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The footsteps stopped outside the storage room door.
Mark held his breath. His back pressed against a shelf that smelled like dust and old incense. Next to him Ella had gone completely still, one hand on his wrist. Through the crack under the door he could see boots. Guard boots. The leather kind with the brass buckles that clicked when they walked.
The handle turned.
"Empty," someone said. Male voice, bored. "Just junk."
"Check it anyway." That was the captain. Mark recognized the clipped tone from ten minutes ago when the guy had kicked in his room door.
The door swung open. Morning light cut across the floor. Mark's knee chose that exact moment to spasm—the bad one, the one that hadn't been right since he'd taken that fall off a ladder fixing his mom's gutter three years ago. He bit down hard on his tongue.
Ella's fingernails dug into his wrist. A warning.
The guard stepped in. His shadow fell across the shelf. Mark could see the outline of a sword at his hip. The guy was two feet away. Maybe less.
Then a shout echoed from down the hall. "Found something in the east wing!"
The guard turned. "What?"
"Looks like they went through the scullery!"
The boots clicked away fast. The door didn't close all the way. It swung on the hinge, lazy, until it settled at a forty-five-degree angle.
Ella let out a breath. "We have maybe three minutes."
"Until what?"
"Until Veran gets here." She moved to the door, peered through the gap. "He'll know we didn't go through the scullery. He'll check the third floor again. And he won't miss this room."
Mark's knee throbbed. He shifted his weight. "So what's the plan?"
"The window."
He looked at her. She wasn't joking.
"You're kidding."
"There's a ledge. Runs along the outside wall. If we can get to the east tower there's a drainage pipe."
"A drainage pipe."
"It's stone. Reinforced. It'll hold."
Mark limped to the tiny window at the back of the storage room. It was narrow, the kind that was more for ventilation than actual use. He shoved it open and looked out.
Three stories down. Cobblestones. A ledge maybe eight inches wide running along the wall.
His stomach dropped. "No."
"Mark—"
"I'm forty-one. I have a bad knee. I can't even do a pull-up anymore."
"If we stay here he'll kill you."
"If I go out there I'll kill myself." He turned away from the window. Tried to think. There had to be another option. A place to hide. A way to talk their way out. Something.
Ella grabbed his arm. Not gently. She spun him around and her face was six inches from his. Her eyes were the kind of green that looked grey in dim light.
"Listen to me," she said. "Veran doesn't miss. He doesn't hesitate. I've seen him work. If he gets into this room we're both dead."
"Then we run. We find another way—"
"There is no other way." Her voice cracked. Just a little. Enough that Mark realized how scared she actually was. "The whole temple is locked down. Every exit. Every stairwell. This is it."
Footsteps again. Closer this time. Faster.
Ella pulled something from inside her robe. A small silver badge. Mark had seen her wear it on her collar a couple of times. A circle with a flame in the center.
"What are you doing?"
She didn't answer. She turned to the brazier in the corner of the room—the one that was half-full of cold ash from whatever incense they used to burn in here. She knelt down. Pulled a flint from her belt pouch and struck it.
Sparks. Once. Twice. On the third strike the ash caught. A thin curl of smoke rose up.
Ella held the badge over the flame. The silver turned black at the edges. The flame symbol warped.
"That's your priestess badge," Mark said. His voice came out quieter than he meant. "If you burn that—"
"Then I'm not a priestess anymore." She didn't look at him. Just watched the badge start to melt. "And they can't execute me for treason against the church. Just heresy. Which buys us time."
"Ella—"
"Get to the window."
The footsteps were right outside now. Mark heard a voice. Low. Calm. That same cold tone from earlier.
Veran.
"The storage room," Veran said. "Check it."
Ella dropped the badge into the ash. It hissed. She stood and shoved Mark toward the window. "Go. Now."
He went.
Climbing through a window when you're eighteen is annoying. Climbing through a window when you're forty-one with a bum knee and fifteen extra pounds around the middle is a nightmare. Mark got his head and shoulders through, then had to twist sideways to get his hips past the frame. His knee screamed. He ignored it.
Outside the air was cold. The ledge was exactly as wide as it had looked. Maybe narrower. Mark pressed his back against the wall and shuffled sideways. His heart was trying to punch through his ribs.
Ella came through the window behind him. She moved fast. Easy. Like she'd done this before.
"Don't look down," she said.
He looked down.
Mistake.
The cobblestones were very far away. A cart rolled past below. A guy in an apron stepped out of a doorway, tossed a bucket of something into the gutter. Neither of them looked up.
"Mark. Move."
He moved. Shuffle step. Shuffle step. His fingers found cracks in the stone. His knee protested every shift of weight. The ledge ran along the wall for maybe thirty feet before it ended at a corner. Past the corner he could see the east tower. And yeah, there was a drainage pipe. Stone, like she'd said. Thick. Bolted to the wall.
Behind them he heard a shout. Then a crash. The window they'd just climbed through shattered outward. A hand reached through. Veran's face appeared in the gap, scanning left and right.
His eyes locked on Mark.
"Go," Ella hissed.
Mark went. He reached the corner and grabbed the edge. His knee buckled. For one horrible second he thought he was going to fall. Then Ella's hand shot out and caught his belt.
"I've got you."
He pulled himself around the corner. The drainage pipe was ten feet away. It looked solid. Old, but solid. The brackets were iron, driven deep into the stone.
Ella went first. She tested the pipe, then started climbing. Fast. She made it look easy.
Mark grabbed the pipe. It was cold. Rough. His hands were sweating.
"Don't think," Ella called down. "Just climb."
He climbed.
His knee wanted to give out on the third pull. He locked it. Pulled again. His arms shook. When was the last time he'd climbed anything? Ten years? Fifteen? The pipe groaned but held.
Halfway up his vision started to blur at the edges. His breath came in short gasps. This was it. This was how he died. Forty-one years old, clinging to a drainage pipe in another world because some royal mage couldn't draw a circle right.
"Almost there," Ella said.
He looked up. She was on the roof, leaning over the edge, hand outstretched.
He pulled. Once more. His knee screamed. He pulled anyway.
Her hand closed around his wrist. She hauled him up and over the edge. He collapsed on the roof, chest heaving, knee on fire.
"We made it," he managed.
"Not yet." Ella was already on her feet, scanning the rooftop. "We need to get to the outer wall. There's a gap near the south corner where the patrol doesn't—"
"You're not going anywhere."
The voice came from behind them.
Mark rolled over. A woman stood on the far side of the roof. She was maybe thirty, lean, dressed in dark grey that blended with the slate tiles. Her hair was pulled back tight. In her hand was a knife, but she wasn't pointing it at them. Just holding it. Casual.
"Who the hell are you?" Ella's hand went to her belt. Her knife was gone. She must have dropped it during the climb.
The woman smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Toria Grey. I run the information market in the slum district. And you two just became very expensive."
"We don't have money," Mark said. His knee throbbed. He couldn't run. Not now. Maybe not for the next hour.
Toria tilted her head. "I don't want money."
Ella stepped in front of Mark. Protective. "Then what?"
Toria's eyes shifted to Mark. She studied him for a long moment. Like she was weighing something. Deciding.
"You're the mis-summoned one," she said. "The man from another world. The one the church wants dead."
Mark said nothing.
"I can get you out of the temple district," Toria went on. "I can hide you. I can even find out who modified that summoning circle and why." She paused. "But it'll cost you."
"Cost me what?"
Toria's smile widened. "Your memories."
Mark stared at her. "What?"
"Everything you remember from your world. Every piece of knowledge. Every skill. Every secret." She took a step closer. "There's a rune spell. Old imperial magic. It extracts memory and stores it in crystal. Doesn't hurt. You won't even notice it's gone."
"Like hell," Ella said.
Toria ignored her. Her eyes stayed on Mark. "You want to survive? You want answers? Then that's the price. Your memories of Earth. All of them."
Mark's throat went dry. Behind them he could hear shouts from inside the temple. Veran's voice. Getting closer.
Toria held up a small grey crystal. It caught the light. Fractured it into a dozen colors.
"Decide fast," she said. "Because in about thirty seconds Veran Dusk is going to come through that door. And if he gets to you first, you won't have any memories left to bargain with."
The crystal glinted in her palm.
Mark looked at Ella. Her face was pale. Scared.
He looked at the crystal.
He looked at the door behind them. He could hear footsteps now. Heavy boots on stone.
"So," Toria said. "Do we have a deal?"