The two soldiers had clear shots at his back. They could kill him any time they wanted. They were shouting at him to stop, no doubt aiming their pistols right at him. If he didn't give himself up, they would shoot him dead. He slowed to a stop therefore, lifting his hands, but then he saw that the wooden fence separating the alley from the bakers shop yard had rotted through. He plunged through it, rotting planks scratching at his head and arms as he did so, and found himself in a bare concrete yard with an exit onto the street. He ran for it, thanking Those Above that he was still dog enough to be able to outrun a declared human. Not enough to be able to outrun bullets though...

     There was the sound of a pistol being fired and a bullet whined past his ear just as he reached the street and ducked out of sight behind a wall of obsidian bricks. Momentarily out of sight of the pursuing soldiers, he skidded to a halt and returned to the wall, crouching down behind it, and when the first soldier ran into view he threw himself at him.

     He slammed a fist into the soldier's stomach, winding him; a move that the Brigadier had told him would totally incapacitate a man for several seconds. Long enough to kill him or escape, whichever suited circumstances better. He then threw himself at the second soldier who was also just coming into view. I must be mad! he thought as he grappled with him, one hand on the wrist of the hand holding the gun as he tried to prevent the soldier from aiming it at him. Why am I doing this? My chances of getting away from them are tiny. I'll get myself killed! I should have waited in the conference room. Spent some time convincing Mornwell that I'd genuinely changed my mind. An opportunity to slip away would have come sooner or later. Instead, I’m fighting two highly trained Helberian soldiers at the same time, both of whom are perfectly willing to kill me rather than let me get away. And even if I do get away, I'll be a fugitive from my own people. I should just give myself up right now. Just surrender. But if I do that, they'll put me under guard and I'll never have another chance to escape, and Benjamin has to die! As soon as possible before he does any more damage.

     He continued to grapple with the soldier, therefore. He felt the bones of his arm began to bend as their muscles strained, the cartilage beginning to give way under the load. He’d been a small dog before he'd been adopted, and he was still smaller and lighter than a declared human. He couldn't beat him in a trial of strength, so instead he head butted him as hard as he could. The soldier gave a cry of shock and pain, and Malone’s hand went from his wrist to the gun, twisting it out of his grasp before he knew what he was doing. He threw the gun as far as he could, then reached for the first soldier's gun. The man was still gasping for breath but was struggling back to his feet. He was holding his gun loosely, but his grip tightened as he felt Malone's hand reaching for it.

     The man he'd head butted grabbed him, his arms going around his arms and pinning them to his sides. He pulled him back, away from the other soldier who raised his weapon, but Malone kicked out with his feet, connecting solidly with the pistol and knocking it out of his hand. Then he bent his head down and bit hard on one of the arms holding him. His jaws were still dog enough to have a lot of bite force and he still had long, sharp canines. They penetrated the guard's sleeve easily and bit deep into his flesh.

     The man cried out, then cursed, and Malone used all his strength to wriggle out of his grasp. The other man’s gun had fallen into the gutter and the soldier was stopping to pick it up. Malone threw himself at him, knocking him away from the gun, then scooped it up himself, throwing it as far and hard as he could without looking to see where it was going. Then he ran. A hand grasped at his sleeve and almost caught hold of him, but he slipped free and ran, desperately hoping that neither of them would be able to recover his weapon in time to shoot after him. His back itched as he imagined a bullet tearing into it at any moment.

     The street he found himself in was long, and the nearest side turning was over a hundred yards away. There was nothing before then but doors and windows into shops and houses, all of which would turn into dead ends if he ran through one of them. He ran and ran, expecting to be shot dead at any moment, expecting every gasping breath to be his last. He didn’t dare pause long enough to look back. He was faster than a declared human, but not overwhelmingly faster. A determined human could catch him if Malone wasn't going as fast as he possibly could. He just ran, therefore, watching the nearest side street getting closer with glacial slowness, and it wasn't until he arrived and turned the corner, with no shots having been fired after him, that he finally paused long enough to glance back.

     One of the soldiers was climbing back over the fence he’d climbed to get his gun back. The other was just standing there, staring after him. The first soldier aimed his gun at him, then lowered it again with a resigned look on his face. Their accuracy at a hundred yards wasn't good, and there was a window in the building on the corner, very close to where Malone was standing. If he missed Malone, he might hit someone in the building. They'd given up, he realised with sudden elation. Too well trained to put members of the public at risk.

     They stared at each other for a moment, then Malone turned and ran away towards the nearest gate to the Outwall districts. Would Mornwell send word ahead to have the guards stop him? He couldn't take the risk, and a man on horseback could easily get there ahead of him. He was far from free yet. He ran, therefore, sprinting as fast as his not quite human legs would carry him.

     As he went, he imagined the soldiers trotting back into the embassy, telling Mornwell what had happened. He imagined the Ambassador telling them to take a horse from the stables... They wouldn’t need to go all the way to the gate, he realised. If they knew where he was going, they could cut him off. Capture him before he got there. He turned down the next side street he came to, therefore. Forget the Clam gate. He’d make for the Titan gate instead; the next nearest one. It wasn't much further away, and if the soldiers went for the wrong one he'd have longer to get through it. Once he was through, he could lose himself in the maze of Outwall streets and alleyways and they’d never be able to find him. The only way they’d be able to stop him then would be to tell Benjamin he was coming for him...

     Malone faltered in mid step as the awful thought struck him. Would Mornwell actually do that? Warn Benjamin that he was coming? He only had Malone's word that he was a traitor, after all. What if he feared that Malone had been mistaken, or even deliberately deceived by rebels who'd known all along what he was? Mornwell was, apparently, a stickler for law and order, for doing things the correct way, but even so, would he really send a warning to a man that Malone had identified as a traitor? He would just have to take the risk, he decided. He’d be careful when he got to Benjamin’s mansion, if he made it that far...

     He began to run out of breath and was forced to slow to a walk. If Mornwell did send a horseman to the Clam gate, how long would it take them to pass the warning on to all the gates? If they were connected by telegraph cables, the answer would be mere minutes, and the Kelvon Empire had always been at the forefront of advances in science and technology. Were there any other ways out of Inwall? Probably. There were probably sewers and secret tunnels. Maybe even the remains of a Hetin city, buried deep beneath the modern city that had grown up on top of it. He didn't know the city well enough to know, though, and he didn't have time to make contact with the city's criminal underworld, who probably used such means to smuggle goods and merchandise in and out through them. No, for him, the gates were all he had. He just had to hope that he could get to the Titan gate before Mornwell could warn them about him, if he'd decided to do so. Maybe, after some thought, he'd decide to trust him, he thought. He trusted the Brigadier, after all, and some of that trust might rub off onto him by association. He and to assume the worst, though, and so as soon as he'd gotten his breath back he broke back into a run.

     The sound of clanging bells and galloping horses came from behind him, and he ducked into a doorway as a guard wagon clattered past with half a dozen guardsmen hanging onto the sides. A moment later it was followed by another, and then an ambulance carriage, all heading towards the tower from which the column of smoke still rose. His heart leapt into his throat as a horrible thought came to him. They’ll have closed the gates to stop the bombers escaping! The bombers would almost certainly have escaped already, of course. They would have had an escape plan already worked out before they launched their attack, but the authorities would close the gates anyway because that was what they did in situations like this. He was trapped in the city!

     He continued on towards the gate anyway, because he had nowhere else to go. More police and ambulance wagons went past, all ringing their bells even though there was almost no road traffic. Very little that needed to get out of their way. Those few pedestrians who were still out and about paused in mid step to watch as they raced past, and Malone saw one man grinning with delight, although being careful to keep his face turned away from the guards. “John Martin’s got ‘em on their knees,” Malone heard him say to the man standing beside him, who laughed his agreement.

     John Martin's in a Radiant adoption town, thought Malone as he walked away, trying to look casual in case they realised he’d overheard them. He'd already grown into a legend, though, probably with the help of agitators deliberately spreading rumours about his heroic actions. Lies that the common people would believe because they wanted a hero. A leader. Everything the rebels did in this city from now on would be attributed to him, Malone knew, even if he was away for weeks or even months, and when he got back he'd have a legend that he’d be able to step right into like a suit of clothes.

     A shiver of fear swept over him as he realised what would happen next. He saw it as clearly as if it were happening right now, right before his eyes. Every dissatisfied worker and starving vagrant would flock to his cause. He would be the nucleus around which an army would condense. He would be the face of the revolution and the very mention of his name would make the bosses tremble. Even the Emperor himself would go pale at the mention of his name. When John Martin returned, the revolution would begin in earnest and the Empire would very probably fall just weeks later, their mighty armies crushed by a tidal wave of righteous outrage. That's the timescale, he realised. That's how long we've got to stop Benjamin.

     For a moment he thought about going back to the embassy and telling Mornwell what he’d just realised, but he dismissed the idea almost immediately. Mornwell wouldn't listen, or else he'd just insist that he told the Kelvon authorities, and that would lead to his being arrested for the murder of Kelvon agents. He'd spend the last days of the Kelvon Empire in a prison cell while Benjamin continued to finance the revolution,. No, his plan remained the same. Kill Benjamin. Cut off the rebels’ finances, their supply of arms and explosives. The Kelvon authorities would then have the chance to nip the revolution in the bud, and John Martin would return to find nothing waiting for him but heavily armed guardsmen who knew, thanks to the Brigadier, to look out for men with powdered or luminous skins.

     His resolve reinforced, Malone picked up his pace towards the gate, only slowing when he came to the last corner. There, he slowed to a casual walk and strolled out from the side street, across the street that let to the gate, heading towards the other side where the side street continued on. Anyone who saw him would only see a normal not quite declared human walking from one part of the city to the other. Not a fugitive desperate to escape.

     As he went, he looked at the gate, to his left. It was still open, he was surprised to see, but everyone passing through was being stopped by the guardsmen and quizzed intensively to make sure they weren't the bombers.

     Had Mornwell sent word, warning them to stop him? If so, had word arrived yet? And if so, how long would it be before things returned to normal, allowing people to pass through without being stopped and challenged? How long could he hide in Farwell, the very heart of the Empire, without being found? And how many more guns would Benjamin give the rebels while he cowered in fear? I have to go for it, he decided. They’re not looking for me. Mornwell wouldn’t do that. All I've got to do is convince them I'm not one of the bombers and I can just walk through that gate.

     He continued on past the gate until he was out of sight, then turned back the way he'd come. This time, when he reached the corner, he turned and walked confidently towards the gate. There were two queues; one of road traffic and one of pedestrians. He joined the back of the pedestrian queue and waited as calmly as he could.

     It took half an hour for him to reach the head of the queue, and he spent every second of it looking down the roads to the embassy and the Clam gate, looking for a horseman racing to warn the gatekeepers about him. No horseman came, though, which just made him worry that he’d already been and gone. When he found himself facing the gatekeepers, though, they made no reaction when they saw him and Malone relaxed in tremendous relief.

     “Name?” The first gatekeeper asked.

     “Malone.”

     “Why are you leaving the city?”

     “I came looking for work, but there isn't any, or at least, none for me.”

     The man laughed. “You came to Farwell looking for work? A half raised dog?”

     “I heard there was work here. Just one of those rumours, I suppose, but I couldn’t rest until I'd checked it out. I've spent two weeks knocking on every door I could find, and now I’m done. I'm going to try Outwall again.”

    “I doubt you’ll have much better luck there. Everyone’s leaving, looking for food.”

     “Have you heard the name John Martin?” asked the other gatekeeper.

     “Everyone's heard of him,” replied Malone. Denying it would only have made them suspicious. “What about him?”

     “What do you think of him?”

     “Just another con man telling everyone it’ll be better if they follow him. I've heard it all before.”

     “With all your life experience?” snickered the first guard.

     “My parents died. I've been like this a long time. I'm probably older then you.”

     “Can we move it along?” said someone behind him in the queue impatiently. “I haven't got all day!”

     “Takes as long as it takes,” snapped the second guard. “You looking for a body cavity search?”

     The man shut up, and Malone forced himself to show no expression. I'm just a homeless, unemployed vagrant, he told himself. You're wasting your time with me. He tried to project it into the minds of the gatekeepers and maybe it worked because the first guard waved him through.

     “Okay, friend,” the guard told the man behind him. “Let’s just step into this little alcove for a moment...”

     Malone hurried past, along the tunnel that ran through the gigantic wall and out the other side, where it took all his willpower to stop himself breaking into a run. He turned into the first side street he came to, took another turning, then another, and it wasn't until he was certain that he'd completely lost himself in the maze of streets and alleyways that he finally allowed himself to relax. Then he made his way to one of the commercial districts, looking for a goods wagon going in the right direction that he could hitch a ride on.