He left the place on foot, relieved to swap out the grand municipal buildings around him for homes and shops and normal people going about their normal days. He thought he remembered the way from the cab ride over, but as he continued to walk, the homes fell away to dull brick and broken windows, the neat shops to abandoned storefronts. Maybe he just needed to pass through a few unfashionable neighborhoods to reach Main Street. Maybe it was just the way. So he walked on, past wary glances, past grimy children yelling “Sweep! Sweep!”, past boarded windows and a tawdry public house.

After a while, he stopped noticing it, his mind busy circling around Unity, around his sister, around the Nochdvors. But finally, he paused and realized that none of this was familiar. It was when he saw a sign that said “Now Entering Greysdale” that he really began to panic. This was not the way, and now he was sure of it.

A small chimney sweep bumped into him and deposited a layer of soot onto his coat, the dusty ash standing out against the black wool. Gareth frowned at the boy, who cast too pitiable a figure to be angry with. “Do you know the way to Kramer Street?” he asked, handing the boy a coin.

The boy shook his head, then mumbled his thanks and ran off. As Gareth watched him go, he noticed two men huddled near a tavern door, one looking Gareth's way. Perhaps they'd know. He worked his way over to them, but before he could say a word one hurriedly set off, knocking his shoulder into Gareth's in his haste to get away.

“You're gonna wanna check that you still have your purse,” the remaining man suggested.

Gareth glanced over his shoulder to check that the man was speaking to him. There was no one else around. “Me? Why wouldn't I?”

The man coughed, clearly covering a laugh. “That fellow didn't accidentally slam into you,” he said, holding up a hand and wriggling his finger. “Light fingers.”

Gareth checked the inner pocket of his coat and breathed a sigh of relief at finding his pocketbook intact. He inched closer to his new acquaintance. “Thank you, I should've seen the trick for what it was. I was wondering —” He paused, here, to cough. The smells of bread and booze drifting out of the tavern only barely covered the stench of rot, smoke, and feces that permeated Greysdale. “Could you help me? I'm afraid I'm lost.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Are you, now?”

“I'm trying to get to Kramer Street?”

The man thought for a moment, then pointed down the street. “Go down that way and at your first chance, turn left. It'll look like an alley, but don't let that stop you. The other end opens up onto Main Street.”

“Wonderful, thank you!”

Gareth followed the man's instructions, hesitating when he reached the mouth of the alley described. It was exactly the sort of place common sense told him to avoid: dark, with large objects obscuring the view to the other end. When he looked up, though, he could see the spires of a church he knew to be on Main Street. So he held a handkerchief to his face to block the smell, so foul it brought tears to his eyes, then plowed into the alley.

He'd only made it about a third of the way through when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump and hiss like a feral cat. He bit his own tongue to keep from shouting, but it was only the man from before, the one who'd given him directions.

“Sorry to scare you,” the man said, hiding another smile. “You dropped this, I think.” He held out Gareth's cigarette case. When Gareth reached to take it, the man only pulled it closer to himself. “You should be careful walking around this place at night, sir. With your clothes and your fancy way of speaking, you’re asking to get robbed.”

“Oh,” Gareth said, uncertain.

He wanted to give the man the benefit of the doubt, but it was impossible not to hear the threat in his words. In the end, he decided to run. He could replace the cigarette case, but the same could not be said of his life. When he turned, though, he found another man behind him, this one carrying a knife that glittered in the moonlight. It was the other man from before, Gareth realized, the one that had bumped into him.

He'd been played. He glanced toward the mouth of the alley, but he knew no one would see them. It had been so dark from the street, the street itself too empty.

Gareth had always imagined that being well-educated and reasonably clever, he'd be quick-thinking in emergencies. He always hated books where the hero froze at a crucial moment. But he hadn't understood the paralyzing effects of fear, the way powerlessness chilled your bones and whistled through your blood with every beat of your heart. He understood it now, as the stranger's knife danced along the back of his neck.

“Call for help and Tag will slit your throat faster than you can piss yourself,” said the man with Gareth's cigarette case.

Before Gareth could feel a fresh wave of fear at that, Tag wrenched Gareth's arms behind his back while the other slammed his knee into Gareth's groin. Gareth grunted, the air leaving his lungs in a staccato burst, and he fell to the ground, barely registering the pain of his knees hitting the hard dirt.

“Take my money, just leave me be,” Gareth gasped when his breath finally returned to him. He wondered, briefly, what his father would think of him begging. This was not how Ranulfs behaved, even to save their lives. Before the thought could go further, his assailant slammed his fist into Gareth's face. Gareth flew back at the blow, his head hitting alley brick. Lights burst before his eyes.

No one would see him, no one would hear him, so with shaking hands, Gareth threw his pocketbook at his assailant's feet. The man rifled through it, pulled out Gareth's Unity identification, and held the laminated papers to the light. “What's this?”

“Looks like junk,” Tag suggested.

“What's it say?” the other asked Gareth. He sneered when he saw Gareth trying to inch his way down the alley. “Tag, stop him.”

He studied the papers some more while Tag grabbed Gareth by the collar. “That's Unity's seal, right there. I bet we can get a good price for whatever this is. Search him, see if he's hiding anything else.”

It was now or never.

“HELP!” Gareth shouted.

He thought he saw a shadow hesitate at the mouth of the alley, but he knew it was wishful thinking. No one could see them. He looked back at Tag in time to see a fist speeding toward his face. It came so fast he couldn’t even wince: he collapsed against the wall, pain radiating as his head hit the brick, and then everything faded to black.