Free The Hidden City by Michelle West Page A

having failed to convince himself, he made his way to the door, unbolted it, and let himself out. He was very careful to bolt it at his back, and he stood outside in the hall for long enough that other movement in neighboring apartments could be heard. He realized he was afraid to leave her.
    This annoyed him enough that he did.
    The farmers were making their way through the streets from the East gate. The Common itself was only slowly coming to life, and the streets were as barren as they would be while the sunlight lasted. During the stormy months, the market day was of necessity shorter; Rath was glad that this particular move had not been undertaken during the Winter.
    But he watched the flags rise in the Common, and then turned away from them, heading deeper into the hundred holdings. Rath knew how to get around the old city. The streets were of passing convenience, but they were not his only form of egress; they were just the safest, and as he did not wish to draw attention to himself, he followed their course, whistling tunelessly as he walked.
    He needed a neighborhood that was harder to traverse without some knowledge of the holdings; he also needed a place in which the landlord was more eager for money—timely money—than answers. Although it was commonly thought that all forms of debauchery took place in the oldest and poorest of the hundred holdings, Rath had found that common wisdom was generally not wise; there were monstrous men everywhere, from the highest of walks to the lowest, and if one knew the city well enough, any holding was safe.
    Or that had been his early experience.
    In the last couple of years, the whispers had grown steadily, and the fear that spread with them had grown as well. It was not his fear, but he felt it. Wondered how much he would be aware of it had he not promised to nurse one sick child back to health.
    And to what end? She would be healthy, yes, but the streets would be her home; she had some skill at reading and writing, but no way to offer those skills to an employer who would find them useful. The absurd desire to aid her was exactly that: absurd, a fool’s hope. She would go to the streets, they would devour her, and if he chanced upon her again, years from now, she would be a hollow shell of the girl who had offered a farmer money for food he had thought to give her in charity.
    And that, he told himself angrily, was not his problem. He owed her; he would pay that debt and be quit of it.
    But she had given him a warning that had quite probably saved his life. He hadn’t asked her enough yet. Not enough to be certain. If he could be certain . . . he shook his head. If he could be, what then? He was in no position to exploit anyone. The girl herself clearly didn’t understand the value of the warning she had offered; she had offered it with so much hesitation, he guessed that she was accustomed to a much colder response. He wondered if she would have spoken at all, had it not been for the forceful warning of a dead, old woman, and the girl’s natural fear of obligation.
    At best, he might introduce her to someone who would prize that gift, and force the child to use it.
    And that left an unfortunate taste in his mouth.
    The thirty-second holding melted into the thirty-third; guards were seldom seen, but when he heard them, he avoided them on general principle.
    He visited several tenements, made mental lists of them all, and found them wanting. This was a part of the process of finding the right place for any given stage of his life, and normally, he didn’t resent it.
    But time was of the essence, as the saying went, and he found his mood souring with each dead end. By the time the sun was at its peak, he was in the thirty-fifth holding, and he had just walked into the seventh building, holding a dialogue with his stomach that would have embarrassed a man with more impeccable manners. Once, that might have been Rath.
    The reminder did nothing to shore