Evening, 21 Dentis, 2719
A Rooftop, Not Far from the Wharf
Aremu felt a ripple of tension through him when the roof creaked beneath Meraki as well. He exhaled, slowly, glancing away, and let himself relax; to tense would only make it more likely for the roof to creak further, if he was fool enough to stir again.
The wick’s question interrupted the silence that had settled over them once more. Aremu was quiet; he felt the ache of his bruises, the weight of the knife at his back. They were very different questions, he thought; would he have killed them? Should he have killed them? “You should not draw a knife on a man unless you are willing to kill him,” he said, quietly, gazing over the edge of the roof.
“That does not make it smarter,” Aremu continued. He did not look at Meraki; he looked out over the distant lights, the smear of them blurring in his unbruised eye. He took a deep breath, conscious of the aches in his ribs, the throbbing tiredness in his head, the sharper pains in his face. I would have lost, he knew; he did not say it. If Meraki had not come along – if Meraki had not seen him – he was not sure, in the end, whether he would have yielded Niccolette’s money or his life or both. He knew how she would rank such things; he knew the money meant nothing to her, and that he meant a great deal. That had not been enough, in the moment; perhaps it should have been.
“I don’t know,” Aremu said, hoarse. “It cannot be undone, killing.” He swallowed against the ache in his throat, the bitter taste of too much of his own blood; his stomach ached with the swallowing. I’ve killed enough, he thought; he did not say. “Better their lives than mine. But short of that-.” He said, finally, still looking away; he shook his head, faintly, rather than finish the sentence.
He was just as glad that Meraki took his thoughts in silence, and returned something like a joke. Aremu did not quite smile, but he nodded, faintly; his frown did not worsen, and perhaps it lightened in time. Meraki went to the edge of the roof, and said he thought they had gone. Aremu nodded again. He inhaled, softly, glancing around.
They did not go back through the hatch; it was over, instead, creeping quietly across the metal, trying to avoid the aching creaks beneath their feet. The side of the building leading away from the wharf was not against an alley or street, but tight against another roof just below. Aremu eased himself over the edge; the fingertips of his left hand clung tight to the roof edge, and he lowered himself, all the muscles in his body screaming in agony; he dropped the last foot, and stifled a grunt against his fist as the pain wracked him. For a moment, he was doubled-over, shaking; there was sweat slick against his forehead, all down his back. His eyes focused again, slowly; he grunted, and breathed, and straighted himself up.
Another roof; no drop, this time, only a climb over the barrier between them. There was a hatch in this one, but it was locked. Aremu went to the side, looking down. There was a drain pipe, he thought, aching with imagined pain, into the alley on the far side. It was empty, below, as far as he could tell, without even someone searching for shelter against the night. The gap between this building and the next was wider than he’d have liked; he knew he could not jump it.
“Down, then,” Aremu said, quietly. What choice did they have?
He climbed; he used his feet and his hand and his wrist, too; he went down, hand over wrist and foot over foot, clinging to the metal bits that held the pipe in place, clinging to the pipe itself. Every inch was agony; every inch brought him closer and closer.
When he slipped – as he had, almost inevitably, thought he would – it was not as bad as it could have been. He fell the last few feet; he knew a thing or two about falling, after so long. He crumpled himself as he hit, rolling sideways onto the ground. He could not get up, then; he lay there, shaking, curled onto his side. His breath whistled through him, a faint, aching keening sound; his eyes were tightly shut.
He had to get up, Aremu told himself. He had to get up.
He did not move.