“Keeping silent cannot help them,” the Cruithne murmured. There was a grunt of pain and then a choking sound.
Paedrin stepped into the doorway, advancing as he saw the Cruithne holding Sanchein on the ground with one arm bulging around his throat. Sanchein kicked him solidly, trying to wrench the grasp away, but the Cruithne was a giant of a man and it was like kicking an immovable boulder. It was the one from the towers. He saw Paedrin and stood, releasing Sanchein.
“There you are,” he muttered. He opened his arms expansively, bowing slightly, as if inviting the Bhikhu to attack him.
“You are a big man,” Paedrin said. “You stink like sour mouse droppings though. I hope you do not catch the Plague here. For you will certainly not catch me.”
“There is no Plague here,” the Cruithne said in a low, deep voice. “I’ve heard you were the best Vaettir in the temple. Is that true?”
“There are no longer any Vaettir here,” Paedrin taunted. “While I enjoy a good conversation and a good fight, now would not be the right time for either. Give my flatulent regards to the Arch-Rike and tell him I am no longer in his employ.” He sucked in his breath sharply and rose to the ceiling rafters.
“Wait!” the Cruithne shouted.
Paedrin ran along the edge of one of the ceiling rafters, breathed in again, and soared up to one of the windows embedded in the upper heights. He could hear the stomping of the Cruithne’s boots, but it was laughable to think that such a man could ever catch a fleeing Vaettir.
Surely, he knew he could defeat the bulky man. He was sorely tempted to. But he knew, at that moment of weakness, he would probably kill him. Deliberately. Painfully. Or break every major bone in his body as a warning to the Arch-Rike and those who would hunt them. He used the Uddhava against himself. The bell had been Hettie’s warning to flee. It was now time to flee the city as well as the temple. Gripping the edge of the roof, Paedrin leapt, breathing in and rising as he twirled, landing on the edge. He raced up the shingles, pulling in just enough air to keep his steps light and not reveal which direction he ran.
At the pinnacle of the sloping roof, he stood for a moment, gazing out at the city as he had done so many times as a boy. Bitter feelings swirled inside his heart. He had unwittingly unleashed the Romani wrath on his family. His actions in Havenrook had caused their deaths. The pain of that thought sent more cracks through his heart. There was only one way to atone for it. Destroy the Plague. Destroy the Arch-Rike’s influence. And restore the Shatalin temple.
Hettie would be waiting for him at the back of the temple. He rushed down the opposite slope of the tiles and then kicked off the edge, leaping high into the air, breathing in deeply to add to his flight. He soared like a raven over the wall, swooping down, his lungs aching to release the breath. Down he glided, coming over the lip of the wall where he saw Hettie crouching behind a shed nearby.
He dropped down next to her, startling her with his sudden appearance. He loved doing that.
“The Cruithne from the towers,” Hettie whispered. “He must have hired the Preachán to follow us here.”
“Little doubt of that,” Paedrin said, squatting. His emotions were jumbled together. He wanted so much to go back there and fight. He wanted to hurt someone. Anyone would do.
“What is it?” she asked, looking at him in concern.
She was Romani herself. He stared at her face, unable to quell the wave of nausea and antipathy for her people. “Master Shivu is dead. He was poisoned.” He let the word hang in the air between them. “Because I took that Romani man’s knife. The man who stabbed me with it.”
Her expression darkened, her face hardening with suppressed feelings. “I am so…”
He held up his hand curtly. “Please. Spare me your sympathy.”
She looked at him coldly a moment, then nodded. “I will. But perhaps you gain a little better understanding of why all your little sayings were hard for me to accept.”
Paedrin frowned, anger throbbing in his heart. “Do not mock the virtues of my upbringing. They may be of little worth to you, but they are still a better way to live.”
“It is a hard task to comfort the proud.”
“Another Romani saying. You have not run out of them yet?” He glared at her.
“No. But at least you know where to start looking for the temple now, yes? A good beginning is half the work.”
Paedrin’s heart was anguished, and he dipped his head, trying to master his emotions. “I do.” He sighed heavily. “Part of me thinks I should float off and leave you here. I can get out of this city easier. I can travel faster without you. I’m not fully convinced I can trust you.”