Up on the Rooftops
The slate and shale rooftops of the city were an intricate maze, a thoroughfare to getting anywhere in the city of Val Royeaux without being seen. Only the most intrepid used them, especially at night. Over the years many a shopkeeper or estate owner had awoken to find a crumpled, mangled body crushed on the pavement. Nobody mourned these broken bodies. They were criminals and miscreants and the only people lower on the social scale were elves and, even then, elves were at least valued as servants.
Duncan skidded along a particularly steep rooftop, cursing as the shale slipped beneath his boot. His pack shifted, knocking him off balance. He threw himself forward, fingers digging into the ridge between shingles. He could feel the scrape of broken shale on his cheek as he held on, could feel himself starting to lose his grip. He dug his toes in, trying to create a purchase for them where none existed. He had not pictured himself dying in so ignoble a fashion. He had expected someday to be hung for crimes against Orlais or gutted in a tavern brawl. Sliding off a roof with a pack full of stolen items seemed so undignified.
"Come on, old man. It'll be daylight soon," Riordan chided with a cocky grin, reaching down and pulling the shorter man up by his collar.
Duncan hung suspended for seconds that felt like hours before his feet found purchase and his balance was restored. "It wasn't my idea to be out this late," he growled at his friend and colleague.
Riordan feigned hurt, widening his blue eyes. "You wanted me to say no to Arabella? You might as well have asked me to cut my di…nose off," he mocked with a soft chuckle.
"If it would have meant an earlier start, cutting off either would have been preferable," Duncan retorted, rolling his eyes. They continued on their way at a slightly less breakneck speed.
"Halt!" a voice commanded, sounding disembodied and eerie in the damp, foggy night. Eerie enough to make Duncan's heart, already clipping along from exertion and adrenaline, beat faster. His head snapped up and he glanced around as they continued on.
Riordan stopped so abruptly that Duncan ran into him, sending both men pitching forward. Riordan groaned as he hit the steep ridge of the roof. Duncan teetered precariously before his balance caught and held. He grabbed the back of Riordan's dark leather pants and hauled him up.
"Quit clowning around," Duncan hissed. Sweat beaded his forehead even though the night was cold and damp.
"You there! I said halt!" the voice called again. Duncan was grateful the man had called out again, it gave away his position. Their pursuer was behind them.
Duncan glanced at Riordan. "Meet at the loft," he ordered and then scrabbled along the gabled roof to an adjoining mansard roof before disappearing into the gloom.
In the three months since they had met, Duncan had come to realize there was no place the two of them couldn't break in to. Duncan was the stealth expert, the one who could blend in and become a shadow, could enter buildings so quietly the night watchmen didn't know he was there even when he was standing right behind them. Riordan, with practiced ease and nimble fingers, could open any lock in seconds. The two of them were formidable when they weren't busy competing for women or cutting purses.
The gangs of Val Royeaux, run by the roughest and most depraved of the criminals, were after them, offering sweet recruitment deals. So far they had been able to juggle the offers but sooner or later, they would stop offering sweet deals and offer life in the gang or death. Duncan didn't know what he'd do then. He wasn't about to work for someone else and Riordan had vowed the same. The thought of leading his own gang was not especially appealing either. He preferred not to be in charge, too much responsibility. He supposed he would just move on to one of the other large cities in Orlais. None were as rich and diverse as Val Royeaux but they weren't without merit.
He was almost at the meeting place, a flat roof with a stepped gable that offered plenty of shadows with its high chimneys. They had met there a number of times. It was above the central gendarme headquarters and the last place the gendarme would think to look for two thieves. He jumped across a narrow alleyway and onto a flat rooftop whose façade was steeply arched, skittering along the wet slate before coming to a stop.
"Help," a voice called, a woman's voice and coming from a nearby rooftop. Pain and fear were reflected in that one word. Duncan changed direction and moved with sure, swift steps across a shallow gabled rooftop and stopped to listen again.
"Someone, please," the woman moaned. He moved again, to the edge of the roof and peered down. She was standing on a rooftop two stories below him holding a bundle tightly to her chest. Judging by the sounds emanating from the bundle, she was holding a cat. Maker, had she tried to rescue a cat in the middle of the night? Was she insane?
Duncan listened to the sounds of the night, muted by the deepening fog, which meant morning was only an hour or two away. He didn't hear his pursuer, or anyone else but he could hear the faint mewling from her bundle. A cat, for Maker's sake. He sighed. He couldn't just leave her there, no matter how insane she was. He dug in his pack and found the rope and looked for a stout chimney. Tying one end around the base of the chimney and the other around his waist, he lowered himself to the rooftop.
"Please, you must help me."
She was young and already careworn. She had a hunted look, a look of resignation that Duncan had seen on another woman once. "What are you doing here?" he asked angrily. Maker, he didn't need a complication in his life right now.
"I had to get away. He was going to kill Marcus," she whispered in a tear stained voice.
"Do you have somewhere to go?" Duncan asked, carefully avoiding looking at the bundle that she clutched so tightly. The cat would not be making the trip up the rope with them if he could avoid it.
"Yes, friends in Val Chevin."
"You've money for the public coach?" he asked, already knowing the answer. The loot in his pack seemed suddenly too heavy and he shifted uncomfortably.
"No but I can manage," the young woman said staunchly. If only it were so, Duncan thought, watching his tidy profit drift away from him.
"You'll have to drop the cat if I'm going to help you. I don't have time to waste on rescuing a cat," Duncan ordered, quickly untying the rope from his waist.
"Cat?" she asked, her voice rising.
"Shhhh, the night watchmen are out tonight," Duncan hissed, handing the end of the rope to the woman.
"This bundle comes with me," the woman argued, her voice resolute. He peered through the light mist to meet her dark eyes. She was determined, he saw that from the set of her jaw, heavily bruised, he saw. Damn whoever sent her fleeing on a night like this.
"Then you're on your own. If you would rather save a cat than your own life, I can't help you," Duncan replied, folding his arms and glaring at the woman. Did she want to escape or argue until morning came and they were caught by the gendarme?
"It isn't a cat," the woman began as the bundle squirmed and mewled again.
"Sounds like a cat to me," he replied brusquely. "Now either get that rope tied around your waist and drop the bundle or hand me the rope and I'll be on my way."
He continued staring at her, saw her dark eyes pool with tears and felt the first wave of panic come to him. She was going to cry, by the Maker. He ran a hand through his damp, disheveled hair. He had lost his hood somewhere on the rooftops of Val Royeaux.
"Marcus is my son," she finally said reluctantly. Duncan felt the earth shift under his feet. He should have just kept going. Riordan was always teasing him about his soft spot for people in distress. He gritted his teeth.
"So your husband is out looking for you and his son? You realize that if you're caught they will hand the baby over to him and haul you off to the gallows for kidnapping, right?" Duncan growled.
"Then you'd best stop talking and help me," the woman replied and tied the rope around her waist.
There was nothing for it now, he was obligated to help her and her baby. Riordan was going to have a lot of fun at his expense over this.
"I'll climb back up and pull you. As I do, hang on to the rope and use your feet to walk up the wall."
"I can't hang on without leaving Marcus and I'm not leaving him," the woman whispered angrily.
"I'll have Marcus in my pack," Duncan said, chuckling as an image of Riordan sprang to mind, and the surprised expression on Riordan's face when he opened the pack to find a baby inside.
The ascent was much slower than his descent and the baby fussed the entire time. Duncan couldn't really blame the baby, it had to be uncomfortable crammed in with silver and gold jewelry and bric-a-brac. He'd tried to cushion the baby as best he could and he was not, by the Maker, going to empty his pack for this chit and child.
Once they had reached the upper stories again, Duncan kept the rope tied around her waist. He untied the other end from the chimney and carefully knotted it around his own waist.
"Don't look down. Just try and keep your balance," he instructed, moving forward. He traveled slowly, the woman's weight pulling at him, his pack heavy and cumbersome. It took him longer to reach the meeting place and when he came in sight of it, Riordan was lounging against the wall, his head tipped back. The bastard was sleeping! A smile spread across Duncan's face. Wouldn't Riordan besurprised to wake up and find a baby in his lap?
The woman sat down next to Rirodan and immediately began to nurse the baby. Duncan scrambled back, averting his eyes.
"Who are you?" she asked him conversationally as she fed Marcus.
"Names are not really a good idea," Duncan said and then grinned as Riordan jerked awake. He looked from Duncan to the woman nursing her baby and then back to Duncan, his eyes blinking owlishly.
"Something you need to tell me about, old man?" Riordan asked in amusement.
"Don't start," Duncan warned in a hushed voice. It figured that Riordan would find the situation amusing. He clenched his fists. "We need to get out of here. Daylight's less than an hour away."
"Are your wife and son joining us?" Riordan continued in those same amused tones.
Duncan huffed in exasperation as they edged their way along the rooftops to their shabby rooms above a merchant's shop. Duncan slid in through the window and then helped the woman step in. She carried her son, cradling him close. Duncan was amazed to see the baby was sound asleep.
"Now, we need to get you out of here. I can't imagine your husband won't have people checking the public coaches. We'll have better luck smuggling you onto a ship," Duncan said, already planning. He pointed to Riordan. "He can take our 'goods' to a merchant. Should give us enough to buy passage for the both of you."
The woman, her dark brown eyes once again filling with tears, tried to thank them but all that came out was a sob. Duncan patted her awkwardly and looked helplessly at Riordan who was grinning at Duncan's obvious discomfort.
"I will never be able to thank you both," she said through her tears. Her broken sobs woke Marcus who began to wail. Riordan and Duncan both took several steps back, wearing matching looks of panic.
"I should probably go with him," Duncan began and the woman cried louder. He looked at Riordan for help. Riordan, damn him, shook his head and grinned cockily.
"I'll be fine, old man. I wouldn't want to part you from your family," Riordan snickered before grabbing up the pack and sliding quietly out the window. He was back in seconds.
"I think we both need to lay low. Janderies is below with several of his thugs. He won't risk coming up here but we can't risk going out," Riordan whispered quietly, looking at the woman with a grin.
"You, on the other hand, would raise no notice. With a hooded cloak and no baby, you shouldn't attract any attention," he said, smugly tying his own dark cloak around the woman's shoulders.
"Wait! You mean we're going to have to watch the baby?" Duncan asked on a rising note, shaking his head emphatically.
No amount of protesting changed Riordan's mind and while Duncan knew he was right, the thought of being alone with the tiny bundle in the white blanket made him break out in a cold sweat.
"My name is Mathilde," the woman said and waited expectantly for Riordan and Duncan to give their names.
"I'm Dubois and this is Beevis," Duncan finally said, indicating Riordan, who snorted.
With a few instructions, she clutched the pack under her cloak and left with whispered advice on what to do should Marcus wake again. Duncan was afraid to move or even breathe, lest he wake the sleeping boy. Riordan was lounging on his bed, hands folded behind his head. "Softie," he muttered with a grin. "You just can't resist a damsel in distress," he added with another boyish grin. Duncan glared at him.
"I was supposed to let her husband find her and have her hanged so he could take his ill humor out on his son instead?" Duncan asked angrily. His voice rose. "You would have done the same."
Of course the baby woke at his raised voice and began to wail. Duncan backed away from the bundle on his bed and looked with accusing eyes at Riordan who was almost asleep, completely unconcerned by the sound of the unhappy baby.
"Do something," Duncan hissed, continuing to back away until he bumped into the wall.
"Me? You do something. You're the one who brought them here," Riordan reminded him in his maddeningly amused voice.
"You come from a big family. Surely you know more about babies than I do," Duncan retorted, staying as far from the squirming bundle as he could in their small room.
"So it's time you learned," Riordan said, closing his eyes again.
The baby's crying was growing in volume. With a long suffering sigh, Duncan crept forward. Marcus's face was red and screwed up tightly as he cried, his little hands waving angrily.
Duncan wondered if it was too late to follow Mathilde out the window. With a groan, he bent and picked up the screaming bundle. He held the baby straight armed, as far from him as possible.
"Support the back of his head, Duncan. He isn't a sack of flour," Riordan instructed without opening his eyes.
"He probably just needs some cuddling," Riordan reassured Duncan, who found it anything but reassuring. "Hold him in the crook of your arm."
Experimentally, Duncan brought the bundle closer and settled him in the crook of his arm. Only to feel the arm of his dark linen shirt become wet. "He's wet," Duncan said, feeling the panic race through him again. "Take him, quick!"
Riordan's chuckle became a full fledged laugh. "You coward. I'll fix some swaddling for him, you unwind him," Riordan muttered as he slid off the bed and went to their rickety armoire. He removed two white linen shirts and began to tear them into wide strips.
"Unwind him?" Duncan asked, staring down at the baby who was blinking big blue eyes up at him, hiccupping now in between his sobs.
Riordan was laughing as he brought the strips to Duncan. "Yes, unwind the old swaddling and wrap him in the new swaddling."
Duncan glanced down at the strips and scowled. "You used my only white shirts for swaddling? Damn you Riordan," he growled only to have the baby, who had finally stopped crying, begin again.
"The happier you are, the happier Marcus will be," Riordan admonished with a chuckle. He tickled the baby's chin and the baby gurgled. Duncan tried to smile but found his scowl was too intent on staying where it was.
"Lay him down on the bed and remove the swaddling," Riordan said with a boisterous laugh. The baby burbled and gurgled, remind Duncan of a stream. He bent down and began unwinding the swaddling, only to be caught in the chest with a golden arc of water.
"Oh, always keep a baby boy covered," Riordan added as an afterthought. Duncan felt his face flush.
"A tip you might have shared sooner," Duncan said with feigned happiness as he saw the effect it had on Marcus. He felt murderous and thought that the gangs of Val Royeaux were looking more tempting by the minute.
"Sorry, old man. Been awhile since I handled a baby," Riordan joked, blowing gently in the baby's face. The baby gasped and then laughed, waving his little fists in the air.
It took four tries before the dry swaddling was in place. Twice Duncan wrapped his hand in with the swaddling. Finally, by the time the swaddling was snugly fitted around the baby, Duncan was soaked and Riordan was gasping for breath from the all the laughter he had indulged in at Duncan's expense.
"There will come a time when you'll be repaid tenfold," Duncan said with a false smile on his lips. He shucked off his wet shirt and grabbed his only remaining shirt. "And you owe me three shirts," he added, trying to add a chuckle at the end of it. Marcus was not fooled and began to whimper.
"Do something," Duncan said on a rising tide of panic.
Riordan rose once again and walked over to the baby, picking him up and swinging him high. Duncan's heart dropped to his boots, sure the baby would go flying out of Riordan's hands. He closed his eyes and only opened them when he heard the baby cooing in delight. Duncan found his palms were damp. He shot Riordan a heated glare that Riordan laughed off. Before Duncan could say anything, Mathilde was back and thankfully took a very happy baby into her arms.
The rest of the day was spent helping Mathilde watch over Marcus. She was exhausted and it was obvious her brutish husband had beaten her several times. Duncan didn't ask and she didn't say anything about it. Riordan was charming and cheerful and helpful to the point that Duncan's teeth and jaws ached.
That night they went out the window and carefully made their way along the rooftops of Val Royeaux. Once they neared the docks, the helped Mathilde and Marcus down and they found a captain willing to take the mother and child aboard without question. Riordan passed her the money and she gave him a kiss on his cheek. Turning to Duncan, she hugged him tightly.
"The Maker's light will shine on you, Dubois," she whispered and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for saving our lives," she added and then boarded the ship.
He stood on the docks, watching the ship as it set sail for Val Chevin. In the three months they had partnered up, Duncan had always felt superior in temperament and talent to Riordan. Today he had not and if it took him the rest of his life, he was going to make Riordan pay for all the teasing and harassment and indignities he had suffered.
Riordan laughed as they left the dock. "I say we visit Arabella," he said, flinging an arm around Duncan's shoulders.
Someday, Duncan reminded himself, even if it took the rest of his life. He would pay Riordan back. His grin stole across his face as they made their way to the Hungry Hound. The night was young and so were they. There would be plenty of time to repay Riordan later.
A/N: For those who may be wondering...yes, that is the Marcus from The Lion of Orlais.
Happy Holidays!