The Orphan. Peter Lerangis

wall. Something from which I could launch myself. But I could no longer see the place where I’d come in, and there were no trees here. The king’s architect had been crafty, making it difficult to escape.

      I ran blindly along the wall, hoping for a rough patch. A place where earthquakes had caused a section of the wall to crack, perhaps. But all I saw was smoothness, until I reached the entrance to the Inner Grove. The door was thick wood, reinforced by a metal gate. Framing it was a huge archway carved deeply with figures of beasts—lions, bulls, and the ancient mushushu that looked like both a lion and a lizard.

      Footholds galore. It was practically a ladder for me. I couldn’t help but grin as I grabbed onto the carvings and hoisted myself upward.

      I paused at the top and looked down the other side. To freedom. I was tempted to jump—but I knew if I did, I risked breaking an ankle. I looked around for something that would cushion my fall.

      There. To my left, nearly thirty yards away, was a thin tree, fairly close to the wall. I could jump to it, and it would hold my weight. Then I’d climb safely down the other side.

      As I shimmied across the top of the wall, I saw movement in the underbrush. I stiffened. A guard trundled out from under the tree. He was yawning, stretching, raising his face upward. In a moment he would see me. I flattened myself as much as I could. My heart beat so hard I feared it would shake the wall.

      With an oddly high-pitched scream, the guard jumped backward. Had he seen me?

      No. He was looking downward. I saw a flash of orange at his feet—a lizard skittering across his toes. Startled, the guard muttered angrily and hustled away on his rounds. I waited until he was out of sight, counted to three, and shimmied quickly along the top of the wall.

      “Zoo-kulululu! Cack! Cack! Cack!” came a piercing shriek from above me.

      The giant black wolf-bird landed on the wall, not ten feet away, blocking my path toc the tree. It bent its neck toward me as if examining some strange specimen. “Shoo!” I whispered, but that just made it screech again.

      I heard the thumping of footsteps. The guard was approaching again. Instead, I aped the bird’s song—“Zoo-kulululu! Cack! Cack! Cack!”—as loudly and shrilly as I could. It was startled for a moment, and I took the opportunity to push the bird aside and leap onto the nearby tree.

      Half falling, half climbing, I made my way down the tree. I hit the ground in a roll and got immediately to my feet.

      “You! Stop in the name of the king!”

      The guard was tromping through the underbrush toward me, his spear twitching in his hand. Soon there would be others. Big, monstrous men with more strength than I would ever have.

      But far, far less speed.

      The pomegranate banged against my leg as I ran among the vines and trees. On the pathway I barged into the growing crowd of people who were leaving the garden to return home. The guard’s shouts were growing distant now, causing a vague sense of confusion far behind me. My shawl fell to my neck as I bolted back through the outer gate.

      And directly into the guard who had dragged the ragged man into the street.

      “End of the run for you, street rat,” he said, grabbing my arm.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      HOW HAD HE known?

      I swallowed hard. The man towered over me. He was a beast. If I tried to run, he would yank my arm out of its socket. “I—I can explain!” I pleaded.

      “Running through the garden is a safety hazard, little wretch,” he said. “And it is against regulations.”

      “Running?” I squeaked.

      And it dawned on me—he didn’t know! How could he? He thought I was just a girl running recklessly for no reason. How could he know what I’d done? He had been on the outside.

      I knew this was a stroke of dumb luck that would not last. I bowed low and spoke fast. “Yes, kind sir, you are right, and I will never do it again …” But he was holding tight, not budging.

      Frada’s wise words came back to me: To loosen a guard’s will, feed his ego.

      “… O pillar of great strength,” I added. “And wisdom.”

      The corners of the guard’s mouth turned upward into a proud, gap-toothed smile. His fingers went slack. And I stepped away—walking, not running, until I rounded the next bend, out of the guard’s sight.

      A voice boomed out from inside the garden. “What are you doing, fool? You call yourself a guardian of the gate? There is a pomegranate missing!” Running at full speed, I disappeared into the throng.

      Soon I could hear at least three, maybe four guards behind me. But I had the advantage in the streets. They were my home. I sprinted down the road away from the gardens, through the ceremonial gate, and into the city. I raced past lavish houses I could never dream of entering. Many people were sympathetic to a vulnerable, running child, but others shouted my whereabouts to the guards. I darted into the vast outdoor market, hoping to lose them among the vendors. My eyes darted from stall to stall, looking for anything I could use to my advantage.

      I tried to avoid looking at the gaunt, screaming man in the wooden stocks in the center of the market. His wrists and ankles were nearly worn through to the bone, bound by metal clamps. His face was bloodied and swollen. He had been there for five days, left to die because he had not bowed sufficiently to the king. My stomach wrenched at the sight, but there was nothing I could do. I had Frada to save.

      I escaped out the opposite side of the market, into the streets. But the streets had guards, too. To “keep the peace,” as the king labeled it. As they heard the shouts of my pursuers, they came after me, too. “Capture the street rat! It stole the king’s property!”

      My three pursuers became four, then eight. It, they called me. As if I were a thing, not a person. That notion just made me run faster.

      I headed toward an alley, but one of them had gotten there first. I darted back into the street but I’d lost time. Now another set of guards was emerging from the road ahead. They were behind me and in front of me.

      I stopped. There was only one way to go now.

      Up.

      Grabbing the window frame of the nearest shop, I hoisted myself onto a balcony. The wall was cracked and full of metal hooks left over from old signs. I used them as handholds to climb up the wall.

      “Careful, Daria!” a voice shouted. “They are close behind!”

      It was another urchin, a girl I knew only as Shirath, who people called the sad-faced one. “Can you help me?” I shouted.

      The girl didn’t answer, but I knew the look in her eyes. In their expression I could read a kind of silent code shared only by street people: I have your back.

      The guards followed, but they were slow and clumsy, weighted down by armor. I climbed to the roof and glanced in either direction. The shops were connected, so I could make it from building to building, easily jumping the difference in heights. This—this!—was the fastest way to move through the city. The breeze flowed freely through my thin tunic. With nothing but the distant towers and ziggurats in my line of sight, I felt swift and free.

      “Halt or I will shoot!” a voice thundered behind me.

      I turned. One of the guards had reached the roof and was aiming an arrow at my head. I knew in that moment that he really meant Halt so I CAN shoot.

      So I shot first. With my sling.

      I