Then, after a time, the soft, persistent footfall thudded behind me
again.
I cut across a thieves market, dodging from stall to stall, cursed by
old women selling hot fried goldfish, women in striped veils railing at
me in their chiming talk when I brushed their rolled rugs with hasty
feet. Far behind I heard the familiar uneven hurry: tap-_tap_-tap,
tap-_tap_-tap.
I fled down a street where women sat on flower-decked balconies, their
open lanterns flowing with fountains and rivulets of gold and orange
fire. I raced through quiet streets where furred children crept to doors
and watched me pass with great golden eyes that shone in the dark.
I dodged into an alley and lay there, breathing hard. Someone not two
inches away said, "Are you one of us, brother?"
I muttered something surly, in his dialect, and a hand, reassuringly
human, closed on my elbow. "This way."
Out of breath with long running, I let him lead me, meaning to break
away after a few steps, apologize for mistaken identity and vanish, when
a sound at the end of the street made me jerk stiff and listen.
Tap-_tap_-tap. Tap-_tap_-tap.
I let my arm relax in the hand that guided me, flung a fold of my
shirtcloak over my face, and went along with my unknown guide.