“Wait here.”
William had worked with him twice. Once carrying goods and once finding a man who did not want to be found. Both times he had been paid.
That was enough to make this feel ordinary.
The alley narrowed behind a stack of empty crates. At its far end stood a door with no handle on the outside.
William looked at it.
“He’ll open up.”
His companion went back towards the street.
William waited. Above him, a woman shook water from a cloth. A shutter closed. The lane smelled of old vegetables.
Then two men appeared at the entrance.
He knew one of them.
His companion was gone.
William stepped towards the door and tried it anyway. Solid. He put his hand against the wall, feeling the mortar crumble beneath his fingers.
“Easy,” said the man he knew.
William picked up the smallest crate and threw it at the lantern beside them.
He was moving before the glass broke.
There was a hand at his collar, a blow against his shoulder, the ugly short work of an elbow where there was no room for a blade. He left a strip of coat in someone’s fist.
By the time he reached a wider street, his breath hurt.
He walked until he could hear his own footsteps separately from anyone else’s. Then he sat on a low wall and checked what still moved.
His shoulder would move. His fingers would move.
He counted the ways out of the square.
When someone sat beside him, he got up.
