The rats had several escape routes to help them flee from guards and irate keeps and annoyed pickpocket targets, but Lapis had not appreciated how convoluted, until Rin took them through a hidden gate, up a gutter pipe that squealed but held, over a roof and down to twisty alleys that must have, at some point, been part of a garden sidewalk. She had chased in the Grey Streets for five years, and she clearly had much to learn about the sneakier ways.

A hole in the wall of a shoe factory led to Gabby’s old cubby. It sat behind a hedge and tall wooden panel that the owner installed to keep the gap secret from inspectors so he would not have to fix it. An industrious rat had pried the sheet away at the bottom and propped it open with a stout board, providing a sheltered entry to a series of stairs molded from dirt. They proceeded down to a small shelter closet that once belonged to a larger space, but a collapsed wall denied access to the interior door. Rin crawled through the entrance and clomped down, cooing like a townbird, the ‘friends’ signal.

Patch leaned against the brick wall near the hole and slowly turned his head, scanning the area with his eye tech. “I don’t think anyone followed us,” he said. “Probably because they didn’t expect push-back, and they certainly weren’t prepared for Jarosa.”

“Why’d you urge her on?” Lapis asked as she flumped back next to him.

“I wanted her to hit him, not fry his face.”

“We’re talking about Jarosa, Patch.”

He laughed softly. “I don’t have that much experience with her,” he admitted. “I think you know her far better than I do.”

“I knew her eight years ago,” Lapis reminded him. “Enough time has passed for her to have changed.”

“Has she?”

“. . . No.”

“It’s strange, to send in Black Hats then shoot them as well,” he said. “If the skyshroud is run by a mercenary group, that might explain it—and give us a way to get them to leave.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bribes. Adrastos has enough pouring out his ears, he can afford to pay off a mercenary-led skyshroud. After all, their loyalty is to money, not any particular side or leader.” He touched the top of the patch, and the lights circling the edge changed patterns, skipping every other one and flashing twice. “I still can’t believe they didn’t have enough of a presence to have lookouts follow suspicious escapees.”

“You said yourself that they didn’t expect resistance.”

“Yeah, but the Dentherions went to the effort to clear the local guards, and the Black Hats expected to squeeze info from rats, who run fast and have multiple escape routes.” He glanced skyward. “I don’t trust this. We need to get to the sewers.”

Lapis wrinkled her nose; he paraded about underground in the wet and grime and stink, but she preferred to remain above and clean. He leaned against her shoulder and settled his cheek on the top of her head; he must have realized her trepidation. She savored his closeness, his heat, the silent but appreciated comfort.

Jesi bounded up the stairs and crawled out of the opening, excited, followed by an ecstatic Nerik, a nervous Jerin, and Jandra and Rin, who looked grim.

“See?” Jesi said, pointing at her partner as Jerin’s eyes trailed over him. He froze, and Lapis wondered about the tales his classmates told about the famous chaser, for him to react with fear.

“Patch’s good to us,” Jandra said. “He took one of Lykas’s stakes and didn’t ask for payment in return. He isn’t the vicious man some like to tell stories about.”

Patch softened his shoulders, stood easily, expression relaxed. “You’re Jerin?”

The boy swallowed, hard.

“It’s tough, what you’ve been through these last couple of days,” he continued. “I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about your mother.” He regarded the lad with sad understanding. “Losing those you cherish most is harsh. Unfortunately, you’re not going to have a lot of time to mourn right now.”

He nodded. “Rin said something about that. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Do you know anything about your mother’s job?”

He shook his head. “Not much. She never liked to talk about it, so I never asked.”

“Well, this has something to do with her work, and the people she worked with are looking for you. We’re going to take you to a safe place, then we’ll talk about it. It’s probably not going to be a very nice conversation.”

“Jesi said men in black hats are looking for me. Are they guttershanks?”

“No, they’re part of a syndicate, and they just started a tech battle with Sir Armarandos.”

Other than Rin, the rats gasped, shocked.

“I know that I promised to help you contact your friends’ families,” Lapis said. “But right now, you’re going to be safer if you play least-in-sight for a while. At least, until we figure out why these men are searching for you.”

“It isn’t because of some inheritance, is it?” he asked, lower lip trembling.

“No,” Lapis said, putting as much compassionate warmth in her tone as she could muster. “I wish it were. We’d celebrate your good fortune.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see when we get there,” Patch said. He eyed Jandra, Nerik and Jesi. “If they catch up to us, it isn’t going to be pretty. I need you three to meander the streets between here and the Eaves, and if you see any men with black berets with a ‘v’ stitched on them, flee and then run and tell Dachs. We’re going underground. That should throw anyone off us, but I want to be cautious.”

The three beamed with the importance of their task. Not one realized that Patch had just ditched them. Of course, he gave them a job to do, one that could prove helpful if the Black Hats decided to sniff around outside the Lells.

“Don’t confront them, don’t engage,” he warned, as he would any headstrong youth before a chase. “Rat feet aren’t quite up to dodging tech weapons.”

Nerik nodded, an abrupt act that shook his hat brim over his eyes. “We’re good at sneaking around.”

“I’ll send Rin to get you when we’re safe. The Lells battle should be long over by then.”

“It’s really a battle?” Jandra asked.

“Yes,” Lapis said firmly. “So don’t go to Mimstone right now. I’m serious about that. Rebels and those Dentherion snipers aren’t playing nice. I don’t want any more caught in the crossfire.”

“What about the other rats?”

“The rebels and Sir Armarandos are there. It’s just a matter of time before Fyor gets the Lells Guardhouse activated. It’s going to be scary for them, but they’ll be fine.” She hoped she sounded more confident about that than she felt. She did not need the three putting themselves at more risk than necessary to help their friends.

“What about the stuff we just bought him?” Jandra asked.

“I’ll send you back for it when we deem it safe.”

The three scurried on their way after checking the surrounding area for suspicious activity. The factory grounds did not have that many exterior covert spaces at the back, so Lapis did not worry that they missed an enemy. Rin watched them go, then smiled.

“Was I that easy?” he asked.

“No,” Lapis said, memories of Rin’s stubbornness flashing through her.

“That’s because I wasn’t the one asking,” Patch smirked. She smacked his arm, annoyed, while he and Rin laughed quietly. Jerin watched, eyes round, uncertain, afraid. However brief his cubby stay, it had been a home, and they planned to rip him from it, the second one in a matter of days.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Meridian sewer caps. Rin, you’re in the lead. We need back alleys and the cross grates.”

Lapis traveled beneath the cross grates every so often. They were a series of pergolas to the west of the Lells that once shaded a large mansion’s labyrinth. Now, instead of thick vines and bright flowers threaded through a lattice, the rafters held ratty tarps that sheltered the guttershanks who huddled beneath, usually in the throes of some drug, trying to bring something other than despair to their miserable existence. It was a dingy, dark place, and smelled of human waste, vomit, and misery. A couple of rats had ended up there, and regret crushed her every time she passed through them. What could she have done, to steer them down a different path? She still did not know.

Jerin got to see a part of the Grey Streets he never thought existed, and when they reached the cross grates, she did not think the tears he shed belonged to fear, but to sorrow.

“Lady!” A call rose above the groans and weeping as they neared the exit.

She paused and waited as one of the shanks pulled herself from the small pit she had carved for her crusty bedding. Lerel, a pretty name for a woman whose personality was as ugly as the drugs she took. “Hello, Lerel.”

Rin and Jerin glanced back, but the rat refused to stop. He hated the cross grates, the hopelessness that tainted the air, and the less time he spent traveling through them, the better his mood.

“Lady.” She gasped for breath as she propped herself up on her arms, leaning back as if the effort to move cost too much. Her stringy brown hair limply flowed down her back, and her clothing sagged about her, too large for her starving frame. “They’s men a’lookin’ fer ya. Came here t’ nose ‘round, thinkin’ we’d rat ya out.”

“What men?” she asked politely as Patch came to stand at her side. Lerel’s mouth fell open as she regarded him, and the people curled into balls around her stared. Lapis sighed internally. “This is my partner, Patch,” she told her.

“You’s partnerin’ with Patch?” Lerel was flabbergasted.

“It’s not a recent thing. We’ve known each other since we were rats in Coriy.”

Another piped up when Lerel only gawked at the emotionless chaser. “They’re mean, Lady,” he said. She did not recognize him, but he did not have the Grey or Stone Streets accent to his words. “Destroyed somma the tarps and such. Kicked in fires. Stole stuff. They said you’re a problem they’re gonna solve.”

“When did this happen?” Lapis asked, fear prickling her arm hair.

“Yesterday,” Lerel told her, after clearing her throat with a nasty cough. “No one here said nothin’. They knows yous at the Eaves, though. Said ‘s much. Don’t know what else they wanted.”

“Who were they?” Patch asked.

“Bullies for Hoyt,” the man said. “Had to be. Siward was with them, askin’ all the questions.”

Siward? He ran errands for Hoyt, the kind that took a firm hand. While not the enforcer beast Cimis had been, he had a reputation for harming those his employer asked him to talk to. But why scare the guttershanks at the cross grates when he knew she resided in the Eaves; what more did he want to learn? What dirt did he think down-and-drugged-out shanks had on her?

Patch squatted in front of the group, his eye wandering about their shelter. They had procured enough box sides to make a flimsy wall between them and their neighbors, held together with bent nails and ripped cloth. Each occupied one of four hollows scooped out of the ground, with their personal effects ringing the space. “Why are you telling us this?”

“They pissed on us,” the man said, fury breaking through his glazed eyes. “We piss back.”

Ah. That explained it. Revenge, however small.

“Alright. You should wash that off, then.” Patch held up an index finger. “I’ll pay for it. Go to Wishwater Bath later this evening, after I’ve had a chance to send a runner there to tell them. Get cleaned up. I’ll even put in a little extra for the info.” He rose, very serious. “Do yourselves a favor and use it to get out of here. If I find out you’ve bought more drug instead, I’ll take it back.”

Wishwater, unlike the name, was not a nice place, but it was one druggie shanks felt comfortable using. No one there turned them over to the guard, though Lapis would never trust the owners with an extra bit. Of course, Patch had a chat with them the previous year, and they astonished the streets with the fast and furious clean-up of the worst elements residing there. Whatever he said made an impression—to the point they evicted the drug dealers. She doubted they would attempt to stiff him because Grey and Stone Streets gossip emphasized that a second chat with the chaser ended in the Pit.

Hopefully these shanks knew, he did not make idle threats.

She and Patch hurried to catch Rin and Jerin, who waited to the side of the western entrance to the cross grates. Jerin’s antsy nervousness, coupled with Rin’s growing annoyance, made her sigh. The rat needed to give the younger kid a break. He just lost everything, from his nice clothes to knick-knacks to regular meals. How should he deal with that? Who should he trust, when those he relied on had booted him out the door with the shirt on his back and nothing else?

“Where are we going?” the lad asked, firm yet worried.

“To the sewers,” Patch said.

He whitened and Lapis sighed to herself. He was not a street rat, excited about going on an adventure with a famous chaser.

“The Black Hats will, hopefully, not be there,” she told him. “We can get you to a place of safety without much fuss.”

Jerin shook his head and backed up a step, distrust playing across his face, bold and intense. While Lapis did not blame him, they also did not have time to coddle him.

“You c’n run,” Rin said, emulating Patch’s lack of sympathy. “Goes ahead. Since you don’t knows the streets, yer gonna get caught by them Black Hats. And when they grab you, they’s got no reason to treat you fair. Who’s gonna complain? Them people at yer school? They tossed you out, ‘n didn’t care. Yer mom’s dead, no relatives. They c’n shank you ‘n toss you in the Pit, ‘n you’ll end up ‘nother body eaten by them lizards. Won’t matter none to them, iffen you have what they wants. Yer dead, either way.”

“Rin,” Lapis said through gritted teeth.

“’S the truth,” he muttered. “You knows it.”

Jerin took a huge breath, tears leaking down his cheeks, and streaked away.

She did not expect either Patch or Rin to race after him, which annoyed her, but she accepted it. She followed, grumbling mentally at the two and their lack of sympathy.

Trust, on the streets, was precious. It was not bought or sold, but earned, and nothing either had said could be construed as supportive. Perhaps she understood Jerin better, because she experienced much the same, when she lost her family, her support. The deep-seated sense of betrayal, the confusion, the agonizing heartache unable to be soothed . . .

She thought about her first experiences with Rin, his sharp suspicion hidden by a carefree smile. Months after her arrival in Jiy, whenever she stepped into the Lells, he would follow her. She originally thought the twelve-year-old was enchanted with an older rat, but upon reflection, she decided he kept an eye on her to make certain she did not cause trouble for the other kids. It was not until he warmed to her, that the others had as well.

She learned a lot about Jiy that first year, with a little help from Chinder. He influenced her, from a distance and through the rats she associated with, primarily Rin and Scand. She spoke with him a few times before his death, and what struck her about the nondescript, bent elder was his kindness. He truly loved the rats he assisted and wanted the best the streets could offer for them. Claiming she had a chance to do a bit more than a sickly old man, he prodded her in the direction of the reading circle after her first mention of teaching Rin to read. He accomplished more than he admitted, providing a strong foundation of care mingled with the reality of hard life.

She wondered, if Rin remembered running from her after Chinder passed. Stricken, desperate, he made it to the Docks, stood on a roof and screamed his pain into the wet wind. His life had died with the man, and the haphazard plans he made when it became obvious Chinder would not recover from his last bout with sickness fell into a darkness as deep as the bodies in the Pit.

He raged at her. She listened to the abuse and said nothing. That pain rode her, and she experienced it with every nightmare about her family. She still had no idea how she broke through to him that night, but the dawn came with her holding him while he sobbed. She told him, not to lose that ability to cry. He did not understand, but burying the pain, covering it in indifference and staunchly refusing to feel anything else, was a guttershank’s life. He deserved better.

Jerin did not outpace her; he did not have the strength in his legs the rats did. He tired far quicker than she anticipated and reached Barren Hills Road by stumbling into it. That caught the attention of residents, and they scurried away as several coarse, stubbly guttershanks descended on a lone lad wearing a white, tucked-in shirt, unripped brown pants and shiny shoes.

Could her day get worse? Or her week? Month, even?

One of them roughly grabbed Jerin, who shrieked and yanked back. Without strength backing him, he could not pull from the tight grip on his arm. He flailed, screaming, falling to his knees. The man’s humor died under his cries, but Lapis reached them before he struck the kid.

A couple backed up as she confronted the shank; he frowned deeply, his large nostrils flaring as if he smelled something as sour as a tanner’s vat.

“Let him go.”

“He’s onna yers?” he asked. She did not recognize him and had no idea how hard to push to get him to comply.

“Yeah.”

He looked the kid up and down, a slow, evil smile lighting his lips. “He ain’t no rat,” he said. “Not with them clothes.”

“He is now,” she replied. “You know what happens when kids lose their parents.” She raised her right hand and unsheathed her blade. Dried blood still marred it from her earlier attack; the guttershanks became serious, and a couple more stepped back. “Now let him go.”

The shank shoved Jerin away; he fell back with a breathy squeak. The man drew a long knife, rusty and stained. He stretched his long arms, gloating, but she still had a breath’s reach on him with her blade.

His smile died, and he backpedaled. Patch must have arrived, because no guttershank reacted that way to her. Annoyed at the lack of respect for her blades, especially ones smeared with blood, she walked over to Jerin and held out her hand. He could take it or no, but she would offer.

He did, much to her surprise. Too many rats would have risen on their own and brushed aside her help with a wave. The shanks must have scared him more than she and Patch and Rin, to accept the promise of protection that came with his acceptance.

“Come on,” she told him, pushing him in front of her and keeping her hand on his shoulder before sheathing her weapon with a shing.

Her partner, arms crossed, legs apart, regarded the shanks with hate. Not one wished to face him, and they dispersed, kicking up dust in their haste. The one who grabbed Jerin eyed them all, but his dislike did not equal what Patch produced. Rin watched with dispassion, then cast the kid a furious, heated glare.

“That there’s why new rats die young,” he said.

“Rin,” she said sharply.

“They gets stupid. Stupid on the street gets one dead.”

Jerin sniffled and ran a shaky hand across his nose but did not reply. Why had Rin taken such a disliking to him? She could ponder it later; they had more important things to do, like reaching the House undetected.

“Lady’s bein’ nice, gettin’ you set up ‘n all. She’s bein’ nicer, t’ run after you ‘n face them shanks. You should know, there’s worse down there in them sewers.”

Lapis cast him a warning look before patting the lad’s back in comfort. “It’s a good thing you won’t have to worry about all that just yet,” she said. “We’ll get you to the safehouse, and then we’ll talk.”

“Dammit,” Patch said, under his breath. “Rin, get him to the House.” He stared at Jerin, so he knew to take the chaser seriously. “Don’t run from Rin. Your life is going to depend on it.”

A grey tech bird with a metal barrel belly, dinged wings and a flashing green dot on its round head, flew unsteadily into the intersection, followed by four of the Black Hats dressed in nicer Dentherion shiny clothing. Jerin gasped.

“They’re real?”

The rat grabbed him around the neck, used his knuckles to muss his hair, and dragged him back into the previous street.

“Stay safe,” she said as she stopped by Patch’s side. Rin raised a hand in acknowledgment, as Jerin grabbed the rat’s arm and protested the rough handling. She would speak to Rin later about treating new rats nicely; she and Patch had a problem to deal with first.

Residents scurried away from the interlopers, wary of the tech with them. The intersection cleared fast, though a few faces pressed into the windows of the surrounding businesses, morbidly interested in the bird. Enjoying the fear, the four proceeded with smug superiority, focused on them, and came to an abrupt halt. The bird flew unsteadily on, down the street, towards another busy intersection with Greenstone.

The guttershanks had congregated in a narrow alley across the way, watching the men, smirking. Their humor died as they caught Patch’s reaction; she did not have to look at his expression. She knew it well enough, and those shanks would need to tread lightly for many, many months, if not years, to avoid him. If they had stakes, they would be his next target.

Tick-tock, their time had run out.

“Prora i Lady Lanth?” one of the Black Hats shouted.

They were looking for her. Wonderful. Hopefully one of them spoke Jilvaynan, or the confrontation would turn nasty, quick.