Black Salt

Black Salt - Chapter 26

 They climbed to the third level, and Nikias hustled Phaedrus along a dark, narrow corridor. This building was of stone, but the floor here was laid with wooden boards that thudded and shook with their feet. The farther they went, the more Nikias missed his sandals. He didn't relish the thought of trying to run through the city barefoot. Better, though, to have no sandals but a chance at justice, than to have sandals, and no chance at all.

"I pray this won't take much longer," he said.

"There's no other way," said Phaedrus, puffing, already out of breath. The further they got, the less he seemed like a being of inscrutable wisdom and power, and the more like an out of shape old grandfather.

"We are at least heading for a real exit, right? We're not just running through your house for our health."

"We walled off the back entrance, and blocked all doors to the rear staircase. The only way to get in or out the back is by coming up here." He grinned. "It's involved, but it's sec-"

"Hsst!" He froze, and held a finger to his lips.

"What is-?"

"I heard something. Hush."

They stood still in the darkness, listening.

Phaedrus groaned. "I can't hear a thing. Really Nikias, we can't afford-"

"You're right. It's quiet down there. The fighting is over."

Phaedrus paused. "Oh."

"We just have to hope they don't-"

He heard the heavy beat of footsteps on the stairs.

"Gah!" He grabbed Phaedrus by the arm. "No more time. Let's go. Go now!"

He ran, half-blind down the hall, dragging Phaedrus behind. The sound of running men grew behind them. Up ahead, he saw the next flight of stairs, descending to the rear door, and freedom. It stimulated his legs to work harder, but as soon as he saw it, he heard shouts from behind.

"There are more of them up here!"

"Hey, you. Stop!"

He threw himself down the stairs three and four at a time, and Phaedrus belied his aged appearance by racing down almost as fast. He couldn't stand the pace, however, and broke down on a landing midway to the ground level, wheezing and gasping for air. Nikias patted him and tried to coax him up.

"They're seconds behind us, old spy master. Play the mountain goat a little more."

Phaedrus shook his head, his face pale and waxy. "I can't. I can't do it."

He heard feet on the stairs above.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

No more time for niceties. He hefted the sword in his hand, glared at Phaedrus, and put the edge to his throat, hard enough to dig into the skin. "Move!"

Phaedrus scrambled to his feet, and if they'd had Olympic matches for octogenarians, he'd have taken gold for stair sprinting. He hurled himself down the stairs, and Nikias had to push to keep up. He began to worry less about capture, and more that the old madman would break his legs, or his neck.

If they had kept up that pace, Phaedrus would have hurt himself, he was sure of it, but the momentary burst of strength was all he needed. Moments later they landed on the mosaic tiles of the ground floor, in a tight alcove, walled off except to the stairs and the rear door, which stood open.

Nikias's spine tingled. He had a creepy feeling, but he didn't have time to analyse it.

"Come on," said Phaedrus, and rushed out.