There were four guards on the roof, walking the edges in two pairs. They carried no lights—presumably they were using nighteye as well—and Gyre had watched them from behind the chimneys until he was sure he had the timing down. Given the size of the building, he had a couple of minutes to slip across, but no longer.

Now he ran for the edge of the roof, Kit following closely behind. The grapple was a simple piece of alchemy—a ball of squishy, gooey stuff that would stick hard to anything it touched, except for a specially treated metal stick. Holding the stick by the free end, Gyre took a running start and whipped the thing around, sending the gooey ball sailing out into the darkness. The alchemical line trailed behind it.

The ball landed on the opposite roof with a soft splat. Gyre gave the line a quick tug to confirm it was stuck fast. He spilled a few drops of glue from a tiny container onto the roof tile at his feet, pressed the near end of the line into it, and stood back. The length of alchemical wire now stretched between the two warehouses, straight and taut.

“You’re sure you can do this?” he said to Kit. “There’s a lot of Auxies down there who are going to be very surprised when you fall on their heads.”

Kit snorted. “Watch and learn, Halfmask.” She stepped out onto the line with one foot, then another, balancing easily.

“Just don’t step on the grapple at the far end,” Gyre said, smiling. “We’d have to cut your foot off to get you out.”

Kit didn’t dignify that with a response. She stepped forward again, a steady walk, the line shifting slightly under her feet. Then she twisted, bending over, and for a heart-stopping moment Gyre thought she was going to fall. Instead, she turned the motion into a tumble, one hand pressing against the line, then the other, executing a perfect cartwheel on a wire-thin bridge over forty meters of darkness.

Plaguing Doomseeker, Gyre thought, but not without a hint of admiration. And, he had to admit, a certain appreciation for the lithe, elegant lines of her body in her well-fitted thief’s gear.

When she’d reached the other side, he started across, doing his best to ignore the buzzing sensation at the pit of his stomach. Wire walking wasn’t his favorite trick, and he certainly wasn’t trying any cartwheels, but he made it.

“Okay,” Gyre whispered. “Low and careful to the trapdoor.”

There wasn’t much cover on the roof, just a few banks of connected chimneys, and Gyre hurried from one to the next as quickly as he could. Kit, padding behind him, was as silent as a cat and just as quick. The trapdoor was a massive thing, iron-banded wood in an iron frame, with no handle on this side.