The weight of the sack of gold was grounding, a heavy, welcome truth in Kael's frantic hands. The weight of the amulet pressing against his sternum was anything but. It felt like a stone carved from ice and set on a slow burn.
He didn't run the streets. Running the streets was for amateurs and fools. Kael took to the rooftops.
He scrambled up the drainpipe of the Minister's garden shed—his usual entry point—and hauled himself onto the slate roof. The damp Veridian night air hit him, cooling the sweat on his temples. Below, he could hear the Minister's shouts echoing from the open study window. Too slow, Minister.
Kael traversed three low roofs quickly, before making the jump to the awning of the Tanner's shop. It was a wide gap, but Kael was a creature of the heights; it was his territory.
As he landed, the whispering returned.
"The roof edge is crumbling. He sees you from the East window."
Kael froze, hands already gripping the next ledge. He scanned the buildings across the alley. All the windows were dark and shuttered. He sees you. Who? The East window. Which window?
He heard only the rhythmic drip of water from a broken gutter. The silence was louder than any shout. The amulet hadn't spoken, not really. It had been in his head.
He looked down at the awning where he'd landed. The metal frame was rusted, but solid. Yet, a small, dark crack, invisible moments before, seemed to spiderweb its way across the canvas right where his boot had landed.
The roof edge is crumbling.
A hallucination, he decided, forcing himself to move. Stress. The Minister probably saw me.
He kept moving, navigating the confusing geometry of Veridian's skyline. He vaulted a chimney stack, using the moment of flight to glance down at the heavy sack of gold. It was a good haul, enough to get him out of the city and south for the winter.
The whisper returned, this time colder, laced with genuine malice.
"The coin is dirt. It buys nothing. It is a lie spoken by a dead man."
Kael stumbled on the slick roof tiles, catching himself at the last moment. He had heard the voice, clear as a bell. The stone amulet under his shirt seemed to pulse with cold heat.
He pulled himself into his "shanty"—a hidden compartment beneath a water tower on the tallest, most dilapidated block in the Merchant's Quarter. He sealed the iron door and lit a stub of tallow candle.
The moment the lock clicked, he ripped the amulet from his neck.
It was heavier than it looked, the dark blue lapis smooth and cool in his hand, framed by that ancient, blackened silver. It looked beautiful, and impossibly old.
He set it on the rough wooden table next to the sack of gold. He wanted to toss it in the river, but the strange, addictive pull of the thing held him back. It was too important. It knew things.
He emptied the sack. Not gold.
Silver. Copper. Iron slugs painted with a thin, brass veneer.
The coin is dirt.
His breath hitched. He had risked his life for nothing. Minister Varrus hadn't just stashed his money; he had stashed junk—a decoy.
A slow, terrifying realization dawned. The amulet hadn't been lying. It had warned him of the poisoned coin. It had warned him of the watcher on the roof. It had warned him that the curtain concealed a woman with skin like pale marble.
He snatched up the stone.
"She waits in the darkness beneath the clock tower. She has the gold. You owe her a debt."
Kael gripped the amulet so hard the sharp edges of the setting dug into his palm. He looked at the shadows pooling in the corners of his small shanty, and he swore they began to shift. They weren't just shadows anymore. They looked like deep black smoke, rising up, taking on the vague, skeletal shape of human figures.
He blinked, rubbing his eyes hard. The shadows returned to normal.
The amulet was silent now, radiating a cold anticipation. He hadn't just stolen a trinket. He had taken a curse. And that curse—that terrible, beautiful voice—was telling him he already owed a debt.