The paladin's spittle hit me full in the cheek, and began a slow crawl toward my chin. His aim impressed me—it's not easy to hit a small target in a crowd, especially when bound and being dragged to the executioner's platform. I cut the cords on the purse of the merchant in front of me and secreted it into a sleeve as I passed in the condemned man's wake. Paladins were a rarity on the platform, and this one had brought a good crowd. I felt something crush and slip under my boot and hoped it was simply a rotten vegetable—some of the townsfolk threw offal, and I hated trying to scrub that out of the leather.

The guards hauled him up onto the platform and kicked his feet out from under him. As soon as he hit the ground the executioner stepped forward to pronounce sentence. "Evaniel, Chosen of Iomedae, you have been found guilty of the murder of a nobleman."

At that, the paladin started screaming again, the hysteria that tinged his voice doing little to convince me that his faith in his goddess's protection was entirely certain. "Has everyone gone mad? He was a vampire!"

I smiled and cut another purse. Of course he was a vampire. Most of the nobility of Mechitar are dead. Doesn't mean they don't have as many rights as me, or the paladin.

Well, probably more than the paladin now. The new purse felt hefty. I quickly distributed its contents around my person, then discarded it and smiled at my unintentional benefactor. After all, if not for the paladin's foolishness, I'd never have a crowd this good.

The executioner hadn't bothered to stop talking. "—in accordance with the wishes of the family, you are to be bled from the neck until dead, so that by your death you may in some way repay them for their loss." One of the guards maneuvered a hefty iron bowl under the paladin's face, while the other fastened his ankles to a hook. They'd hang him to drain after the initial bleed—the best way to get the most out of the body. They'd been at this for centuries, and if there were tricks to maximizing a body's production, the government of Mechitar had learned them all. For a moment, I thought I saw a glint on the massive black pyramid that dominated the city's skyline. If I were prone to imagination, I'd tell myself that Geb himself was watching the proceedings—but that was ridiculous. Us common folk didn't get to see our ruler's ghost.

A stinking weight slammed into me from behind and I felt my limbs begin to go numb before I could regain control. Even before I heard his wheedling voice, I knew who owned the bulk.

"Omaire! You've got to help me!" His whine added an extra syllable to my name—Oh-MAY-yuh. I turned to face him and immediately wished I hadn't.

Arduga had been feeding recently, and most of his meal was slathered all over his chin and the moth-eaten finery that passed as his standard dress. The ghoul liked to tell people he'd been nobility before he'd chewed his way out of the grave, but I didn't believe him. His manners were terrible, and he lied constantly.

He seemed earnest enough now, however. His rubbery skin, stretched around his mouth and eyes, would look comical on anyone else. On Arduga, it wavered between pathetic and disgusting. He wrapped his fingers around my shoulders and clung to me, his fetid breath assaulting my nostrils. "They're gonna kill me!" He shot a glance over his shoulder, which I followed. A pair of well-sized ruffians pushed purposefully through the crowd, looking left and right.

"And you led them straight to me. Brilliant." I cuffed the ghoul in the ear.

Arduga let out a startled shriek, and both of the thugs looked right at me. One of them gave birth to a cruel smile, pulled a dagger from his belt, and started toward us. The other shouted and pointed, probably to additional pursuers that I hadn't noticed.

So much for having a decent day's haul picking pockets.

The paladin's screams hit a fever pitch and then cut off, replaced by the roar of the crowd as they surged forward. Perfect timing. The goons got tangled in the crush of bodies wanting to witness the bloodletting up close. I shoved Arduga off of me and dove down low, charging between and around the forest of legs as I rushed to get away. If he were smart, Arduga would be hot on my heels. I didn't have to look back—the ghoul had the survival instincts of a cat. I'd be lucky if he didn't pass me before I reached the edge of the crowd.

I emerged from the cheering mob not far from the alleyway I'd traveled to get here. No way I'd reenter that, though. The last thing I needed was to lead these idiots back to where I lived. A shout to my left got me started running again as a third yokel, working the edge of the crowd no doubt, spotted Arduga and me. I shoved the ghoul ahead of me, away from the alley. "Don't wait! Run!"

He charged forward, dropping to all fours so he could use his long arms to propel himself even faster. I ran too, feeling the air burn in my lungs. He skidded under a heavy wooden cart, spooking the horse. I had to vault over, rather than risk being crushed by the wheels. A shout from behind us announced that our new friends were still in hot pursuit.

Arduga cut into another alleyway and I fell in after him, hoping he didn't plan to escape into the sewers. As I'd feared, he was searching for any entrance into the reeking waste-river, but fortunately there wasn't one here. I grabbed him before he could bolt again. "What did you do?"

He screeched at the anger in my voice and tried to shove himself away, but I held fast.

"Nothin'! I swear! He was dead when I found him. No harm in a man having a snack, is there?" He sounded like he believed the story, but given that I'd helped him run grift on unsuspecting merchants before, that hardly counted as a suggestion of honesty.

I shoved him back. "You're hardly a man, and they're not after you for nothing. If you didn't kill him, what did you take?"

Before he could answer me, the three thugs rounded the corner of the alley. The smiles they wore promised enjoyment for only half the people here. Only now did I realize they wore identical cloak pins—a gang. And I thought this couldn't get worse.

I narrowed my eyes at the ghoul. "If we live through this, you're dead."

Arduga grinned, bits of rotting meat between his jagged teeth. "Too late."

The gangsters charged us. I ducked under a swing from one with a pustulant rash creeping out of his collar. A dagger dropped into my hand, but he turned before I could get a better target than a glancing shot to his thigh. His friend, the one with the nasty smile, came up behind me. I fought to get my back to the wall—the last thing I wanted was to get caught between them.

Then the zombie attacked.

I hadn't even noticed him, honestly. The mindless dead are commonplace in Mechitar, doing the filthiest tasks that no living person would contemplate. Smiles seemed as startled as everyone else by the sudden change in demeanor, and by the zombie's particular speed and skill. While he tried to make sense of the new condition, I charged in and cut a second smile for him, just below his chin. He dropped, fingers clenched around his throat.

Arduga, coward that he was, was running toward the dead-end back of the alley. Unless ghouls had learned to dig through brick, I doubted that would help him much. Neck-Rash realized that he was alone with two opponents and made a break for it. The zombie tried to trip him, but the gangster offered an impressive vault and fled for safer environs.

The ghoul shrieked again, and I dashed back to help him. The last gangster had him cornered, but had foolishly stopped watching his back. I gently introduced my dagger to some of his choicer organs, before Arduga, ever heroic, leapt forward and took a bite out of the already dying man.

My stomach clenched. I'd seen him feed before, but I hoped I never got used to it. The zombie walked up, took one look, and blanched. It's that horrifying.

Then I realized the zombie had shown a response. It smiled at me and spoke.

"They'll be back, and no mistake. Come quick. I know a safe place."

I didn't move.

It sighed and rubbed at the flaking skin on its cheek. The rot fell away, showing healthy skin beneath. "It's a disguise. Now come quick. We've little time!"

His 'safe place' turned out to be a firetrap packed floor to ceiling with books, two alleys over from where we had been. He opened the door and gestured us inside, and I had to hurry to get out of Arduga's path. Once the door had closed behind us, he called out. "Jaros, you wily fox. Where are you?"

A face so ancient that I first thought him to be a lich peered around a stack of books that I had to work to recognize as a desk. "I thought you'd finally gotten the smell right, Elias. Turns out you've started hanging out with ghouls."

Arduga had the grace to look offended, but I shot him a look that kept him from speaking up. I realized he'd brought the thug's hand with him, jammed in his belt as a snack for later. The zombie—Elias—was staring in a piece of silvered glass, reapplying rotting flesh over the area he'd cleaned. "I had to give them safe refuge, Jaros. Fen's boys were after them."

"Corus Fen? That bastard never did know his place. But why's he chasing ghouls and girls?" I glanced down, making certain that I was still dressed as androgynously as possible. The old man had a sharper eye than I'd given him credit for.

I looked over at the ghoul, who wore a look that said at any moment he might loose his recently devoured meal. "Yes, Arduga. Why don't you tell us what they're looking for?"

If the ghoul could have burrowed through the floor, he would have. I casually pulled a dagger and used it to clean my nails.

He took the hint. "I weren't doin' nothing wrong. The body was lying in the alley. No claim on it or nothin'. I just had a little snack, and it sort of fell into my pouch. Then they started chasin' me."

The bookmaster narrowed his eyes. "What fell into your pouch, gravemouth?" Perceptive or not, I already liked the old man.

Arduga pulled out a small, clear flask with a black liquid sloshing inside. Elias took it from the ghoul and offered it up to the bookkeeper. "Fen's a clever bastard, and if he wants this, like as not he's got a good reason."

The false-zombie leaned closer, as did I. "What is it?" we asked in near-unison.

"No clue," the old man said. "This seal though," he pointed to a mark in the wax stopper. "That's Grayearth's symbol. A chattel farm west of the city. It serves several of the nobles too minor to afford their own farms. You'll want to wear sturdy-soled boots." He looked directly at me as he said this last.

"Why's that?"

The old man tugged open a drawer, removed a purse, and dropped it onto the table. It sounded heavy. "Because I want to know what old Fen's up to. And you're going to find out for me."

I glanced at the purse, calculated its volume and likely contents. Too perceptive by half—the old coot knew just how to hook me.

Coming Next Week: A visit to a chattel farm, where humans provide an important part of a balanced Gebbite diet, in the second chapter of J. C. Hay's "Blood Crimes."

J. C. Hay is the author of numerous short stories and poems for such anthologies as Book of All Flesh (Eden Press), Up Jumped the Devil (PS Publishing), and Dark Faith (Apex Book Company), as well as a chapter in the Prodigal Sons Pathfinder's Journal in Pathfinder Adventure Path #33. For more information, visit his website at jchay.com.

Art by KyuShik Shin

"Why a zombie?" I asked.

Grayearth turned out to be aptly named, and anything—even a conversation with a guy who dressed up like a zombie—would help to alleviate the monochrome dreariness of our surroundings.

Elias dragged one leg ineffectually behind him, despite the fact that we were the only people visible. His ankle had a pile of pale gray mud caked to it, and he appeared to be the only person not bothered by the thick-bodied black flies that seemed part of the air around the chattel farm. Not that they left him alone—they landed on him and crawled around his eyes and mouth just like they did to Arduga and me. He just didn't seem bothered by them.

"Did you notice me at all?" he asked. "Before I helped you out, that is."

I had to admit I hadn't.

"There you go, then. Nobody really sees zombies, and those who do aren't expecting them to have a mind of their own, or an agenda. People act differently when they think they're alone and no mistake. Say things they might otherwise not."

"So you're a spy."

"I prefer to think of myself as a trader in information." He smiled, and I wondered if the cracked and stained teeth he displayed were real, or another part of his makeup.

Arduga hadn't said much since we'd left the city. Unsurprising—a ghoul in the open had a hard time being comfortable. He liked warrens, which Mechitar provided in plenty. Being out here, he had to feel positively naked.

We crested a low hill and looked down at Grayearth proper. From where we stood, we could see four smaller yards acting as satellites to a central main yard. There were probably a dozen buildings in all, solidly built and scattered among the yards. In several of the yards, feed-chattel walked aimlessly, oblivious to the flies and the misty drizzle alike.

"What are we supposed to be looking for, anyway?" Arduga's impatience had finally driven him to speak. "And for that matter, when can we eat?"

I glared at him, but couldn't really blame him. Ghouls had to eat—it was their nature. It didn't have to be flesh, of course, but they couldn't get sustenance from anything else. He stared mournfully down toward the nearest pen. An elderly male limped along the fence line, oblivious to his surroundings. Whoever owned that one better get to him fast; they'd be racing Death as it was.

I spotted the thug before I could respond to the ghoul. He stood outside one of the buildings in the next satellite lot, leaning against the wall like someone who had no interest in being there. I didn't need a spyglass to know that the metal glinting on his shoulder marked him as one of Fen's crew. I tugged Elias's arm and pointed. Arduga opened his mouth to repeat his earlier question and I silenced him with a glare.

The fake zombie nodded and started toward the fences. I grabbed him. "Are you mad? In the city you're faceless. Out here you're an uncontrolled zombie heading toward a field full of human chattel. I'll go, you wait for my signal."

The look he shot me told me he hadn't considered the downside to his outfit. "Good point," he said. I crept off before he could muster anything more as an excuse. I had no doubt he knew his way around the city, but out here the rules were a little different.

I circled wide to put the outbuilding between me and the thug, anything to give me an advantage. It would have worked, too, had I had slightly better timing. I'd almost reached the fence when a knock from the outbuilding echoed across the yard. A door opened, and one of the chattel stumbled out and fell into the mud. Rather than help her up, the thug stepped past her and started toward a young male in the corner.

The male bolted, eyes rolling in terror. The thug turned to follow him and looked right at me. I snapped my wrist and sent a dagger into his throat. He stumbled back, hands clawing at his neck. Rather than give him a chance to recover, I vaulted the fence and charged him. A second dagger dropped into my hand. I planted it in his side, vaulted up, and pulled out the first.

He dropped into the mud, not far from where the woman lay. She smiled up at me, thinking I was some kind of savior. She had the wrong person, obviously, and I sent her scurrying away with a mock charge. The door had closed, hopefully right after the woman fell out; otherwise any surprise I hoped for was ruined.

Fortunately, the lock wasn't much better than the guard. A quick jab from a rake-pick and a twist from a torsion wrench, and it popped right open.

A gruff voice chuckled, "Hells, Barius! They give you trouble, or what? Hurry up and wrestle it over here so we can inject it."

I didn't say a word and took a moment to look around me. Not far from me was a holding pen, big enough for two or three chattel, with a crush at one end to isolate them for branding or washing. Just beyond the narrow restraints sat a broad table, with an assortment of bottles, flasks, and notebooks scattered across it. Beyond that stood another of Fen's goons, dressed in finery that seemed out of place in comparison to his fellows. He looked more like a scribe or a particularly thin merchant than a professional leg breaker.

He spotted me—and my blood-soaked knife—and screamed, then ran. I swore and dodged around the edge of the pen and past the table. He pelted through the back door as though the Four Horsemen themselves pursued him.

Rather than risk the climb, I dove under the table and did a fast somersault back to my feet. He kept running out into the yard. A gray shape shot over the fence, and I recognized Arduga in full lope.

Apparently the screaming man was the signal.

"Don't eat him! We need him alive!" I didn't care if the ghoul heard me, but I figured it might get the gangster to surrender. It didn't, but he did change direction to get away from Arduga. He ran into a trio of chattel and went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Before he could get up again, I grabbed his shirt. He took a swing at me, but misjudged my height badly. I tugged him around. "Look, if I let you go, the ghoul there will think you're dinner. Do you want that?"

Arduga flashed him a grin filled with jagged teeth, and the guy blanched paler than the gray-white mud that covered his face. He shook his head.

"Good. Let's go back inside, shall we? We can talk there." He didn't fight as I steered him back into the outbuilding. Somehow Elias had beaten us there, and the guy looked from the false zombie to me with even more fear than before. It gave me an idea.

I shoved the gangster into the pen and turned to Elias. "You got here fast."

He smiled. "The legs work well when I want them to."

I nodded, then vaulted into the pen with the dandy. "See that? I can make a damn zombie talk. It's really easier for me to kill you, drag your soul back, and then squeeze the answers out of your corpse. Only reason I haven't is I'm feeling merciful. Now, are you going to reward my mercy?"

He nodded so fast I heard his teeth rattle. "I just want you to know, I never had a beef with Soleren. They always seemed like an upright bunch to me. For vampires that is. I'm just doing what Fen asked me to."

"And that is?"

"He wanted Soleren's chattel injected. Said he wanted a noble in his pocket. It's a poison of some sort, and Fen's got the only treatment around. He figured he could use it to blackmail the vamps."

Treatment, I noticed. Not cure. Made sense—there's no money made in curing a thing. And a poison in the chattel? I snuck a glance at Arduga, who licked his lips and paced back and forth by the door. No wonder Corus Fen wanted the vial back. If it had the cure in it, it'd be worth a pretty penny on the open market. After all, what could be done to one house could be done to any house that relied on chattel to feed their dead nobility.

In more ambitious hands than Fen's, it could bring Mechitar's nobility to its knees. I'm not altruistic, but I liked the system just fine the way it was. I didn't appreciate the thought of some small-time crime lord wanting to topple it.

Elias walked back from the window. "All the chattel in the yard are branded for Soleren. That holds true at least." He flipped through the notebook on the desk, then tucked it into his shirt. "I think this is a record of their experiments. Jaros will want to see it."

The gangster looked alarmed. "Wait, you're not with House Soleren?"

I chuckled. "Never said I was. You've certainly given us plenty to tell them though." I could see how this information trade of Elias's could be pretty lucrative. Maybe cutting purses was the wrong career for me after all. "Or barring them, I'm sure the Blood Lords would love to hear about it."

The mention of the league of necromancers who acted as the ruling council for both Mechitar and all of Geb sent another shiver through the man. "If you want to take down Fen," he said, "I can help you."

I snorted. People say the craziest things when they're terrified. "Why would you do that?"

"Power hates to leave a vacuum. You take out Fen, someone has to take his place. If it's me, I'll owe you. That's got to be worth something."

"Yes, but why would it be you?"

"Fen trusts me enough to run his most important projects. It'd be a showdown between me and the other lieutenants as to who would take over. With your help, I can tilt the scale in my favor."

I must have looked like I was starting to buy it, so he sweetened the pot. "I can get you into the mansion unseen. After he's taken care of, there'll be chaos all around. It's almost natural that some of the expensive items there would get lost in the confusion." He gave me a conspiratorial smile.

Damn. I really must look predictable. "Is there a way to cure the chattel?" He looked at me, confused as to why I cared about the living equivalent of a zombie. "If they can be protected against the toxin, Fen's lost his edge." As would anyone who followed in Fen's footsteps, but I assumed he was quick enough to figure it out.

"If there's anything, it'll be in the mansion. We were just the field research." He chuckled. "Literally."

"What's your name?" I didn't care, other than that I needed something to call him beyond "hey you." If he was thinking straight at all, anything he gave me would be false. Names carry too much power to be free with them.

"Tylar." He looked at me nervously.

"Very well, Mr. Tylar." I made an elaborate gesture and opened the pen's gate. "Lead the way."

Coming Next Week: Housebreaking and rooftop chases in Chapter Three of "Blood Crimes."

J. C. Hay is the author of numerous short stories and poems for such anthologies as Book of All Flesh (Eden Press), Up Jumped the Devil (PS Publishing), and Dark Faith (Apex Book Company), as well as a chapter in the Prodigal Sons Pathfinder's Journal in Pathfinder Adventure Path #33. For more information, visit his website at jchay.com.

Art by Gerald Lee

Someone had been eating crows on the roof. I clung to the copper plates, weathered with thick patina the color of grave molds, and looked out over the remains. Black feathers clung to imperfections in the metal, bloodstains darkened in a broad patch centered on four carefully placed skulls. I studied the dead birds' heads, trying to decide if there was a symbolism to it I didn't see, but no great secrets revealed themselves.

Then Arduga reached past me, grabbed one of the skulls, and popped it into his mouth.

I glared at him, but not for long. He chewed with his mouth open. He swallowed, and smiled. "What, were you gonna pick that one?"

"No." I moved along the roof, following after Tylar. Behind me I heard more crunching as the ghoul continued through the leftovers.

Tylar waited at the roof's edge, crouched down to hide behind a rain spout carved to look like a serpent's head. He pointed across the way. "Corus Fen's been using that building as his main base of operations for several years."

I glanced at it. Like many buildings in Mechitar's old district, it bordered on ramshackle. At first glance, most passersby would write it off as abandoned. Even I had. It took a second look to see how carefully placed the decay was, how every boarded-up arch added protection, rather than sealed the place away. "Fen's got good taste."

The goon snorted in what I assumed was a derisive chuckle.

"If you're so opposed to him, why do you work for him in the first place?"

He looked at me. "It's in my best interests. There's a lot of big fish out there. Safer to school up, know what I mean? Fen's as good as any."

"But not as good as you."

"Obviously." He grinned. "Ambition is its own reward."

Elias and Arduga finally caught up to us, with the ghoul looking decidedly uncomfortable with the height from the ground and safety. Up on the rooftops, at least Elias didn't limp and slouch, though his nimble movements made his zombie disguise even more jarring. Zombies weren't supposed to have that kind of grace. "I'm going to want you two to wait here for me,” I said. “I can move faster on my own, and I'd like to know I have backup that I can call in if I need it."

The ghoul looked disinterested, but Elias had the good grace to protest. "You can't possibly think I would allow that. Jaros would never forgive me if I allowed you to go in without me."

"Concerned I'll sell his prize to the highest bidder, more like." I had to admit, the thought crossed my mind more than once. The antidote would fetch a high price on any market, but fencing it seemed like too much trouble when I had easy money waiting once I turned it over. Besides, I felt like I could trust the old man to keep the stuff from falling into the wrong hands. "I want to grab the cure first, then we can take care of Fen." I grinned. Elias looked at me suspiciously, but agreed.

At that, Tylar pulled a short crossbow off his belt and fired it into the side of the building opposite us. A thin silk cord spooled off a caster under the crossbow and connected it to the bolt. He grinned at me, as though he expected me to be impressed with his cleverness, and when I failed to respond he looked disappointed. It got him to tie off the rope, however, so I didn't mind. He tugged it hard, then gestured to the line. "Ladies first."

"Find one, and she's welcome to go. Until then, I'll do." I grabbed the rope and hooked a leg over it, expecting the bolt to pull free at any moment and send me to the cobblestones below. It sagged under my weight, then stabilized, and I shimmied across the thirty or so feet. The whole way, I whispered a silent prayer to any god willing to cover fools and thieves that anyone below wouldn't look up.

At the opposite wall, as Tylar had explained, a partially open window waited. I levered it up with one foot, then pulled myself the rest of the way inside. The hall beyond stretched only a few yards before it opened into a stairwell down, the banister cracked and split in the few places where it remained. I crouched on the worn boards, waiting for any sign that I'd been discovered.

Tylar dropped through the window next to me, quiet and smooth. He had more skill than I'd guessed—not that I'd let him know that. He made a few quick gestures, indicating the only door in the hallway as our destination.

I slipped across the floor, testing the old boards for creaks before I let my weight settle. The door was locked; a heftier device than what had been out at Grayearth, but just as vulnerable to rake and pick. It clicked open with the soft sigh of a well-cared-for mechanism.

The room beyond looked more like an alchemical lab than the testing area at the farm. On every surface, glassware glinted in the dim light. Small coal braziers gave an orange glow to several tables, and sent smoke curling up to nest along the soot-stained ceiling. Tylar followed me in, and I tugged his sleeve as soon as he was close enough to hear my whisper. "Where is it?"

"It's in a locked drawer, second table from the right." He pressed a thin key into my palm. "Move quick."

Inside the drawer, a small wooden box stuffed with old burlap contained what I'd come for—two of them, labeled with a paper tag that read only "Soleren 291." I held one up for Tylar and he nodded.

Then the door opened.

A man with the many pockets and tools of an alchemist stood in the door a heartbeat, framed in the light of the hall beyond. Then he screamed.

"Damn!" Tylar had rooted to the spot. I jammed both vials into my pockets and charged at the alchemist, but he had already started running for the stairs. I threw a dagger after him, but in my haste it hit pommel first and bounced off. The threat to his life only made the man scream louder.

Tylar burst into the hallway and shoved me back toward the window. "Go, quick! I can convince him I'm the only one he saw!" He started toward the stairs, where I could hear heavier footsteps approaching. I climbed into the window and leapt for the cord. This time, I didn't care who looked up, though every tug of wind felt like the precursor to an arrow that never came.

Elias helped me onto the opposite roof. "What's going on?"

"We're made!" I stuffed one of the vials into his hands—no sense giving away all the cards after all. "We've got to go!"

As if on cue, the door to the roof burst open, showing three of Fen's soldiers in the stairwell beyond. Arduga barreled into the first, and I saw the guard's eyes glaze as his muscles froze under the ghoul's touch. The paralyzed thug toppled back into his associates, and Elias slammed the door shut. An arrow slammed into the copper near my feet. On Fen's roof, a pair of guards nocked fresh arrows into their bows.

I ran. Arduga, for all his discomfort, used his limbs in concert, grabbing any hand- or foothold to be found as he loped across the sloped roof. Behind us, I heard the crunch of wood as Fen's men broke the door open once again.

"Which way?" Elias appeared at my side, a smile on his decayed features that did little to improve my spirits. Up close, I could see where he'd pasted grains of rice into one of the wounds. The similarity to grubs was eerily accurate.

I pointed to the next roof over. "That way!" Before he could complain, I rushed toward the edge and jumped.

My feet hit the new tiles, and I let my momentum pull me forward away from the edge of the roof. Elias jumped after me, a new volley of arrows going wide over our heads. Fen's archers would need to find a new spot to open up on us. Arduga jumped after us, but not far enough. His hands latched onto the roof's ledge as he slipped past, and I heard his feet kick desperately at the brick wall below.

Elias went to grab him and I shoved him away. "Ghoul! Don't touch!" Technically, he might have been able to grab Arduga without getting the chill—I'd gotten accustomed to it in the years we'd known each other, certainly. Didn't mean I liked it, or wanted to risk the chance. Plus, Elias looked enough like a corpse that I didn't want Arduga to try snacking on him. I threw my belt over the ledge and braced against the wall.

Arduga clambered up just as the two guards from the stairwell reached the ledge we'd left. They shouted curses and one pulled a crossbow while the other made ready to jump. I didn't wait around. We dashed across the roof, thankful that most of the structures in the old district preferred flat roofs over the sharp-sided pyramids that denoted the most important buildings in the city.

I jumped across another, smaller gap and continued on the next roof. As soon as my friends were across, I tossed a bit of grease—usually reserved for recalcitrant locks and hinges—onto the roof's edge. It wasn't much, but with luck it might make our pursuers think twice.

The roofs were going well, but I started to appreciate Arduga's love of the ground. Down would be crowds, and right now that sounded a lot better than being the only people Fen's men could see. I hopped up on the ledge and ran, looking for anything that might provide us with a means to get down to the street below. My foot slipped on a bit of loose stone and I fought to keep my balance as I ran.

I amended my thoughts—a means down other than falling.

"Omaire!"

I glanced down and tried to fight off the vertigo as I ran along the roof's edge. Tylar stood half in a doorway, gesturing as subtly as he could.

"We can get into the sewers from here."

I chuckled. The warrens beneath the city would make Arduga happy at least. I leapt across to the next building and grabbed the downspout. While I clambered down, the pipe shook as first Arduga and then Elias followed my lead.

Tylar stood on the stoop beyond the barely open door, checking the street for any more of Fen's thugs. "Hurry!"

I waited for Elias and Arduga to get down and sent them through the door, then rushed after them. Tylar followed me in and shut the door behind him, plunging the small foyer into darkness. My eyes struggled to pierce the gloom, and I whispered, "Which way to the sewers?"

A thick, meaty laugh sounded from in front of me, followed by a flare of fire and the stink of brimstone. The flame illuminated a broad, jowly mouth while it lit an elaborate pipe, then was extinguished. The bowl of the pipe glowed a moment, and I could smell the cloying sweetness of flayleaf.

Hooded lanterns opened and flooded the room with light. In the glare, I saw Elias and Arduga, held in place by several of Fen's goons. Still smoking his pipe in the center of the room was a fat bastard I assumed to be Fen himself, with Tylar looking apologetic at his right hand.

"Sorry, Omaire. I got a better offer." He gave me a weak smile.

I knew when I was caught, and it's not like he didn't warn me in advance. I sighed and laced my fingers on top of my head, my gaze locked on Tylar's face. "Ambition is its own reward," I said.

Coming Next Week: The final chapter in J. C. Hay's "Blood Crimes"!

J. C. Hay is the author of numerous short stories and poems for such anthologies as Book of All Flesh (Eden Press), Up Jumped the Devil (PS Publishing), and Dark Faith (Apex Book Company), as well as a chapter in the Prodigal Sons Pathfinder's Journal in Pathfinder Adventure Path #33. For more information, visit his website at jchay.com.

Art by Gerald Lee

There are only a few things I hate worse than people who betray my trust. One of those, sadly, is being suspended by my wrists. I looked at my surroundings—the room was obviously in the same dilapidated building I'd been in before, or at least one with a similar decorating style. My shoulders throbbed where my weight tugged on them. They'd bound my arms behind me, and then lifted me until my feet barely scraped the floor. It served as an effective deterrent to escape attempts—without something to brace my feet against it hurt too badly to try and untie the knots. Arduga and Elias hung in similar straits on either side of me. Elias did, at least. Arduga's dead nerves and rubbery joints meant he probably wasn't as uncomfortable as those of us who hadn't yet crossed over.

My mouth tasted like rust, and I wondered again why people have to beat you after you've surrendered. Then again, in their shoes I'd have done the same thing. I spat, the bloodstained gobbet hitting the carpet with a wet splash that did nothing to improve my mood, but at least my mouth tasted better. I opened my mouth to say something to Elias, and then the door opened.

Corus Fen strode into the room like a conquering hero. His bulk was covered in embroidered finery that would have been perfectly suitable to any king or prince. He had a couple of guards with him—in case we had escaped, I supposed. Sounded like he didn't even trust his own to be competent. Then again, having met Tylar, I wouldn't trust his people either.

Fen tossed a leather journal on the floor in front of Elias. Even in the dim light, I recognized the symbol tooled into the cover. I'd seen the Glyph of the Open Road once before, drawn for me by a dangerously handsome (and unfortunately fickle) Pathfinder who'd passed through town when I was still just a tavern girl learning to pick pockets. I turned my head toward the false zombie and gaped. At a nod from Fen, one of the guards shook Elias awake. "Are you a Pathfinder? Is this yours?"

Elias produced a groan worthy of any zombie and nodded. Fen gestured to the guards. "Cut him down. Now, damn your eyes! I don't want his arms hurt."

Without paying Arduga or me another glance, they lifted Elias up in their arms and carried him from the room. Before the door shut, Fen finally paused and looked back at us. "I'll decide what to do with you two later," he said. "Sorry to leave you hanging." He gave a wet laugh, amused by his own wit, and shut the door behind him.

My mind raced at the revelation. Elias, a Pathfinder? He certainly didn't match the descriptions I'd heard; tales of swashbuckling adventurers or cunning orators. I made a mental note to question him about it later. Doing that, however, meant I needed to get myself free, and then free him before Fen saw him to whatever horrid fate awaited him.

After I killed Tylar, of course. A girl has to have priorities.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to prepare myself for the pain. It didn't help. I threw my body backward and flipped upside down. For a moment, all my weight pressed down into my shoulders, threatening to rip my arms from their sockets. I tangled a foot in the line and tensed up, which helped with the pressure, and gave a little slack to the rope around my wrists. A bit of twisting and I felt my hand slip inside the rough grip of the cord, almost enough to work free. I threaded my body through the loop of my bound arms so I could tug the knot with my teeth. This time, it came undone easily and I dropped to the floor with a sigh of relief.

I rubbed my tingling wrists in an effort to get some feeling back in them and took assessment of the situation. They'd searched me well enough to find my spare knives, which left me nothing but my wits. Given how easily I'd let Tylar sucker me in, that didn't give me much in the way of hope.

"Don't leave me, Omaire. You can't just leave me." Arduga sounded pretty desperate, whispering in as soft a voice as he could muster.

I smiled and took a step toward the door, just to watch him thrash about on his rope before I went to untie him. "Of course I'm not going to leave you. I need your help to get out of here." I went back to my rope and hoisted myself up enough that somebody might think I was still tied. Then I screamed.

Arduga looked at me, confused, then terrified and angry in equal measure. I kept screaming. "The ghoul's free! Don't let him eat me! Help!" He took a step toward me, arms outstretched to clamp over my mouth.

The door opened, and one of Fen's goons looked in. He saw Arduga coming for me, drew a sword, and rushed in to the rescue. He didn't get far. I dropped down next to him, yanked his dagger out of its sheath and buried it in his throat.

I smiled at Arduga as the guard collapsed between us. "Thanks for the help."

"I don't appreciate being involved in your deceit. I have a reputation to uphold." He gestured at his tattered finery, then laughed. "Okay, grab his steel and let's get out of here."

"We can't leave Elias here." I tugged the short sword out of the guard's twitching hand. Bigger than I liked, but I wasn't about to go digging for the dagger.

"Why not? This is all his fault anyway. As I see it, it's what's comin' to him."

I narrowed my eyes, which was usually enough to cow the ghoul back into line, but this time his resolve remained strong. "I'm not risking my neck for him," he said. "If you want to, that's fine, but you're on your own. You know where to find me."

"Any place where the bodies are fresh and the stench is high."

He grinned. "Exactly. See you around, Omaire." His rolling gate carried him across the room, through the open door and out. I followed him into the hall, which looked to be the mirror of the one Tylar and I had broken into—window at one end, stairs down at the other. Arduga went to the window, looked out, then clambered through without saying another word.

That left the stairs for me, and I slipped down as quietly as I could. I'd made it halfway when I heard a familiar voice approaching.

"Fen's going to be busy with the Pathfinder for the rest of the night. I suppose I should make certain his friends aren't bored without his company." The voice chuckled, and another offered some words of encouragement that I didn't try to hear.

Tylar came around the corner onto the staircase and spotted me right as I charged.

I'm not big, but his off-balance stance and surprise, combined with my coming at him from above, sent him toppling back down the steps to the landing. I had enough time to recognize we were in some sort of dilapidated foyer before Tylar threw me off and scrambled to his feet.

"Ah, you're here. Saves me having to come upstairs. Thanks." He gestured, and the goon he'd been talking to rushed forward.

I dropped and rolled, and the thug missed me. He overextended, expecting resistance, and I popped up to one side of him and jammed the short sword point-first into the back of his knee. The goon fell, clutching his useless leg, and I vaulted over him.

"Oh Tylar, that's not how you think this is going to go, is it? You aren't smart enough to lead—you're a follower. Of me, Fen—whoever you think can get you something. You sure as the Hells don't have the stones to grab it for yourself."

He charged, enraged. I leapt, but his arms caught me and dragged me in close. His face leaned in to mine, breath hot on my skin and stinking of wine. "What, no insults now, girl? You don't have anything clever to say? You can't jump past me like you did Ekhar there."

I smiled. "I never wanted to get past you. I wanted to be inside your guard." I slammed my knee up into his privates, and his grip loosened as he howled in pain. He bent over, and I snatched the dirk from his belt and drove it up through the bottom of his mouth. Tylar stared at me a second in dumb surprise, and I smiled.

"What do you know. I guess you had the stones after all."

As he tumbled to the floor, a familiar sound clinked from within his purses. I checked, and grabbed the antidote vials for Jaros. There were a couple of small gems in the purse as well, but they fit better in mine. I retrieved and cleaned Tylar's dagger as an afterthought—a long, thin-bladed thing more suited for stabbing than cutting. Nice craftsmanship, and utterly wasted on Tylar, even before his death.

I slipped as quietly as possible out of the foyer, expecting at any moment someone would find the bodies, or even that Ehkar would raise some kind of alarm, but nothing happened. Up ahead, from behind a thick wooden door, I heard Fen's thick voice, sounding amused. "You never tire of the questions, do you Pathfinder?"

Torture. My stomach clenched. Without waiting, I grabbed the door's knob and flung it open, hurtling through with my blade raised.

Fen sat at one end of a long table piled with food, eating everything within reach of his hands. Midway down the table sat Elias. The sausage in his hand didn't look much like torture, unless you had a problem with grease. A handful of bored-looking guards rested in the corners of the rooms and eyed the spread enviously. I goggled.

Fen looked toward me and laughed, with no sign of surprise. "You're free. Excellent. I wondered if you might be so clever."

"More clever than Tylar, but so's a rock." I stepped forward and gestured with the dead thief's dagger. "What's going on here?"

Elias cleared his throat. "It seems Master Fen was thrilled to hear I was a Pathfinder. He insisted that I come down and interview him, so that when he becomes the biggest crime lord in Mechitar, his progress will be adequately documented. It's a unique opportunity to get his side."

I shook my head. "Make sure you include the part where one of his lieutenants plotted to kill him, and a common thief took care of the problem." I tossed Tylar's stiletto on to the table.

Fen laughed. "You've got spirit too, girl. Interested in taking his place?"

"What?"

"Work for me. You'll get a percentage of everything the men under you take." He gestured at the table. "And the food's good."

I scratched my head, confused as to how this was going. "And I'll have to sleep with one eye open, waiting for a knife in the dark. No thanks."

Fen nodded. "A shame. You've killed a few of my men and disrupted my business, girl. But you've also rooted out a traitor for me. I'll call us even." His eyes suddenly went cold, and the mask of his hospitality drained away. "Don't cross me again, though. I'd hate to think I made a mistake. I might have to correct it." He jammed the point of a knife into a sausage, and a spot of grease spurted out. When he placed it in his mouth, the mask was back. "Take care."

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I had just stepped out onto the street when Elias caught up with me. I glared at him. "Pathfinder."

He nodded. "You could be too, if you were interested. Jaros is always hunting for fresh talent. You've certainly got the persistence." He smiled, the expression disconcerting on his rotten countenance.

It wasn't a terrible idea, might even get me out of the city for a time. More importantly, it would get me out from under Fen's nose. The Pathfinders obviously operated with some leeway if they allowed an eccentric like Elias. I rubbed my chin. "I'll think about it. I know where to find you."

I walked off, leaving him behind. I thought about the purse in Jaros' warren of books, and the vial of antidote in my pocket, and smiled. What had he called it? A dealer in information. Maybe a change in career wouldn't look too bad.

Coming Next Week: Liane Merciel follows a fallen paladin on his way to atonement or death in the Worldwound in "Certainty."

J. C. Hay is the author of numerous short stories and poems for such anthologies as Book of All Flesh (Eden Press), Up Jumped the Devil (PS Publishing), and Dark Faith (Apex Book Company), as well as a chapter in the Prodigal Sons Pathfinder's Journal in Pathfinder Adventure Path #33. For more information, visit his website at jchay.com.

Art by Gerald Lee