Chapter 75

The movements flowed smooth as water.

Judging fast that strength wasn't going to win it, the intruder didn't cling to the weapon. A brief tensing of the body — and then the kitchen knife dropped and a quick front kick came flying.

Harold blocked the kicks coming one after another with his dagger, giving ground. The intruder ducked, snatched up the fallen kitchen knife, and lunged at Harold. The low-pulled hat kept the face from view, but the killing intent riding the blade was real enough.

Then, instead of swinging the kitchen knife, the intruder set the edge and threw it. The target wasn't Harold.

Behind Harold was Grisha Lambert, a man with no talent for anything physical. He wasn't wearing his glasses either, so he'd have no proper view of what was happening. Even with them on, it wasn't clear he'd have followed it.

Harold knocked the kitchen knife aside. In that gap, instead of attacking Harold blocking the doorway, the intruder slipped between his legs. Harold spun at once and gave chase.

"Ah!"

The small build made for quick movement. Startled by the attack aimed at his superior, Gauss threw himself in front of Grisha; the intruder reached out and used his shoulder to vault clean over and land running, then bolted down the corridor. Harold collided with the staggering Gauss and lost a beat.

In that instant the intruder closed on a watchman who'd finally come to his senses and drawn his blade, slipped inside his guard, and drove a knee into his jaw. Then, with that same momentum, kicked off the wall and ran for the stairs.

"Harold!"

"I'm after them!"

Harold answered shortly and followed without looking back.

There was nobody else hiding. The smell had thrown off catching that someone was in the sickroom. Hadn't anyone checked the room? Who made a slip that careless?

But the fire wasn't under control yet. And that movement was professional enough to admire. Not the work of someone who'd tried it once or twice.

Harold took the stairs in one jump. If it hadn't been for the iron bars on the window, he'd have gone straight out that way. Then again, the other one would have too.

"What—?"

"Grab that one!"

"...!"

"What the hell!"

A watchman who'd come down after Harold shouted. Might have been Intelligence too. Confirming that Grisha hadn't come down, Harold locked onto his target.

Whatever the reason, watchmen who'd heard the shout moved. The fire meant there weren't many able to; those who were hovered somewhere between hindrance and help. The intruder vaulted the officers trying to grab hold and didn't hesitate to strike at the injured, but one way or another reached a carriage. It was the carriage Harold had come in with Grisha.

The intruder shot Harold a glance and climbed onto the driver's box.

"Stop!"

A few nearby watchmen threw themselves in front of the carriage, but the intruder cracked the whip savagely.

Still, a couple did manage to grab on. The intruder swung the carriage hard from side to side and kicked at them. The watchmen didn't hold on long before they went rolling to the ground.

"Sir Bertholdt!!"

Harold went past them and swung himself onto a horse tied nearby. He unhitched the reins and pushed for speed. Against a carriage, this was faster.

But his opponent was far more skilled than expected. To keep Harold from getting on, the empty carriage was jerked hard. It was a load the horses shouldn't have been able to hold, but somehow the driver kept them balanced. No amateur, this one. Harold accelerated, meaning to jump straight onto the driver's box, but the whip came at him with impeccable timing. A knife came too. Harold thought for a moment it was another kitchen knife, like earlier, but it was smaller. A fruit-paring knife.

Lose the horse here and he lost them entirely. Harold clenched his teeth and eased back. And another astonishing jerk of the carriage would come.

The carriage was heading toward the city. Streets with people on them. Obstacles would only make speed harder — a stupid choice.

No. This was someone who killed people and ran. Hadn't hesitated to run over watchmen. Would they stop for a person in the road?

Harold ground his teeth.

"Aaaaah!"

"Whoa!"

The carriage tore on. Fortunately traffic was light, and people who saw the runaway barely managed to dodge out of the way.

A black carriage without any crest, and a mounted knight chasing it. A moment later, watching the watch pour past too, the citizens left behind blinked.

"That was the watch, right?"

"What's going on?"

"Think it'll be in the paper tomorrow?"

Whatever the citizens were saying behind him, Harold kept working to get onto the carriage.

The carriage headed for downtown. A bridge was coming up soon. It crossed the river into the 5th District. Even as traffic thickened, the carriage didn't slow at all. If anything, it sped up, as if to taunt Harold.

No casualties yet, but that luck wouldn't hold. There were more loaded carts now. The empty carriage skillfully wove between them, but —

"Whinny!"

In the end, unable to keep its balance entering the bridge, it clipped a cart.

The cart driver, startled, yanked hard on his reins, but the ropes securing the barrels in the bed had clearly come loose from the impact. The barrels went thundering over, and the cart lost its balance entirely.

As the cart went over, fish spilled from the barrels. Another cart that couldn't avoid the fish went skidding. The carriage the intruder was driving had somehow held balance until now, but this time it failed. It lurched hard. The horses couldn't hold the carriage. That carriage was about to go over too. He couldn't afford to miss this opening.

Harold spurred his horse. The trained animal read his intent perfectly.

Harold cleared the pile of fish in one jump and closed on the intruder's carriage. Fighting to keep the carriage under control, the intruder had a white-knuckled grip on the reins and couldn't spare Harold any attention.

Or so he'd thought.

Below the hat, the lips curved.

Before Harold, sensing the wrongness of that smile, could reach out —

"...!!"

The intruder let go of the reins. Harold's eyes went wide.

The balance the driver's skill alone had been holding together shattered instantly. The horses staggered and slammed into each other. The carriage tipped sideways and climbed up onto the pedestrian walkway. There were people up ahead who hadn't cleared out in time.

Harold reached out and caught the reins. He hauled them back as hard as he could, forcing the carriage toward the railing. He stretched out a leg and kicked at the lurching carriage wheel. Spokes cracked and broke. Harold didn't ease off — he pushed harder.

There was a child ahead. The road was already a mess from the overturned cart, and there was nowhere for people to get out of the way. A parent with a child in their arms was running, but not fast enough. If he couldn't stop the carriage here or if it went over, someone was going to die.

"..."

The intruder gave Harold a wave. Unable to let go of the reins, Harold could only watch and do nothing.

The man rose from the driver's box and —

"A person! Someone fell in!"

Splash!

Jumped off the side of the bridge.

Harold didn't look away. He didn't ease off either. His leg ached, but not to the point of real pain.

Mercifully, the carriage stopped before it plowed into anyone. It didn't overturn either. As Harold limped down from the horse, a small cheer went up from the watching crowd.

Harold ignored the reaction, calmed the foaming, wheezing horses, then went to check the railing the intruder had gone over.

He'd heard the splash — no question the man had hit the water. But nowhere on the river was there any sign of a person. Only the hat the man had been wearing floated past on the current.

"Sir Bertholdt!"

Right on cue, the watch arrived.

The watch took in the wreckage on the street and looked appalled, but they went to work checking on the injured and clearing traffic. A rescue team would be along soon.

"Jumped into the river."

"The river?"

The watch officer looked at the hat drifting downstream.

"We'll begin the search at once."

The light was going. Deliberately choosing to jump into the river meant there had to be an escape route already worked out.

Harold didn't hold out much hope for it, but he kept it off his face and spoke.

"Black hair. The hat kept me from getting a proper look at the eyes, but not a light color. Height about this."

Nothing that jumped out. But there was a distinguishing detail.

"And — it's a woman."

"A woman? But—"

"Definitely trained movement. Not a knight. As for weapons... nothing proper. She threw a paring knife at me on the way. Look for that too."

"A paring knife?"

"Three of them."

Harold looked around. The rescue team had arrived. Fortunately no one seemed to have been badly hurt in the overturned carriage.

The crowd was thickening. Harold checked his horse. Seeing it favor a leg, the watch called the rescue team over.

"No, the muscle's just startled. He's fine."

"But..."

Harold asked the watch officer,

"Grish— Marquis Roys? Is he still at the hospital?"

"Most likely, sir."

"Killed a prisoner in custody, attempted the assassination of Marquis Roys. Top-level alert. I'm heading back to the hospital."

"Yes, sir!"

Belatedly Harold realized he'd been giving orders. His rank as a northern base man was higher, but he had no authority over the watch.

But the watch itself hadn't found anything odd about taking his instructions. Harold thought about pointing that out too, then scratched his head and let it go.

Either way, all the information that needed passing on had been passed on.

The carriage horses would need to be checked for injuries, but the horse Harold had ridden, once its blood had settled, came over to him and pushed its head against him. Harold stroked its mane.

"For now... I'll be going."

"Yes, sir. You don't need a carriage?"

"No. The horse looks all right, so I'll ride."

Harold gave a wry smile and looked around. The street where the fish had spilled was a disaster. Cleaning it properly would take a while.

"A carriage would take too long in this."

---

Back at the watch hospital after the whole ordeal, the fire, thankfully, was under control. Among people checking for hot spots, Harold spotted Grisha. Grisha's face was dark as he listened to a report. Nearby stood someone who looked like a senior watch officer.

Harold had blocked the attack on Grisha, but he'd been worried he might have missed something. Only after seeing Grisha standing there on both feet did he feel any relief.

"Sir Bertholdt!"

Gauss, standing behind Grisha, spotted Harold. Seeing the faint blue bruise across Gauss's cheekbone, Harold nodded awkwardly.

Alerted by Gauss to Harold's return, Grisha hurried over.

"Grisha. Anywhere hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"Sir Bertholdt. Is that your leg?"

"What? You're hurt?"

"Just a slight twist. It'll be fine with rest."

Grisha squinted at Harold. But the scolding Harold had expected didn't come.

"Right now... no, Harold. There's something else."

"Something else?"

Between the burnt-out hospital and the dead Dustin Glenn and that suspicious professional... whoever it was — something else?

"Your nephews."

Harold's face went hard.