The Dark River

When she entered the third-floor hallway, she found a skinny man with a beard chained to a radiator. He had a green silk tie around his neck, the knot pulled so tight that it looked like a noose.

The man looked unconscious, but Maya crouched beside him and jabbed his chest with the handle of her sword. He opened his eyes and smiled. “Are you a woman? You appear to be a woman. I’m Pickering, the ladies’ tailor.”

“I’m looking for the man in the wheelchair. Where did they-”

“That’s Gabriel. Everyone wants to talk to the visitor.”

“So where can I find him?”

“Downstairs-in the old auditorium.”

“How many guards?”

“There are twelve or more in the building, but only a few in the auditorium. The commissioner of patrols doesn’t trust his own wolves.”

“Can you guide me?”

Pickering shook his head. “I’m sorry. The legs won’t move.”

Maya nodded and began to walk away. “Remember my name,” the man said. “I’m Mr. Pickering. Gabriel’s friend.”

Standing at the top of the stairs, she breathed evenly and prepared herself for a long, continuous attack. Both her father and Mother Blessing had always made the distinction between observing and perceiving an enemy. Most citizens spent their lives passively observing what went on about them. In combat, you had to use all your senses and focus on your opponent, anticipating their next move.

Maya took the first flight of stairs slowly, like a student who didn’t want to go back to class. Then she heard someone moving below her and she picked up speed, taking the steps two at a time. One of the commissioner’s bodyguards was trudging upward and she caught him by surprise, driving the point of her blade through a gap in his ribs. A few seconds later, she reached the ground-floor hallway and ran toward two more wolves. She slashed the first guard in the neck, ducked a blow from a club, and stabbed the second wolf in the belly.

Clutching her sword, she ran into the auditorium. One of the wolves was near the front of the room. She stabbed him and leaped onto the stage. The commissioner of patrols was getting up from his desk and reaching for his revolver. Before he could aim, Maya swung the sword downward and chopped off his hand. The commissioner screamed, but she brought the blade up hard and silenced his voice forever.

She turned. And there was Gabriel in the wheelchair. He opened his eyes when she cut the ropes off his arms. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Can you stand up?”