Page 29 of The Only Way Out Is Up

She frees one arm to take it, legs tightening around my midsection. The sigwork blade folds up into a gold-edged baton with a finger-grip hole at one end, about twenty centimeters long. Ky stares at it for a moment.

“You brought it back.” Her voice is very quiet.

Unaccountably I start to blush. “Yeah.”

“You…” There’s a sound from beyond the door, booted footsteps, someone yawning. She hastily tucks the sword into her pack and wraps her arms around me again. “Go go go.”

I stagger forward. Her weight makes me ungainly, but I manage to slip my leg over the windowsill and get the BIND sigil in my kneepad against the wall. One hand next, then the other knee. I can feel the sigwork straining. It was designed to hold me and a full pack; there’s some safety margin, but a whole second person is pushing the limits.

“This is going to be a slow climb,” I mutter.

“All hell is going to break loose when those guards find their boss dead,” she says.

“If it’s not a slow climb, it’s going to be an unpleasantly fast one.” Star, close the window.

With a deep breath, I pull one hand away from the wall and start to work it down. I feel the sag where the weight starts to overwhelm the remaining BINDS, and I hurriedly plant my palm again and work on my knee. One limb at a time, bit by bit, we descend. Thank the stars I’m going down.

We make it to a couple of meters off the ground before something gives way. There’s a crunch and a spray of red sparks from my right glove, one of the sigils reinforcing the BIND giving way. I feel the force connecting me to the wall waning.

“Jump,” I hiss urgently.

“What?”

“Jump!”

Ky lets go of me and drops the rest of the way, absorbing the fall with a stumbling crouch. Relieved of the extra burden, I scramble down after her. The damaged glove isn’t completely dead, but it’s definitely lost capacity. Putting too much weight on it could easily pop the remaining sigils. Getting back home is going to be a mess.

“This way,” Ky snaps.

She scurries off down a crossing alley, and I follow. After a few rapid turnings she slows to a halt at a street corner. I pull her back a little way into the shadows. She meets my eye, and we both speak simultaneously.

“Now what?”

There’s an awkward beat as we process the overlap. I clear my throat.

“I can’t stay on Yesod,” I say. In the light of day, the Arbiters will spot me easily.

“Neither can I,” Ky says absently, brow creased in thought.

That’s unexpected. “Why not? Can’t you just go to the authorities?”

“And tell them I killed the heir to the Cavcante family?”

“He was trying to kill you. It’s self-defense.” I hesitate. “Besides, it wasn’t you who killed him, was it?”

“They’re not going to care about the details.” She waves a hand. “Besides, it’s irrelevant. If the Arbiters take me I’m as good as dead.”

“Who are you?”

“Kycilea Tranto. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not really.”

“Then it’s too long a story to tell here.” She goes to brush hair back from her ear and seems irritated to find it still confined under her cap. “What about you? How did you get here from the undercity?”

I hold up my gloves. “Climbed.”

“You climbed? Like, climbed up the inner wall?”