. . . . . The wattle and daub coating of the
wall behind me pulled a few sable strands of hair free from their
neat captivity every time I turned my head, but it was nothing that
could be helped. There was quite simply far too much worth watching
to stay still. A bracelet caught the afternoon sun with a gleam of
silver. A flounce of lily pink silk swirled across the cobblestone
street. A red ribbon, dark as freshly-spilled blood, fluttered from a
man's back as he strode among the market stalls.
. . . . . That's the one,
I decided. Never mind that it was trailing from the hilt of a
broadsword strapped across his back; plucking that prize free would
be child's play. I wanted that
ribbon.
. . . . . Beneath my slight
weight, the daubber's scaffolding did not shake or tremble as I
crossed some ten feet above the street, flashing between drapes of
canvas that protected the market-goers from falling clay as it dried.
My belly rumbled a protest that my mark was no flatbread or juicy
pear, but I paid it no heed – the demands of the body were a
distant second to the rush of pursuit. The man was taller than many
in the market by a third again, his wide shoulders cutting a track
through the crowded streets as easily as a chef's knife through melon
flesh. There went my stomach again...
. . . . . As the wooden
supports below me ended, I had to take my eyes from the taunting
ribbon long enough to pull myself to the roof and jump across to the
next building. It was no more than a matter of sixty seconds, but in
that time, the man vanished. A scowl twisted my lips as I scanned the
market, looking for the behemoth among midgets. It was like trying to
track a sand flea! But then a dark shape loomed some half a block
beyond where he ought to have been, and I raced across the rooftop to
catch up.
. . . . . It took two jumps
and one precarious crossing involving a clothes-drying line, but I
caught up to him, and then surpassed him. Planning carefully, I
dropped down from the edge of the rooftop, heels catching on an
awning covering a doorway below. Despite broad daylight, all eyes
were occupied with market goods and I remained as invisible as if
cloaked in night. He would have to pass by here – I need only wait;
the linen merchant's stall across from the building I perched on
along the narrow street would force him close enough.
. . . . . Indeed,
circumstances were in my favor and a knot of women stopped to finger
bolts of fine lawn, cooing over misty blue fabric the likes of which
would never touch my own poor skin clad in rough-spun. The giant man
had to step close to the building to avoid them, and that's when I
leaned out as far as I dared, one hand bracing along the awning's
support as the other stretched forward. Warmth radiated from the sun
shining on his dark, clean-shaven head as he passed just under my
hand and my fingers caught up the red ribbon to unravel its simple
knot as he walked past.
