Free Giant Thief by David Tallerman Page A

fairly lucid. I pulled myself over to the side, looked down, and regretted it. The wall seemed unfeasibly far below.
      Perhaps they'd shrunk it? Or raised the rock?
      No, that was the fever talking, just as the distorted distance existed only in my fuddled brain. Focusing, I could see the first "step", a narrow outcropping worn by countless boots. I gritted my teeth, swung over, and managed to land a foot there whilst gripping the edge of the overhang. I looked for the second step once I was steady, and found that too.
      Vertigo tugged at my brain. Sweat seemed to flow from my palms, making them slide wetly on their holds.
      I couldn't remember where the third step was. I didn't dare look. I crouched, and lowered an exploratory foot. It found nothing but sheer, unbroken surface. I tried to pull it back, only to find that somehow I'd twisted around, my body angled away from the cliff.
      I made to swing back, and my right hand slipped loose. I clawed frantically. My left foot slid free.
      Scrabbling helplessly, I fell.

CHAPTER 6
     
 
 
    I landed hard.
      A part of my mind reported with grim satisfaction that I was dead. That was it, every bone in my body was shattered, probably a few organs had burst too. It had been a tolerable life, on the whole, but it was over now. You can't win them all.
      Another part pointed out that it still hurt. It still hurt a lot. I hadn't even fallen that far, nor had I landed on my head. In short, there was no reason I should be dead.
      Does there have to be reason, the first part wondered.
      Yes, replied the second.
      Really?
      Absolutely.
      Well then perhaps we're not.
      I opened my eyes and groaned. Death might have been preferable, overall. I hurt in places I'd never known I had.
      The reality was that I lay across the parapet, limbs spread-eagled like dropped firewood, one foot and a hand dangling over the edge. I reclaimed them quickly, sat up, and propped myself against the cliff. Seeing that the guards were still focused on the north wall, I managed a sigh of relief. I didn't even seem to have acquired any new injuries. A quick survey told me that everything was in at least a semblance of working order.
      I clambered to my feet and tried to get my bearings. Muena Palaiya was built on a slope; it was barely noticeable when you were within the town, but there on the highest edge the decline was obvious. Most of the houses, like the walls, were built of stone and many even had paved roofs. They tumbled down in a series of irregular whitewashed steps, following the contours of the hillside. Narrow alleys intersected everywhere, passing under countless arches and – where the buildings stretched to two storeys – even under floors. There was only one thing wide enough to be called a road, and that was Dancer's Way, which ran diagonally from the northern entrance to the other gate in the southwest corner. Below me, just stirring into morning activity, was the Artisans' Quarter. It was a warren even by the town's own standards, a region of cramped passages, odd smells, and countless disparate trades.
      Though it wasn't where I wanted to be, it offered more privacy than the wall did. It was still quite dark, as the sun struggled to get out from behind the mountains. That wouldn't last for long, and nor could I rely on the guards staying clustered by the gates. I scurried to a point where the gap between wall and neighbouring roof was narrow enough to jump, and did so, landing clumsily amidst a tangle of netting and what appeared to be crab and lobster cages. I rolled over, half buried myself amidst the clutter, and lay still, enjoying the brief security.
      I'd liked many things about Muena Palaiya. The wine was good, the pickings were easy, the girls amongst the prettiest around. What had endeared it to me most, though, had always been its rooftops. Nowhere were there roofs so untidy, so laden with assorted rubbish, or so closely packed