Could the Raggers have done for six of the Southies? Why would they? Not on his account, not even for old time’s sake. Anything that splashy always brought unwanted attention from the Guard. Everybody knew that.

If not them, who?

Whatever had happened, he couldn’t expect fair treatment at the guardhouse. They needed someone to pin this on. He’d dance to whatever tune they played, and he’d end up at the end of a rope. He thought of Mari waiting for him back at the temple, of Mam scrubbing laundry at Fellsmarch Castle. They’d be the ones to pay. He couldn’t let that happen.

By now they were passing Southbridge Temple, turning onto the bridge over the river. Han groaned loudly, scuffling his feet in the dirt as if to gain a purchase.

“Hey! Watch yourself,” one of the bluejackets said, tightening his hold on Han’s upper arm.

Han groaned again. “Ow! My head! It hurts. Leggo!” He struggled to free his arms. “I don’t feel so good,” he said, allowing a trace of panic to enter his voice. “I’m serious! I’m going to spew!” He clamped his mouth shut and blew out his cheeks suggestively.

“Not all over me, you’re not!” his bluejacket captor said. Gripping Han’s collar and the waist of his breeches, the guardsman propelled him to the stone wall that lined the bridge. “Spill it into the river, boy, and make it quick.”

Han braced his good hand on the wall, then slammed his head back into the guardsman’s face. The bluejacket screamed and let go of him, blood pouring from his broken nose. Han boosted himself atop the wall and squatted there, looking down at the debris floating on the water.

“Stop him!” Gillen screeched behind him. “He’s getting away!”

Hands clutched at him as Han launched himself from the wall, executing a flat, shallow dive that took him as far as possible from the stone piers of the bridge. Somehow he managed to miss hitting any of the boats crowded together in the narrow channel, and sliced into the water closer to the north shore. He surfaced, spitting out a mouthful of the filthy water, gagging for real this time.

Good he could swim, courtesy of his summers with the clans. Not many city boys could.

“There he is!” He heard Gillen’s voice carrying across the water. “You on the water! Five girlies for the one what catches him.”

Five girlies! He’d just about turn himself in for that.

Han submerged again and swam blindly toward the Ragmarket shore, kicking strongly to compensate for his useless right arm, eyes closed tight against the murky water. When he raised his head to check his position and correct his crooked progress, a clamor of voices said he’d been spotted. Then he went under again and managed to lose himself amid the motley of watercraft and floating garbage.