Souls and Silver Trinkets - 1

Arla Glassburn knew she’d made a terrible mistake the moment the ring touched her fingers. The mountain of a man sat behind the stall launched from his stool, his murderous eyes flashing back and forth between her paling face and the ring now sat in her sweaty palm.

Oh Luna.

She didn’t think twice about running. Spittle flew from the man’s lips as his voice bellowed loud enough to shake the table. 'COME BACK HERE YOU LITTLE BRAT!”

Her boots slammed against the cobbles and her pulse roared in her ears as she cut through the crowds. The townsfolk yelped as she barrelled past, her loose strands of silver hair flying on the wind.

The cold metal bit her skin, her hand still gripped it tightly. She wasn’t about to lose it after she’d foolishly risked her life getting it in the first place. How in Sol’s name did she even wind up in this mess anyway?

A beacon of golden curls appeared over the parapets. The boy attached to them had a wild grin plastered across his face, clearly enjoying every second of the scene unfolding before him. He’d thrown her to the wolves and was laughing all the way.

Oh yeah. That’s why.

JJ, her friend and no doubt questionable companion, amused himself by dabbling in the lesser things in life, like trying to get his ass killed. Or more pointedly hers.

He’d dragged her to the most dangerous market on the continent, wedged her in the center of a bunch of assassins, pirates and witches and honestly expected her to come out unscathed.

And now here she was, running like a madwoman from a man she suspected was a murderer. He’ll pay for that.

“Remember the steps!” he shouted, his eyes bright with excitement before his curls vanished beyond the walls.

Arla knew she should have been listening earlier. She grimaced. Her thoughts struggled through the panicked sludge of her mind. In between JJ’s incessant prattling about the Bazaar and the prospect of taking her to dinner tonight at The Haughty Sausage, he’d told her something important. The steps…the steps. Arla laughed with relief.

The first step was Make Yourself Scarce. Though she was light on her feet her pursuer’s gait had more than a few inches on her. She’d have to weasel her way out, losing him in the labyrinth of streets surrounding Old Fiddler’s.

She dived down the crooked streets, jumping the vagrants lying in the gutters as she dashed past. Their cracked voices shrieked behind her as the man ran through them, knocking them aside as though they were nothing more than rag dolls.

She dived down a guley and emerged in the south courtyard, the beer garden of the Smokin’ Jackdaw stood at its heart - a dingy pub, grayed by endless ribbons of cigar smoke and slick with damp rising up from the stagnant canals. The man remained hot on her heels even as she snaked through the bodies teetering from one foot to the next. The horde of drunken revelers swelling in the streets was nothing more than a nuisance to him even as they burst the banks of the Pergola meant to keep them relatively contained. Her stomach dropped as she watched him bat away the drunks like flies. His breathing was controlled and his thunderous footfalls showed no sign of letting up.

He was no stranger to running then. She supposed he’d had more than his fair share of experience in his line of work - whatever that was. From the scars lining his arms, the pucks of white skin dotting his flesh and the giant slash grating across his chest, she didn’t imagine he spent much of his time in the shadows selling cursed talismans.

Next step then. Hide. There were so many spaces to duck under, slip through or hide behind but there were also lots of eyes gawking at her and her assailant rushing through the crowds at that very moment.

Don’t trust anybody. It was true. She couldn’t trust that any one of them wouldn’t give her away. A large and intimidating man could make any ordinary gentleman sing like a canary with those scars. She couldn’t risk it.

Don’t Panic - Get Your Bearings. She knew she was on the west corner. If she went left she’d find herself back at the Bazaar after having run in a loop around the shanties. The Bazaar was his territory so that was definitely off limits.

If she went right, she’d find herself trapped down Land’s End and she didn’t fancy pitting herself off the cliff any time soon.

Turning back would only result in an extremely unpleasant embrace which she expected would land her in a Medic Hall - or worse.

She skirted the edge of the crowd, eyes searching the walkways overhead for any sign of JJ but found nothing but wide eyes staring back at her. She slammed into a man’s back and her heart jumped to her throat. Never stop. Seconds can cost you everything.

The man turned. His eyes locked with hers and something flashed behind his eyes. His forehead scrunched up and the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly. The rest of his companions followed his gaze and turned too. This was it. For when all else fails – Distraction.

“You alright little lady?” the man asked, his eyebrows barely getting the chance to rise before a man went flying over a table directly behind her, his ale swooshing over the already sticky cobbles. She gasped and spun round.

There, looming over her was the great beast of a man, his scarred chest coated with beads of sweat.

Arla took a step back. Her mouth had gone dry. All she could hear was the pulsing of her heart in her ears, pounding hard against the inside of her skull. Everything else seemed to fall into unnatural silence.

The man’s face drifted ever closer, his eyes burning like black coals in the sunken trenches of his face. The braids falling from his head danced to some feral music, their needle tips sparking in the light. The black ink below his skin seemed to writhe and pulse in anticipation. A savage grin spread across his lips and she realised he was speaking. She couldn’t hear anything but the rattle of her teeth.

The man she had bumped into stepped in front of her without hesitation. Arla blinked. He was helping her? He straightened, drawing himself to his full height and casually shrugged his hands in his pockets.

“Looks like you’re a long way from the water my Good Man.” She didn’t need to see his face to know he was smirking.

She shook her head as the world slowly started to speed up again.

Good Man? Good Man? More like Dead Man if he carried on like that.

The ocean of voices that had flooded the market was now silent. The man’s words reverberated off the walls encircling them. She felt like a fish stranded in a dried up river. And the man was the bird waiting to pluck her from the cracked earth, with nothing but a crazed dog standing between him and an easy meal. She gulped.

The crowd had given them a wide berth. Now content with being onlookers, they quietly sipped their drinks and pecked at the salted pork nuggets held in tiny bowels on the bar table that remained standing. Their beady eyes sparkled like firelights.

“Stay out of this Old Man. She has something that belongs to me.” The man growled. His accent was thick like tar, the words rolled off his tongue in sodden clumps.

“And what might that be I ask?”

“A ring. Extremely rare.” Arla couldn’t help but think that he wasn’t talking about the ring but was in fact noting how he’d like her fleshy hide cooked.

“S’a bit fancy for a pirate to wear a ring ain’t it?” The air between them crackled with tension. The crowd stared on, holding their breaths in turn. Definitely, Dead Man. The Pirate set his jaw and slid a razor thin dagger from his belt to his hand with a flick of his wrist so tiny that Arla almost missed it.

The Man held his hands in surrender.

“Okay okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

The Man turned to her. Arla’s eyes widened. He had turned his back to an armed pirate as if it was the sanest thing in the world. Though his eyes were grey and clouded like the sky before a thunderstorm, the rest of his face was placid, his few wrinkles not reflecting the age he felt. His gaze fell on her left hand, the blackened ring in question, rested beneath her fingers. Arla’s brow furrowed. How did he know it was there?

He turned back to his opponent. “How much does the lady owe you?” He offered. His hand reached into his jacket to retrieve what she assumed would be his purse.

The Pirate cut his gesture off swiftly, “Pirate’s do not deal in money.”

“Ahh yes.” The Man nodded, as if remembering the statement from a ledger or newspaper, “I suppose that’s down to Alkis is it? Foul creatures, dabbling in things they shouldn’t.” The crowd nodded their assent, some even snarled in disgust.

Alki was the derogatory term for Alchemists; people with an affinity to control and manipulate certain elements. They once led our continent from their tower in Silverhollow. But one believed they were lap-dogs licking at the wounds of the people they should be ruling and well, the rest is history. 

The Master now makes sure that Alkis remain as rare as corpses. However, some still exist here in the Black Market circles, most turning their hand to more illegal activities, like poisons or coin forgery.

The man bowed his head and shook it, his hand waving as if brushing the matter aside. He turned his head discreetly towards Arla and murmured words meant only for her. “Be ready to run girl.”

He stood straight once more and held his hands out to garner everyone’s attention though Arla knew by this point,  every person in this part of town was watching intently from their windows.

“But that’s the great thing about all this isn’t it?” The man rubbed his hands together, as if he were about the start a fire. “Alkis are so rare now that you wouldn’t know one if he was standing right in front of you.” The crowd inhaled. “And you never quite know what you’re going to get with us.” He winked triumphantly and clicked his fingers.

Everything happened so fast. There was a flash and a crack of bone and the pirate hollered as he fell to the floor holding his nose which was now gushing with blood. The crowd dispersed like rats fleeing a flooded sewer drain, their inebriated bodies tumbling over each other. They streamed down the streets leading away from the square, blocking off Arla’s only exits.

The screams and shouts reached a crescendo, a high pitched ringing noise building in her ears until it swallowed her hearing whole. The climax of terror having reached it's peak.

The Pirate quickly regained his feet, vaulting himself up in one swift movement. The impact clearly didn’t have the desired effect of disorientating him. He swung his right hand, the dagger slicing through the air in Arla’s direction. A booming sound brought her crashing back to her senses. She dived out the way as fast as she could but it wasn’t fast enough.

She felt the cold steel graze her cheek before a hollow thud rang out. She turned her head breathlessly, her hand darting to her cheek. But the skin was as smooth as before. And the dagger that had whizzed by her was now a spoon, wedged deep into the wooden beam of the pergola.

She looked back towards the pirate but instead found the man – Alki - whoever he was looking at her. His face looked almost grey, his eyes unfocused. She hesitated, gripping the beam of the pergola as she bounced on the balls of her feet, her instincts urging her to keep running. She nodded her thanks yet she couldn’t help feeling overwhelming guilty, like a worm crawling under the bones of her corset. She understood what this meant for the man, exposing himself so openly....

He tipped his hat in response and shot her a grim smile before disappearing under a blanket of scarred flesh as the pirate tackled him to the ground.

Arla turned tail and ran. But this time, she ran for the only place left for her to run. The Canals. She knew the waters had long since been drained but she hoped the rain from the morning’s storm was enough to save her from breaking her legs. If not, well, she’d deal with that when it came to it.

Hopefully, the pirate would be distracted long enough for her to navigate the shallow waterways, find JJ and get the hell out of there.

She scrunched her nose as she peered over the edge and into the bowels of the water lined with emerald green algae. She’d have to run at an angle if she wanted to avoid splatting against the opposite bank. The intersection where the four lanes met was where it would be deepest and she would have a lot more room to manoeuvre. 

It was a big drop but if she jumped off with enough momentum she could use it to propel herself forward, rolling off most of the impact. She’d seen JJ do it enough times. Easy.

She paced backwards, backing up all the way to the Pergola and perched her boot in the corner where it met the floor, ready to launch herself off. She took a deep breath and grasped the thin thread of adrenalin still snaking through her system and tugged on it sharply, wrapped it around her until she was a coiled spring.

She loosed her breath and fired off across the courtyard like a bullet from a gun. The air whistled past her and the ground before her disappeared with every lunging step. Faster and faster. And then she was in the air, dropping like a stone into the canals below.

***

JJ was trying to enjoy his perch above the markets. Although there was some subtle enjoyment to be had, pretending as if he was a bird of prey ready to swoop from the rail line rafters, he’d much prefer to be in the thick of it. Easily lining his pockets with untold riches and copper coins from the visitor’s pockets.

But today, Griffin had made it crystal clear that it was Arla who had to trail the markets. And he could have no part in it, except to ensure she came out alive.

He’d had his fair share of ‘accidents’ courtesy of the Nyx Bazaar, some more gruesome than others but altogether painful. He would take a whipping off the Inquisitors any day compared to what the heathens under that black veil could conjure up.

A pirate had given him a swollen eye and split lip with one punch. The crow sigil engraved on his ring now permanently scarred the skin just above his right eyebrow, a small shape where the skin still puckered white. He fingered it lightly, remembering his days bedridden until the worst of the swelling had passed. Unable to venture out in case, lords forbid, someone catch sight that a member of the Black Talon could in fact bleed.

He didn’t hate Griffin. After all, he owed him his life in many respects but he couldn’t help but think things could be done…differently.

Griffin’s targets had grown more questionable of late and he was sending the Watchers even further afield. JJ swore he’d seen one headed for the Misty Isles, a spattering of islands half way across the world.

But the most disturbing development had to be his sudden interest in using Arla as a scapegoat. JJ didn’t approve but he wasn’t about to disagree with a man who wore his gun on his sleeve and didn’t need a bullet to use it. The least he could do was offer to be her guardian. Lords knew, the other boys wouldn’t care about her as much as he did.

So far, he’d watched Arla drift along with the crowd, her head spinning, and eyes wide as the patrons leered at her and hissed if she came too close.

After her initial panic, her curiosity had finally taken the reins and she couldn’t help but stop and stare blending in with the rest of the bewildered crowd.

In a way he was jealous. He loved the strange and wondrous things on display, from talismans and rare bones to endless potions and made-to-order curses.

He’d gladly take a beating from Griffin himself just to see those again and maybe procure one...or two. He could certainly think of a few people who deserved one.

Arla lingered near the Dream Webs. A spirited old man quickly began working his words as Arla traced her hand over the intricate purple and silver threads, the delicate feathers and crystals sparkling white and blue as they dangled below.

But she was well versed in the trader’s tricks thanks to JJ’s useful tips and she swiftly moved on but not before earning an obscene gesture and a few filth coated remarks judging by JJ’s lip reading.

The roar of the market was in full force. The loud jeers from the people below on the corner streets and the two walkways stretching over the shallow waters of the canals, bubbled up to meet him at the highest point.

He continued his stroll along the parapets, keeping Arla’s striking silver hair in his sight at all times. He always wondered about her hair. It was fantastically bright, glistening with the light as if it were alive. It entranced him at the best of times if her eyes hadn’t already done the trick.

The main bridge was ahead of her, he’d have no hope of seeing what happened after she disappeared under its arches. He’d just have to hope that she made it out the other side. He knew his nerves would jump his bones the longer the time stretched and stretched but he would never leave her down there. He’d call it quits as soon as he got a whiff of something suspicious which, he thought, may prove difficult with the almighty stench rising up from the canals.

He watched as she silently stood before the glittering black velvet drape, pinned across the bridge’s entryway to block out the prying eyes of those in the shanties surrounding it.

Arla glanced up at him and he froze. His gaze met hers, the steely resolve shining like daggers through her eyes. She was all business now. And so he would be. I’ve got your back.

He nodded firmly and she was quickly swallowed up by the darkness. JJ dragged his hands along the ridged stone as he positioned himself squarely in the center of the bridge below. The worst part, he thought, was not knowing but worst still was not being able to do anything about it.

Below him, people wandered around like preening peacocks, flashing the cash and adding to their illustrious collections. But all around him, the land was shrouded in mist, nothing but the wind and the groan of the wood and stone below his feet. He relished it.

He breathed in the cool air even as he chewed his lip furiously. His eyes darted back and forth between each exit point, his fingers rapping along the icy stone.

He glanced quickly at the clock tower peering over the sea of spires in the distance. She’d been under there for fifteen minutes. There couldn’t be that much under there. It was two hundred feet at best. He sighed and shifted from foot to foot. He’d give her a little longer.

He gazed down into the still waters below and saw the little black dot which was his reflection far off in the dingy space. The cluster of bridges was reflected down below, their stocky distorted shapes descending into the darkness.

He glanced up towards the main bridge just as a streak of silver erupted from the opposite side, a large man sporting dreads with spikes thundered after her. Lords be damned.

“Remember the steps!” He yelled as he almost pitched himself over the edge. A painful grimace was etched across his face, his hands clawing the side of the wall to stop him falling.

He pushed off hard and launched down the main track, ducking under the thick rusting beams of the old rail line and sank down the splintering scaffold that was somehow holding everything together. He vaulted off the side, slammed into the inside wall of the eastern bridge, which his arm would no doubt thank him for later, and pelted in the same direction as Arla had been headed.

Girls and men alike shrieked as he sprinted past, parting the streets like a rat with rabies. He headed for the side street he’d last seen them near, praying he’d been fast enough. He skidded around the corner, skipping over a group of haggard old women sprawled in the streets wailing in pain. He mumbled his apologies before firing down the cobbles again. When he reached the corner, he was met with an empty street and the throbbing crowd of the Smokin’ Jackdaw beyond. Arla and The Man with Dreads had vanished.

“Arla!” He roared.

He grabbed at his hair as his stomach dropped to the floor. He should have been faster. This had been his job the entire time and he’d messed up. If Griffin found out…

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He unleashed his frustration on the street in a tantrum of stomping feet. Each step punctuating his utter stupidity. Stupid,stupid, stupid...

A few people shot him concerned glances and quickened their pace.

His chest heaved with anger, exertion and pride. No. Griffin wouldn’t find out. Because he’d find her. She could hold her own. He would never have allowed this to happen in the first place if he hadn’t known she could do it to some extent. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t the innocent girl he had thought she was so many months ago. He only hoped that if he was ignorant enough to think of her as a little girl, then maybe her pursuer would too.

He took a final shuddering breath and headed into the courtyard.

He needed to find a vantage point and fast. The closest one, conveniently for him, brushed past the attic of the tavern ahead which had a small set of steps leading onto the bridge. The customers would descend the steps, down several tankards of ale then stumble out the front door, an elegant production line of inebriation.

He ventured right rushing past the worst of the crowd and lingered by the frame of the door as two large men staggered down the steps and slapped their hands on the sign swinging from the porch roof, a silver and black bird.

He quickly straightened his waistcoat and ran a hand through his hair and ducked in through the front door, the wood squeaking before swinging shut.

The room was dimly lit. A few lanterns were dotted sporadically around the walls teetering up towards the upper floor. Merrymakers leaned worryingly over the side of the balconies, cackling and guffawing like hyenas. The bar was shrouded in bodies. Men and women of all ages including the odd wolfhound on its hind legs were hunched over the bar, their elbows inch deep in sticky residue.

Perched above their heads was the bar’s centerpiece. A great steel bird head, its eyes burning red coals and its beak hanging open as strings of smoke from the grill in the back crawled out like worms. As a result, the tavern was stiflingly hot and smelled overwhelmingly of sweat and pork which JJ supposed he preferred over the unpleasant stench of piss and ale.

The stairs he sought wrapped crookedly around the edge of the room before ending at a small trapdoor that opened up onto the bridge. He made straight for them, keeping his head down, avoiding people’s gaze. .

No sooner had his foot touched the first step did a hand grasp his shoulder with a vice like grip. A high-pitched voice trilled over his shoulder.

“You know boy, you really should start wearing a hat. That mop of yours is the most damn near recognizable thing about the Talon.”

JJ shrugged off the man’s grasp forcefully and turned to face his offender. The man was swathed in rags to hide his gaunt figure but it was still appallingly obvious. His legs were like stalks propping up a wadded ball of tissue. His skin was paler than usual and JJ noticed new scars lining his throat, his neck still clouded purple with bruising. His eager green eyes shone out like marbles in their hollow pits from beneath a sagging hood.

JJ suppressed the need to flinch away. Instead he fixed the man with a fiery stare and forced a thin smile, hoping he wouldn’t say something too unbecoming.

“Keeto…” He breathed, “Always a pleasure.” He swallowed discreetly and took small breaths in case he inhaled something that he shouldn’t. He didn’t trust Keeto. Not one bit.

“Oh, you don’t mean that.” He smiled and JJ struggled against the urge to gag. The blackened teeth in his mouth were openly rotting, the man’s saliva congealing like black tar between his gums.

“You’re right. I don’t.” JJ met Keeto’s gaze intently, watching as the keen marbles glinted before darkness clouded over them, turning them into small black stones as their mutual hatred was finally let off the leash. JJ’s face crumpled in disgust. He needed to get out. He needed to find Arla. “What’s this about? I’m busy.”

“I have a message. Only a few words mind you but he’ll find them quite enlightening I’m sure.” By ‘he’, he knew he meant Griffin. Though why he wasn’t delivering the message himself worried him somewhat.

He quickly sidled his way up the steps before Keeto could get his hands on him again. He mentally reminded himself that he needed a new waistcoat. And shirt. And probably trousers too. Just to be sure.

“What’s a parasite like you doing here anyway?”

JJ’s skin prickled knowingly as Keeto crawled up the stairs behind him like a roach.

“Well you see, I’m merely passing through, important business to tend to and all that,” Now parallel with JJ, Keeto clicked his fingers excitedly, reminding JJ of a scorpion readying its pincers, he noticed a few fingers had nails missing, “but you see, I couldn’t help but notice that a particular market was in town…” They reached the first landing and Keeto pounced in front of JJ, blocking him off from the narrow stairs to the trapdoor. JJ ground his teeth. He really didn’t have time for this. He could feel his temper burning inside him. Keeto continued his nattering.

“You know as well as I do that it’s the best place outside of Ven-“

JJ cut him off with a dismissive sigh.

“The message Keeto. Now.”

Keeto let out a hiss and hunched his shoulders. The rotting stench of his teeth hit JJ like an anvil.

“Aye, the message.” Keeto lunged, his spindly fingers wrapping tightly in the mesh of fabric at JJ’s nape. Definitely new waistcoat. JJ fought against Keeto’s grip but only succeeded in fraying the fabric. Keeto’s words drooled from his mouth like poison. Cursed words.

“Tell him that he has sealed his fate. And when the shadows rise up and devour him whole…he’ll remember that it was I who warned him not to meddle in powers he did not understand.”

“Get off me you filthy Alk-“

Keeto swung but with his feeble muscles he only succeeded in giving JJ a half-hearted thump on the cheek.

“You should watch your mouth you little ru-“

The tankard hit the side of Keeto’s head in a shower of glass glitter, black tar spouting from his mouth and across the wall. He stumbled back and collapsed down the stairs like a ball of string, his many coats and cloaks peeling off him as he rolled. His body slammed into the stone floor at the bottom with an almighty thwack and his head cracked off the surface. His body slumped.

The customers drinking at the table nearby raised their glasses, toasted and cheered and laughed heartily. JJ let slip a wry smile and thundered up the stairs, his legs burning with each step.

The trapdoor loosed a showering of dirt and dust as it slammed open and JJ crawled out into the dying light of day. He clawed his way up the steep granite steps and emerged breathlessly onto the bridge. He didn’t have to look very far.

He heard the commotion before he saw it. Below in the beer garden, where he’d been only moments before was Arla, uncomfortably sandwiched between an unyielding crowd and The Man with Dreads. JJ’s heart was screaming in his chest.

A stranger quickly stepped between them trying to distil the tension. JJ scolded himself. Even a stranger could do a better job than he could.

But things quickly turned sour as the pirate expertly primed a throwing knife and the stranger held up his hands in surrender. JJ had to step in. That dagger would sing home either in the stranger’s chest or in Arla’s He shook away the thought even as his legs steered him back towards the trapdoor.

He came to a grinding halt as he realised. He couldn’t go back through the tavern. If Keeto was conscious… JJ would be no use to Arla dead.

He looked down into the courtyard once more. Arla stood there frozen like a startled deer looking on helplessly as the rabid wolf circled her.

The stranger was still talking. JJ could see the rage sizzling off the pirate even at this distance. He ran his hand through his hair and grabbed at it, torn between his head and his heart.

He knew there was nothing he could do. Keeto would be on his feet by now and lethal. The hundred feet drop from the bridge? Lethal. JJ’s complete stupidity and carelessness? Lethal.

He could only hope that Arla remembered to use her legs when it came to it, when the pirate killed the stranger and-

The courtyard erupted into chaos. Hordes of people were bolting away from the spectacle. The pirate was on the ground rolling in his own blood. The stranger was laughing triumphantly. What on earth had happened?

He glanced from side to side. He met the gazes of the surrounding onlookers, all of which, looked as equally baffled as he was. Whispers began to buzz through the air and he caught wind of a very familiar term - Alki.

JJ gulped. Keeto was the only Alki he knew in Krilea. Keeto was vile, cruel and exactly like the Alkies the stories told you about. And now there were two. Oh hael.

His train of thought was quickly cut short as The Man with Dreads swung his arm out in a single fluid movement in Arla’s direction.

“MOVE!” He bellowed.

The sound was staggering, loud enough to startle any creature and it did the job. Arla started moving, her limbs now burning on instinct. She skirted around the Pergola, keeping The Man with Dreads and The Stranger in her line of vision. JJ watched as the cogs started whirring in her brilliant mind and her eyes assessed the situation. Her two main exit points were cut off and he presumed she didn’t know about the secret entrance to the tavern.

Her gaze settled on the canals. The canals that were drained. The canals that had only inches of water to cushion her from the impact on landing, which was useless, barely the equivalent of leather greaves.

He recalled those moments where he’d taught her to roll, taught her to shift her momentum, and taught her to focus the impact on one small area like her wrist or ankle if it was unavoidable. Over and over he cycled the thoughts in his mind and willed it into hers as hard as he could.

She positioned herself, readying for a sprint. With one last look at the stranger, she propelled across the courtyard, her arms pumping, her hair trailing behind her like shimmering ribbons. She leapt onto the iron curb and launched herself off the side without hesitation. JJ held his breath.

Time slowed as she dropped dizzily through the air, further and further into the canals. The shallow water waited below. To devour her. To cripple her.

She hit the surface. The force of the impact sent watery tendrils gushing up into the air before crashing back down into the channel, the water swishing back and forth angrily.

No scream came. No shout where Arla should have slammed into hard stone. All that remained was the disturbed surface and a small ring of bubbling white foam where she’d landed.

Arla was gone.