Authors: Tony Shillitoe
‘For you, it might be done with, but someone out there isn’t happy with you. Someone wants you dead.’
‘But who? Who have I offended?’
Lager leant back and laid his hands across his ample paunch. ‘That I don’t know any more than you.’
‘Can you find out?’
‘You know I don’t work like that. I have integrity to protect. For you, my young friend, I can only offer
safety until these three decide to go away from here. But, rest assured, they won’t leave you alone. You won’t get any relief from them until either you or they are dead. I’m sorry, but that’s the way they work.’ Lager rose and placed a copper penny on the table. ‘Enjoy the beer, young Chase. It’s on the house. Have as many as you like.’ He opened the panel in the wall, but turned back and added, ‘If your sister needs somewhere to stay for a little while, I have a spare room out the back. I won’t charge her any more than she’s willing to pay.’ He stepped through and the wall resumed its dark self.
He sipped at the beer, eyeing the door suspiciously, expecting his enemies to walk in like everyday customers and sit at his table to drink with him before they killed him. Someone wanted him dead, but who? Had the assassins who tried to kill the Joker in the cave reported back to their hirer and now he or she was determined to kill each member of the adventuring party individually?
The card players’ voices rose and fell with each ensuing hand, while the individuals in the darker areas sat in silence, drinking solemnly. The boy waiter brought Chase a second and then a third beer, and Chase drank them slowly, lost in his thoughts as he reasoned through the possible choices facing him as a wanted man. He laughed at the irony that the authorities would already have a record from the Bog Pit of him being dead and yet someone was going to kill him and the authorities would discover him freshly dead again. He wondered why the other individuals were hiding in the Fat Wombat. One stood and left. Three men entered later, and Chase tensed, peering in the dull lantern light to see if they were recognisable as the three who chased him. They weren’t. They didn’t even acknowledge his presence as they sat and ordered drinks. Another man left and the briefly open door
revealed that it was already dark outside. The day had passed.
He had to warn Passion. Then the chill fear struck him. What if whoever was after him had already been to his home? He pushed back from the table, his head light with beer, and headed for the door where the bodyguard let him out into the cold air and night.
If his hunters were still waiting, he was a dead man. It no longer mattered. Beer numbed his fear for himself, even as it heightened his fear for his sister and nephew. He walked along the street, expecting at any moment to feel the cold, sharp stab of a blade, or for dark shadows to surround him, but he passed without incident and reached the lane to his home. He turned into it, half-expecting the men to be waiting, but the lane was empty, patched by the yellow squares of lantern and candlelit windows.
He stopped at his door and listened. The tiny window was awash with light. When he peered through, he saw Passion sitting at the little table, feeding Jon from a small bowl of gruel. A fire crackled in the hearth. Everything seemed normal, secure and warm. But the homely scene filled him with sadness. He had brought about its end.
C
rystal signed the letter and sealed it with green wax, using the metal joker stamp her father had manufactured for the business. She rose from the desk and handed the letter to Stoker, reminding him, ‘Only for Prince Inheritor.’
‘Shall I take the streets, Mrs Merchant?’
‘Not this time. Go by the tunnel. Be wary of anyone following you.’ Stoker nodded and left the room. She turned to Hunter and asked, ‘Where is Lin?’
‘I think she said she was organising a business deal with one of the gambling houses along the Main Way,’ Hunter informed her.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t remember her mentioning anything. Did she say who?’ Hunter shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Crystal turned to leave the meeting room, but hesitated, and turning to Hunter she said, ‘How well do you know the city?’
‘Well enough not to get lost, Mrs Merchant.’
‘Do you know where there is someone with lots of old books?’
‘Not exactly, but I can ask.’
‘Do it. Then come back and let me know where I have to go.’ She waited for Hunter to withdraw before
she headed for the lounge. Her two cats were curled on the floor, but Crystal ignored them and they ignored her. She passed through the house and descended to the lower levels where the tunnels began. The statue-like guard on duty, Mast, watched her approach. ‘Has Stoker passed through?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Mrs Merchant, heading for the Palace.’
‘Good. I’m going down to the harbour.’
‘Shall I accompany you, Mrs Merchant?’
‘No, Mast. I’m going alone.’
‘Is that wise, Mrs Merchant?’ Crystal fixed him with a steady gaze and Mast stayed silent. She entered the lit tunnel that led to the city harbour district.
Crystal cautiously lifted the trapdoor to peer into a room lit by thin strips of flickering light slatting the floor and her ears were assailed by the raucous noise of a tavern brawl. Something heavy thumped against the other side of wall she faced as she emerged and glass shattered. She climbed out of the trapdoor and moved through the familiar storeroom between the piled crates to a door. Light along the sill revealed the adjoining room was occupied. Another heavy weight hit the wall separating the tavern common room from the storeroom to her left, dislodging pottery urns from a shelf and they shattered on the floor. Crystal slowly turned the handle. Seven faces turned to her as she entered. Cards were lowered. ‘Mrs Merchant. What a surprise,’ a thickset, dark-haired woman said in greeting as she rose from the table.
‘Lili,’ Crystal responded to the owner of the Lady Luck tavern.
‘You know everyone here,’ Lili said, with a broad smile and equally broad sweep of her arm. Crystal acknowledged each guest in turn. ‘Sit and play a hand,’ Lili invited.
‘I came to see Shipmaster Gull,’ Crystal explained.
Glass shattered beyond the door that led into the common room. Lili laughed, and said, ‘Chances are that Gull is busy at the moment.’
‘I’ll wait,’ Crystal replied.
‘You may as well join us for a hand or two while you wait,’ the older woman at the table, Love Wells, said, patting an empty chair beside her.
Crystal sat between the comfortable Wells and the rotund Shilling Marketman who smiled generously at her. ‘Fortune?’ she asked, looking at the cards and recognising the game.
‘What else?’ Lili answered. ‘Diminishing cards and elimination. Maximum ten shillings bet per hand. Trumps called by the winner of the last hand.’ The cards were shuffled and dealt.
‘How’s business?’ Courage Blacker asked, his narrow dark eyes sparkling in the lantern light at the end of the table.
Crystal met his questioning gaze. Blacker was one of her husband’s chief enemies for many years. His company monopolised the supply of pitch to the ship owners and he owned a sizeable fleet of trading vessels, most gained from ship owners who went bankrupt after borrowing money from Blacker’s lending outlet. Although he traded in a variety of goods on the ocean, he wanted to monopolise the lucrative drug trade, but Will Merchant beat him to that coveted prize.
Crystal had long entertained a belief that Blacker knew something about Will’s murder, but there was no evidence to prove it as fact. ‘Satisfactory,’ she replied, and returned to studying her cards.
‘I heard you’re struggling to meet your commitment to the princes,’ Blacker suggested.
Crystal looked up. ‘You heard wrong, as usual.’
Blacker raised a thin eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’
‘Your turn, Courage,’ Lili prompted.
Blacker played his card. ‘It’s dangerous to make the princes unhappy,’ he added.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Crystal retorted. ‘They’re always happy with what I provide.’ She played her card. ‘Which reminds me, Mr Blacker, how’s your latest wife doing?’
She watched Blacker flinch at her acid comment. He’d already been married four times and each former wife left him within two years, with rumours about their leaving cruelly revolving around his ability to satisfy a woman. ‘She’s very happy, thank you Mrs Merchant,’ he icily replied, and retorted with, ‘And how’s that bitch you keep on heat satisfying your needs?’
Crystal smiled as Marketman won the round, and Crystal and Plank the Finder were eliminated. ‘I’m very satisfied, Mr Blacker,’ she said calmly.
‘It’s quietening down out there,’ Plank announced as he pushed back from the table. ‘I might check what’s happened.’
‘Thank you, Plank,’ Lili replied, ‘but relax. My keepers will let us know what’s transpired. Pour another mead.’
Crystal watched the cards being dealt and played. Mrs Wells was eliminated. Marketman kept the deal. ‘Drink?’ Plank asked, holding a mug of warm mead towards her.
‘No,’ she replied.
A knock at the door interrupted the game. Lili rose to answer it. A man’s head appeared, a brief exchange took place, and Lili frowned. The keeper’s head disappeared. ‘There’s a problem,’ Lili announced, turning to her guests.
‘What sort of problem?’ Mrs Wells asked.
‘I’ve got three dead out there.’
‘Oh,’ Marketman gasped.
Lili looked directly at Crystal and announced, ‘One of them is your shipmaster.’
The fire was burning heartily when Crystal entered the lounge and Lin was sitting comfortably before it with the grey cat on her lap. ‘Where have you been?’ Crystal asked.
Lin looked up from stroking the cat and replied, ‘Organising a small deal with an old friend along the Main Way.’
Crystal remained unmoved. ‘Who exactly?’
Lin straightened up. ‘If you must know, it was Wine Caskmaker.’
‘I thought you and he didn’t speak anymore.’
‘Generally, no, but this was a business matter.’
‘And?’
Lin snorted, showing her boredom with the questioning game. ‘He wanted me to cut him a small part of the euphoria deals, you know, for old time’s sake. His tavern’s not doing too well. He thought if he could get some cheap drugs for his customers he could grow his business.’
‘You know I don’t do that,’ Crystal abruptly remarked.
‘I know that, Crystal darling,’ Lin crooned. ‘I told Wine exactly that. He’s getting desperate. That’s all.’
‘We had an agreement about ex-lovers.’
‘You’re not jealous, are you, Crystal?’ said Lin, rising to approach Crystal coquettishly.
‘Don’t be so stupid!’ Crystal replied, but she avoided Lin’s arms and crossed the room to the kitchen door.
‘Why so grouchy then? Lin asked. ‘Wine Caskmaker’s no threat to you.’
Crystal glared. ‘How do you know that? Who in this city isn’t a threat to me?’
‘Me,’ Lin answered, smiling.
‘If you keep skulking away to make private meetings with ex-lovers you become a threat,’ Crystal warned.
‘How?’
‘Someone is making a well-planned attempt to break my business with the princes. They’re exploring every vulnerability I have.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Everything that’s happened,’ Crystal replied and moved back towards the fireplace. ‘The shipwrecks. The attack in the tunnel. Now they’ve murdered Shipmaster Gull.’
‘Murdered Gull?’ Lin gasped. ‘When?’
‘In the Lady Luck. It was made to look like just another brawl, but someone knifed him seven times.’
‘Who?’
‘Hired murderers. Gull wasn’t the only one killed. Two other men died. Witnesses, and none of them are reliable, said they thought Gull killed one of the dead men. He was a labourer in the iron foundry. Wife and five kids.’
‘And the other dead man?’
‘A fisherman. He was drinking with Gull when the fight started. His name was Snook. He always had drinks with Gull, apparently.’
‘Are you sure it was murder? Tavern brawls can get very rough.’
Crystal snorted. ‘They get rough enough. Men fight to show off and let off steam, but no one wants to die or kill anyone. It was murder. I’m certain of that. So is Lili.’
‘Any clues at all as to who would organise such a thing?’
‘None.’
‘Why Gull?’
‘Because he might have known something I needed to know about who’s interfering with the shipments.’
The lounge door opened and the servant girl, Apple, entered. ‘Mrs Merchant, Hunter wants to speak with you.’
Crystal nodded and said, ‘Tell Hunter to wait in the meeting room. I’ll come presently.’ Apple exited.
‘Is that why you went to the docks?’ Lin asked.
‘Yes.’
‘So what will you do without Gull to supervise the shipments?’
‘I’ll find a replacement.’
‘Let me do that for you,’ Lin offered, approaching Crystal again. ‘I’ll get someone we can trust to do the job thoroughly.’
‘I can deal with it.’
‘No. I insist,’ she said, and stroked Crystal’s hair. ‘You’ve got too much on your mind as it is. I’ll find a new shipmaster. I know someone who might fit the order perfectly.’
‘Who?’ Crystal asked.
‘Let me speak to him first. If he’s interested, I’ll arrange a meeting with you.’
‘I’m getting too many surprises of late, Lin. Who is it?’
Lin smiled sweetly and touched Crystal’s cheek softly. ‘Trust me on this. I’ll go to speak to him.’ When Crystal merely stared at her silently, she took hold of Crystal’s hand and said, ‘It will work out. It always does.’ She kissed Crystal’s cheek and headed for the meeting room door.
Crystal followed in Lin’s wake and found Hunter waiting. ‘Well?’ she asked. ‘Did you find what I was looking for?’
‘Yes, Mrs Merchant. There’s an old woman with a bookshop along Brewery Lane just over the bridge.’
‘Thank you, Hunter. Can you take me to her this evening?’
‘Her shop won’t be open, Mrs Merchant.’
‘But she lives in the shop, doesn’t she?’ Crystal asked.
‘I think she lives above it.’
‘Then we will pay her a visit.’
F
or Swift, the request passed by word-of-mouth to her by Plug Lager’s boy to meet with an unnamed individual in the Fat Wombat at midnight was unusual. She normally received orders from boys sent with code words to identify them as Guild messengers. The exception was the youth who earlier that day brought her the commission to assassinate Prince Gift and she was wary of that job because it came through an inappropriate channel. The system as she understood it was breaking down and that made her nervous.
She arrived early in the evening at the Fat Wombat and monitored the patrons who came and went as she sat aloof at a table in the corner, watching for any hint that she was in danger. She knew Plug Lager could be trusted. His tavern was an agreed haven for anyone in trouble in the Foundry Quarter. But desperate people were capable of ignoring such agreements to get what they wanted. Her mentor, Killer Dagger, warned her to always use discretion and caution, no matter who was claiming to be on her side. When Plug sat to share a drink with her, she asked him if he knew who she should expect to come at midnight. ‘I wish I knew,’ he replied. ‘Only people with something to hide and a dark
deal to make come that late into our Quarter. But don’t you worry. I’ll be watching them.’
‘It’s not usual practice,’ Swift said. ‘What if it’s an elaborate trap? I’m not exactly the most popular person in the city now.’
‘You have important friends watching out for you,’ Plug reminded her. ‘You just listen to what is offered and make up your own mind on the matter as you always do.’
So she waited for midnight, while the customers gradually dwindled, until only three men at a table near the entrance remained. They were high on euphoria and were involved in quietly playing a slow hand of cards. Plug and the boy, Hop, were cleaning the pots and jugs and tabletops, tidying up after a quietly successful trading night. Finally Plug spoke to the men at the table and they rose and departed. Then he crossed to Swift and asked if she wanted anything to drink or eat. ‘What time is it?’ she asked.
‘By the candle rings behind the bar, it’s already past midnight. Your guest is late,’ he said. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you something?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘If he doesn’t show shortly, I’m leaving.’
Plug sent Hop to bed and blew out the lamps around the tavern, except for one near Swift’s table and the solitary wire-lightning globe above the bar. He slid the bolt on the front door before stacking the chairs onto the tables, one by one. As he lifted the last chair into place, someone knocked at the door. Swift looked across at him. ‘I’ll open it,’ he said, moving towards the entrance. Plug unlocked the door and opened it cautiously. A muffled voice spoke, after which Plug ushered in a hooded figure, pointing towards Swift. He closed and re-bolted the door.
As the figure approached, Swift noted the man’s confident gait and leather boots. He sat on the chair
opposite and lowered the hood, revealing himself as a handsome young man with thick, wavy dark hair. ‘You’re a soldier,’ she said.
The young man’s eyes widened. ‘What makes you so sure of that?’
‘What do you want with me?’ Swift asked, her hand resting on the handle of her knife.
‘I asked the first question,’ the soldier returned, unfazed by her directness.
‘Nice boots. The way you walk. Your build. Pretty face. Soldier. King’s guardsman, in fact.’ She smiled cynically. ‘Now your answer to my question.’
The soldier glanced over his shoulder at Plug’s shadowy figure leaning against the bar, then turned back to Swift and leaned forward. He placed his right hand on the table and turned the palm up to reveal a playing card. ‘Your call,’ he said.
Swift reached for the card and flipped it over. The joker. She took the card and slid it inside her tunic. ‘Payment?’
‘To be made upon completion of the game,’ the soldier replied. He raised his hood abruptly, stood and headed for the door.
Plug reached it first, unlocked it, and let the soldier slip through into the night. After he locked it, he returned to Swift and asked, ‘Well?’
She nodded, and answered, ‘Interesting,’ without further explanation.
‘Anyone of interest?’ he asked, but when he saw Swift’s stern expression he nodded and said, ‘I know, I know,’ and walked towards the door, preparing to let Swift retreat into the night.
As the youth slid into a side alley among the morning shadows, Swift hesitated, pretending to be attracted to the pottery wares on a vendor’s stand in the tiny street
market. She used her peripheral vision to observe the alley. A tousled head peered out and slid back. There was no doubt that she was being followed. Why she was being followed could be for several reasons. She picked up a copper pot, rolled it over in her hands, then returned it, ignoring the potter’s haggling pleas, and headed for a nearby tavern. If the youth following was seeking her for business reasons, a tavern would suit his needs. If he didn’t follow her in, she would have to lose him and quickly—or kill him.
The sign above a small doorway identified the Three Barking Dogs, a diminutive, dirty establishment, one of a hundred of its kind in the Foundry Quarter.
Poor people have few pleasures and drinking cheap beer is one
, she reminded herself. The old assassin who taught her the trade often muttered that maxim. ‘The rich can enjoy their fine wines and big halls, but our kind have the inns and taverns and alehouses, and that makes us all the richer,’ he said one night at the height of a drinking binge.
Swift entered and examined who was in the little common room. An old man was hunched at a table. A youth slouched behind the bar. Swift chose a table near the door, sat and waited. Moments later the door opened and the dark-haired youth entered. He blinked in the dull light, but when he realised that Swift was staring directly at him he flinched nervously. Instead of retreating, however, he approached and asked nervously, ‘Are you Swift?’
‘Who’s asking?’ she retorted.
‘I need to know if you’re Swift. I’m to say “nemesis” if you are.’
‘Jarudha is a hoax,’ she replied. The youth’s eyes widened in recognition. ‘Sit down,’ she told him. ‘You’ve found me.’ She waited for him to sit before she asked for his message.
The youth looked around nervously. ‘Is it safe?’
‘Tell me the message,’ she repeated.
Composing himself, the youth closed his eyes and said, ‘Thirdson next.’ He opened his eyes.
‘Is that it?’ Swift asked. The youth nodded. ‘Good. Now go,’ she told him.
She waited until the messenger was outside before she stood at the dirty window, watching the street in case the youth was a decoy in an elaborate trap. When she was satisfied that his mission might have been genuine, she went to the bar, ordered a beer, and asked the skinny youth serving behind the bar for what he knew of Prince Thirdson’s recent affairs. ‘He’s gone north with Prince River and the army to fight the rebels,’ the boy told her.
‘When?’ she asked.
‘A couple of days before the king died. There was a big commotion down at the docks with soldiers and ships being loaded.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, and downed her beer. Thirst slaked, she left the tavern and headed for the residences where her sister Passion lived.
Her mind was cataloguing and assessing a strange assortment of information and nothing seemed right. In the space of a day, she suddenly had three jobs to complete—the elimination of two princes and a major citizen. The boy who had brought the job naming Prince Gift as her next target came in an unusual manner, without the familiar passwords, and she was naturally wary of that employment. The second boy used the password, but he came with a commission to kill a prince who was out of the city, which made no sense. And there was the soldier’s visit. From where he came, she didn’t dare presume, but his job was for her to assassinate the Joker, the drug mogul and most powerful mercantile figure in Port of Joy. She knew of
several professional attempts to kill her, none successful, so even if she took the job she doubted it was one she could do—which left her wondering who the players were behind this sudden rash of job offers.
She turned off the Main Way after a short distance and cut through a long alley, but halfway along, sensing that all was not right, she stepped into a doorway and waited. The alley was empty, except for a mangy brindle cat scratching at a refuse pile. She checked the direction from which she came, but there was no one in sight except people passing along the Main Way. Perhaps she was being too wary. Her mentor committed a lot of time early in her training to get her to master her fear. ‘Fear will kill you quicker than any sword. It’s self-administered poison,’ he warned when she lost her nerve practising an approach on a target. ‘Master your fear and you will save your life.’
Assassinating a wanton wreck like Shortear was a challenge with a degree of professional and moral satisfaction. She understood why he had to die. Killing a young prince, a boy of Gift’s age, was questionable and dangerous. Being asked to kill a third prince, especially a man with Thirdson’s status as the city’s military leader, presented a conundrum. Who was intent on methodically killing the princes? And was there a connection between the commissions on the princes and the assassination of the Joker?
Movement at the far end of the alley distracted her. A soldier appeared—then two more. They walked casually, but their swords were drawn and they peered into the doorways they passed with deliberate purpose.
They wouldn’t be looking for me
, she reasoned, but she pressed against the door and tried the handle. It was locked. She swore. The only option was to calmly walk out as if she’d been in the house, to avoid attracting attention, and head for the Main Way from where she’d
come.
They’re not looking for me
, she reminded herself. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out. Surreptitiously glancing in the soldiers’ direction to confirm that they were advancing steadily, she turned away from them and started to stroll towards the Main Way. A cart rolled across the narrow vista. A dog trotted past. Two women passed. ‘You!’ Hearing the soldier’s shout, she ran.
At the Main Way, she crossed between two men on horseback and a cart carrying chickens in baskets, looking over her shoulder to find that the soldiers were after her. One was clearly faster because he was already crossing the street. She assessed where she was. The bridge to the Northern Quarter was a short distance, but with the guards on duty that was not on option. Instead, she bolted along the street to the east, eluding the pursuing soldier’s outstretched hands as he lunged at her, and cut into a narrow street lined with merchant stores. She jumped over a group of small children playing in the street and skirted men unloading bags from a wagon outside a grain store, before turning into a broken doorway that opened into an abandoned two-storey shop. She skipped up the wooden stairway to the second level, where she crouched to rest, catch her breath, and listen to the noise in the street outside.
The top storey, like downstairs, was a single space, probably once the living quarters of the shop owners but now empty, except for bird shit and cobwebs. Green roof shingles had tumbled to the wooden floor. A broken wooden shutter hung from one surviving hinge, letting in daylight. A pigeon sat on the windowsill, head cocked inquisitively, watching Swift. Boots scraped on the dirt below. She presumed it was the leading soldier. If she was lucky, he’d peer in, see and hear nothing and move on. Then she heard running steps approach. ‘She’s in here,’ a voice announced.
‘Do you think it’s her for certain?’
‘She ran when she saw us. She fits the description. It’ll be her.’
‘Should we send for some help?’
A man laughed, and said, ‘One girl. Three of us.’
‘She’s an assassin.’
‘She’s one girl.’
‘You first.’
‘My pleasure.’
Swift drew her knife, but stayed crouched where she was. She wished she had her hand crossbow and reminded herself that she needed to buy another weapon. She surveyed the room, looking for potential weapons. A broken narrow beam looked useful, especially with a triplet of long rusted brads protruding like twisted, pointy fingers at one end. The window was an option. Or up through the roof.
The stairs creaked. A red cap appeared over the top step and then the muzzle of a thundermaker. She sprang, swinging on the banister post, and kicked the soldier solidly in the face with both feet. As he cartwheeled into his companions, Swift reclaimed her balance and scampered back up the steps, sheathing her knife and picking up the broken beam. It felt solid, weighty. She swung it as the second soldier reached the top of the stairs, the brads tearing across his cheek and ripping into his neck, the impact sending his thundermaker tumbling from his grip. He screamed with pain, but he surprised Swift by grabbing the beam to wrench it loose, so she lashed out with her boot again, catching his left temple, sending him crashing back. The third soldier, poised on the bottom of the stairs, looked up at her. ‘Come on, then,’ she challenged, but he held his ground, waiting for his companions to rally.
‘Bitch!’ the first soldier bellowed, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his gauntlet, and he pushed his reluctant fellow forward, urging, ‘I’m fine. Let’s get her.’
Swift ran at the wall, sprang up it to grab an exposed beam and swung through a gap in the broken roof. She slid awkwardly on the loose tiles, struggling to avoid falling into the street below, got a grip, and hauled herself up the slippery tiles to peer back down through the hole in the roof at the infuriated soldiers. ‘Where now, you little bitch?’ the soldier with the bloodied nose asked as he brushed dust from his thundermaker. ‘Caught like a possum up a drain, eh?’
She assessed the rooftop geography. The roof she was on was a storey higher than the building to the left. The one to the right was a similar height, but there was a space more than five armspans wide separating them. The building behind was a storey higher than her roof with a green shuttered window and a drainpipe in the wall facing her.
To jump down meant risking an injury and she could see the roof was of loose tiling. She had jumped onto a similar roof almost three years ago and fell straight through, into the bedroom of a startled couple. She had twisted her ankle in the fall and nearly ended up arrested. She’d only go that way if there were no better choices.