. Moonlight flashed on
    steel.
    Stefn’s heart leapt into his throat. He started walking again, going as fast as he could without running outright. Teeth clenched
    against the bolts of pain shooting up through his leg, he prayed the Cathedral was just ahead…just around this next corner.
    He heard his stalkers break formation and knew he had no more time. Wildly, he looked for defensive ground, but there was
    none, only al eys that could be dead-ends and doorways where a man could be pinned.
    “Hey-ho, my lord! Fine night, eh?” One of the men, a nicked short-sword in hand, approached. “We was wonderin’, m’lord, if
    you had a few golds or silvers to spare. Me and my friends here are