The Fickle Winds of Autumn

22. Along the Vennel

A shock of terrified adrenaline spiked through Kira. She turned and urged her weary limbs to run. She clattered after the boy as best she could, hurtling down the dim, narrow alley.

"It's her! Grab that girl!"

The ireful echo of Borwick's voice chased her menacingly; two sets of heavy footsteps thumped and hunted behind.

The boy grabbed and yanked her into the doorway of a shop. The seeping wounds across her ankles tore and bled under the sudden unexpected trauma of this change of direction; her face contorted in pain; she stifled her cry - her rattling lungs could not afford to waste the precious oxygen. She must not be caught.

The small cramped shop was filled with rows of bottles and clay pots; the uncertain shelves wobbled precariously as she darted and wove her way after her young guide.

The startled merchant looked up from his counter; he flashed an angry fist at them.

"Oi! Mind my jars! Get out of here, yer little brats!"

He stood and moved towards his precious wares, spreading his arms wide along the shelves, determined to hold back the rippling wake of chaos she had caused.

But there was no time to apologise or be polite.

The panic thudded through Kira's chest; her breath rushed and gasped in thick spasms.

She raced on behind the boy; her legs trembled and teetered past the jostling crowded aisles towards the rear door.

A thunderous smash of glass and pottery drove an insidious turbulent shudder through her - the slavers were rampaging through the shop, their clumsy shattering crashes pursued her violently.

The boy charged at the exit, shoulder first, without even pausing to try the handle.

Kira's terrorized heart sank as the door seemed to burst out onto a dead end, hemmed in by the blank rear walls of several densely packed shops and houses.

The splintering shards fragmented and scattered behind her; the distraught merchant screamed out profane curses; the bulky footsteps hammered closer, faster.

The boy grabbed her flagging body and dragged her through the doorway, along a flimsy, narrow gap between the cramped and crowded buildings; her legs shrieked in pain; her wounds oozed and wept; she hobbled along behind the boy as fast as she could. Her nose grazed past the damp exterior walls; the foisty smell of brick-dust and whitewash gripped her. She squeezed down the slender passageway behind the boy; her aching limbs trembled and faltered; the driving impetus of the initial escape began to wear thin; she could not keep up this pace for much longer.

She drove herself forward and glanced behind - the slavers had turned their broad shoulders and shuffled along the restrictive width of the vennel sideways, relentless in their pursuit.

Her clumsy knees caught the rough walls and gouged off several tender layers of skin.

"I... I can't!" she cried, sickened with the desperate frustration of her own weakness. A shallow, hopeless sweat prickled through her.

The boy twisted his head towards her.

"Just a little further!" he urged.

A fierce ringing pain bruised out from Kira's buckling legs; the threats and curses of the slavers reverberated along the steep, constricting walls just behind her.

She hobbled and stumbled; the malevolent threat of re-capture haunted her turbulent, terrified mind. Just ahead, a brighter patch of sky glowed over the dim alley; she gasped down the stale, mouldy air. The tight, subdued vennel suddenly opened into a small enclosed courtyard encircled by the rear of several buildings.