To climb is to fall

Part two

The gaps, the curves, ledges and facades, they were all a lifeline to him. A simple thing really. Just protrusions really. Each year architects tried to find new ways to reduce them, to make the buildings more... austere. And each year Nes found new ways to find handholds to climb.

Nes climbed down from the abandoned, decrepit, almost fallen building's roof an old man had told him of.

The strange thing was that he didn't know the man-in fact, he'd never met him. But somehow, in the least possible way, the old man had stumbled onto his path when Nes was hiding, made to turn away, but then stopped and told him of this place to hunker down.

Perhaps an old, kindly man. Or a god. Maybe the Fiery God himself. Nes chucked to himself at his childish thoughts.

It was a fine building to spend the day, yet not quite a safe house. The day had been cool, the clouds rained gentle and pleasant. He would've gotten hungry, but thankfully he still had quite a bit of pastries and cakes in his pockets. Also he had filled a small sack with food and a bottle of fine fruit-wine, all stolen from Torvun's inn.

He had slept only a few hours, waking every hour, worried men with weapons were about to kill him. Or demons with fiery powers and unholy faces were going to mutilate him.

Of course, he knew men were the real monsters.

Night had descended finally, blessedly, and he made his way for the Ivory Tower.

He skirted the less populous streets, managing to stay in plain sight yet hidden by people. Most people didn't care to look at rooftops often, and it was a good thing too.

It paid to be extra vigilant for someone in his profession when entering the Noble's district of the city. Since there were soldiers patrolling the wealthy streets, and personal guards, running on rooftops was a task best left alone to cats.

A few streets from the Ivory Tower he noticed movement out of the corners of his eyes.

Spying a darkly lit corner, he swaggered towards it and peeked. Breath held, he waited, seeing but not knowing.

There!

Something fluttered in the dark. He readied to bolt, to run straight for the Ivory Tower, but he knew if he did this without forming a plan, he'd probably die.

Nes was about to run, when his quarry shambled into view.

It was a black and white, mangy, greasy looking cat. Mind you, a particularly large cat, but still a harmless creature.

Nes laughed, settling on his haunches. A Berber wracked, silent laugh.

Then a huge weight slammed into him, heavy blows started raining on his midriff, arms, shoulders, blessedly he put up his hands around his head but every part of his body was getting beaten like meat in a butcher's block.

"Lads! Me's got the cunt!" A woman's voice spoke above him.

She paused in her doling of a considerable beating. Triumphant, maybe, smug perhaps.

Nes took the chance and bolted. He dashed his shoulder in her stomach, staggering the large woman away and climbed in the dark.

He broke several of his nails, scraped his knees and shins, but fiery strength and a deep sense of survival helped him push to the roof.

Lancing pain jolted through his leg, a blade cutting into the meaty part.

Nes cried out, but ran. Heading for the Ivory Tower.

If Nes was to die, he'd die at the hands of Royal Guards or die running, not at the hands of thugs.

The topside became a blur as he ran. Pain, mixed with adrenaline and fear, provided a healthy does of a sense of survival.