into whatever lay beyond. “Wait, stupid mutt,” she ordered. “Stay.”
The dog ignored her, running off into whatever lay beyond the passage. Rosalia willed herself to go faster, her feet skittering across the cobbles as she lunged down the passageway, the walls scraping her, front and back. The voice was getting louder, authoritative. And the screaming had abated, an ugly, strained whimpering taking its place.
The next instant Rosalia burst out of the narrow confines of the passage and found herself in a hexagonal courtyard between buildings. The courtyard seemed vast after the tightness and darkness of the passage, despite being surrounded on all sides, the jagged struts of buildings clawing toward the moonlight above like a crone’s twisted hands. A towering spire rested in its center like an upended needle, a prodding lance made of white stone, and beyond that a wider gateway, an arch of stone across its top. Here was the location Hassood had described in his discussions with Grant. So where was he?
Rosalia halted, getting her bearings, looking all around for her dog. The man’s voice was echoing around the courtyard along with whimpering and foreign words, both coming from somewhere to her right. Warily, Rosalia made her way toward it, spying the shelter there between a balustrade of curving archways that shone like ice in the moonlight. Something was moving there, but as Rosalia approached the dog came hurrying back out, barking a warning.
The man’s words echoed from the covered passage, the words unfamiliar but the tone clear. “Help me,” he was saying. “Help me.” Rosalia felt sure of it.
Rosalia leaned down, touching her hand to the dog’s neck as it looked plaintively up at her. “What is it, boy?” she muttered, keeping her voice low.
At that instant Domi came running from the narrow passage entrance behind her, legs pumping as she rushed to join Rosalia and the mongrel. “Don’t…just…run off,” she stormed breathlessly. She was covered in dirt from the walls, her pale face powdered with white dust, her hair in disarray.
Rosalia glared at her, left hand raised for silence. Then she indicated the space between the archways. As she did so, a gurgling scream rent the air, echoing around the courtyard like tumbling waves crashing against the shore.
Rosalia hurried forward, drawing a hidden knife from her sleeve as she leaped through the closest archway. The man’s voice was loud in here, squawking off the walls like a parrot’s caw. There was a figure there in the darkness, a tall man, thin with narrow shoulders, a shimmer of silver glistening beside him like a full-length mirror.
It took a second for Rosalia’s eyes to adjust as the dog scurried over to her side, barking again. In that instant, the shadow she had taken to be a man became just another shadow against the wall, and the glistering mirror light winked out as if a cloud had smothered the moon.
Rosalia searched the walled area, hearing the man’s voice again, realizing it had an artificial quality to it. It was Grant, his words tinny over the transistor radio pickup—a compact unit no larger than a football crashed on its side against the wall, the microphone hanging loosely on a coiling wire beside it.
“Hassood?” Grant’s voice chirruped with urgency. “Hassood? Come in.” Water sloshed around the radio, disappearing down a drain.
Domi had entered the covered area now, engaging her hidden Commtact as she recognized Grant’s voice. “He’s not here.” She continued speaking, explaining about the discarded radio receiver, that no one was around.
Rosalia ignored the exchange. Her eyes had been drawn to the dark shadow on the wall, a shadow in the shape of a man, tall and thin with narrow shoulders. Pacing forward, Rosalia touched her hand to the dark stain, pressing her palm gently against it after just a moment’s consideration, her eyes narrowing. It was damp; warm and damp.
Chapter 9
“Didn’t you
The dog ignored her, running off into whatever lay beyond the passage. Rosalia willed herself to go faster, her feet skittering across the cobbles as she lunged down the passageway, the walls scraping her, front and back. The voice was getting louder, authoritative. And the screaming had abated, an ugly, strained whimpering taking its place.
The next instant Rosalia burst out of the narrow confines of the passage and found herself in a hexagonal courtyard between buildings. The courtyard seemed vast after the tightness and darkness of the passage, despite being surrounded on all sides, the jagged struts of buildings clawing toward the moonlight above like a crone’s twisted hands. A towering spire rested in its center like an upended needle, a prodding lance made of white stone, and beyond that a wider gateway, an arch of stone across its top. Here was the location Hassood had described in his discussions with Grant. So where was he?
Rosalia halted, getting her bearings, looking all around for her dog. The man’s voice was echoing around the courtyard along with whimpering and foreign words, both coming from somewhere to her right. Warily, Rosalia made her way toward it, spying the shelter there between a balustrade of curving archways that shone like ice in the moonlight. Something was moving there, but as Rosalia approached the dog came hurrying back out, barking a warning.
The man’s words echoed from the covered passage, the words unfamiliar but the tone clear. “Help me,” he was saying. “Help me.” Rosalia felt sure of it.
Rosalia leaned down, touching her hand to the dog’s neck as it looked plaintively up at her. “What is it, boy?” she muttered, keeping her voice low.
At that instant Domi came running from the narrow passage entrance behind her, legs pumping as she rushed to join Rosalia and the mongrel. “Don’t…just…run off,” she stormed breathlessly. She was covered in dirt from the walls, her pale face powdered with white dust, her hair in disarray.
Rosalia glared at her, left hand raised for silence. Then she indicated the space between the archways. As she did so, a gurgling scream rent the air, echoing around the courtyard like tumbling waves crashing against the shore.
Rosalia hurried forward, drawing a hidden knife from her sleeve as she leaped through the closest archway. The man’s voice was loud in here, squawking off the walls like a parrot’s caw. There was a figure there in the darkness, a tall man, thin with narrow shoulders, a shimmer of silver glistening beside him like a full-length mirror.
It took a second for Rosalia’s eyes to adjust as the dog scurried over to her side, barking again. In that instant, the shadow she had taken to be a man became just another shadow against the wall, and the glistering mirror light winked out as if a cloud had smothered the moon.
Rosalia searched the walled area, hearing the man’s voice again, realizing it had an artificial quality to it. It was Grant, his words tinny over the transistor radio pickup—a compact unit no larger than a football crashed on its side against the wall, the microphone hanging loosely on a coiling wire beside it.
“Hassood?” Grant’s voice chirruped with urgency. “Hassood? Come in.” Water sloshed around the radio, disappearing down a drain.
Domi had entered the covered area now, engaging her hidden Commtact as she recognized Grant’s voice. “He’s not here.” She continued speaking, explaining about the discarded radio receiver, that no one was around.
Rosalia ignored the exchange. Her eyes had been drawn to the dark shadow on the wall, a shadow in the shape of a man, tall and thin with narrow shoulders. Pacing forward, Rosalia touched her hand to the dark stain, pressing her palm gently against it after just a moment’s consideration, her eyes narrowing. It was damp; warm and damp.
Chapter 9
“Didn’t you
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