Men and women leaned out to see what was happening, then ducked back in alarm at the sight of the two disheveled figures sprinting toward them. The Auxies were shouting for help, and a few of the bystanders stepped out to try to block Gyre’s path. A pair of shirtless mustachioed men grabbed for him as he went past, but he avoided them with a quick twist and kept moving. From the other side of the hall, an enormous woman erupted from a doorway buck naked, which was startling enough to give Gyre pause. Fortunately Kit was faster, spinning to plant an elbow in the woman’s solar plexus that left her sprawled back inside her room. There was more shouting behind them.

The second set of stairs was steeper than the first, with a locked door at the top. Gyre hit it with his shoulder at full speed, and it gave way with a splintering crash, letting them out onto the roof. Gently sloped tiles stretched ahead for a dozen meters, then cut off abruptly as the building ended at the edge of the abyss. In the other direction, one of the third-story additions loomed, cutting off their escape.

Kit skipped fearlessly out across the tiles and turned on one heel. “Now what?”

Gyre drew his knife, and she raised an eyebrow. He understood her concern—the unspoken etiquette of Deepfire bar brawls said that, until there were weapons involved, the losers might expect a beating and broken bones but would probably escape with their lives. Once the blades came out, however, all bets were off.

Gyre wasn’t sure where alchemical explosives ranked on that scale. Not that it matters. I don’t plan to lose. He grinned at Kit and turned back to the door, jamming the knife through the iron handle and driving it as deep as he could into the doorframe. It wouldn’t hold for long, but they didn’t need long.

At the bottom of his pouch, a pair of long linen gloves was rolled up in a tight bundle. He extracted them, shook them out, and tossed one to Kit.

“Put that on,” he said. “I’ve only got the pair, so put your ungloved hand on top, and for Chosen’s sake don’t let it touch the line. It’ll take your fingers off, never mind your skin.”

Kit blinked. Her eyes, Gyre noted inanely, were the same bright blue as her hair. “Line?”

Gyre walked carefully along the tiles to the edge. From here he could see the near face of the cliff, separated from the island supporting the Smoking Wreckage by perhaps twenty meters of empty space. Jagged, splintery rock stretched down into the Pit, disappearing into the sullen red glow of the cloud below.