Roland looked up at Merhim with a barely contained growl in his throat.

'What are you doing?' he demanded.

'I want to know what you're planning to do with Holsley.' Merhim pressed the point of the rapier forward, inching closer to Roland's throat. 'I've heard about you, Roland Darrow. I know all about your life under the Cruel Queen, and I know you're keeping something from that sweet boy. Now, tell me what.'

Merhim had good instincts; Roland had to give him that. It was true, the rogue was keeping something from his best friend, but he doubted even the gnome could guess what it was. The guards were already pressing in on this area. Behind, a mere few feet away, he could see Kythos still unconscious, still lying on the roof tiles. The gnome had picked a great time to do this.

'I'm not keeping anything from him,' Roland lied. 'He's my best friend.'

'You said all it took was one cut, right?' The blade wobbled within Merhim's grip. 'That's what you told Kythos. One cut and the next set of words out of your mouth will be nothing but the truth. What's stopping me from getting a straight answer out of you?'

'This.'

Roland deftly swung his leg around and knocked Merhim over like a tree caught in the last strike of a woodman's axe. The gnome had been standing a little too closely and was now in the grease. Not entirely his fault, he had needed to get closer thanks to his diminutive size, but Roland had taken the advantage all the same. The rapier rolled towards the rogue, and he didn't hesitate in grabbing it.

Merhim coughed and grumbled. 'You little—'

There wasn't time to hear the end of it, however. Roland could already see this rooftop was a minute away from swarming with guards. Without speaking, he slid through the grease and rushed into the folds of freshly washed laundry. In less than a minute, he was covered by stained sheets and torn bloomers.

Moments passed in silence.

'They've got you cornered.' Merhim's voice cut through the quiet. The gnome had also quickly escaped the grease. 'Just give me the truth and I'll help you escape.'

Roland seriously doubted that. He kept moving, folding back and climbing under the many varieties of clothes that choked up the lines.

In his mind, he knew he needed to get to the rendezvous point and meet up with Holsley. Fortunately, Roland also knew the Unending Alleys like the back of his hand. If he could get his bearings, this rooftop could take him to Traffers Road. The end of that road met Regal Lane, which was home to a rather stout pub called the Gentleman's Hand.

The pub didn't have much, but it did have a sewer grate around the back that he could use to escape. It was probably the only one nearby as well. He shot through another sheet and came to a sudden stop. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. They were clattering on the roof around him, their noise echoing over the streets.

The guards were here.

He raised the point of his rapier as he heard them scuffling about.

'ARGH!' A guard leapt through the sheet to Roland's left. In response, the rogue dove to his side and broke into a roll as the guard swung his mace and hit nothing but empty air. That shout would drive more guards over here.

Roland looked into the guard's face and saw a burly man with a severely broken nose. It had been twisted — no doubt in some bar fight and never set back again. The tip of it pointed to the man's right, rather than straight forward. It was galling to see.

Still, the guard didn't seem to mind. He came at Roland with double ferocity, swinging left and right with wild abandon. Roland dodged these attacks easily. They didn't concern him much, but he knew the exaggerated strikes against the roof would bring more tubheads down on him. He brought his rapier up.

Roland made two cuts. The first across the Bent Nose's cheek after he ducked and then sprang up in a surprise manoeuvre. The second was a nasty one across the guard's outer thigh, made between hefty swings of the man's mace. This one caused the guard to stumble and eventually collapse onto one knee.

Wasting no time, the rogue rushed back into the washing.

Between the lines, he heard more tubheads now — tens of them. He was quickly becoming surrounded. Roland stopped at the sight of a silhouette lit through the next sheet. The rotund figure had stopped to listen, bracing his mace for movement. Quietly, Roland backed away. He didn't want another tubhead giving away his location.

A mace barrelled towards his feet, skidding off the rooftop. It was fortunate that Roland had such wonderfully honed reflexes. The moment he heard the mace ricochet off the roof, he jumped, and it missed his feet by a mere inch. Unfortunately, though, the mace's trajectory was now heading for the rotund silhouette.

There came a clatter followed by a yell as it barrelled through the sheet and into the rotund guard's leg. The guard doubled over in pain, grasping his knee and swearing bloody murder. Roland heard more tubheads rush in. Suddenly, three of them emerged through the makeshift curtains, surrounding him on all sides and easily blocking his retreat.

'Okay,' Roland muttered to himself. 'Let's see how I get myself out of this one.'

A mace came down to his left, accompanied by a shout. Roland redirected it with his rapier and chopped his stone hand into the man's throat. The guard let out a choke and grasped for his neck. This gave Roland an ample opportunity to swing low and cut the man's feet out from under him.

As he ducked low to sweep the guard's legs, another mace came at him in a wide arc, brushing the stray crimson hairs atop his head. Roland turned to see the Bent Nose coming around for another bout. Blood was dripping from the wound on his cheek. Roland jumped back with expert precision, launching off his feet, and backflipped both away from the guard and the next swing of his mace.

The rotund guard saw his chance. The man wasn't carrying a mace but had brought both his fists. He threw the first towards Roland's head, which Roland dodged, and the second caught Roland square in the stomach — no time to be doubled over, though. Roland fought through the pain.

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Bent Nose was on him then, but he was easy enough to deal with. The guard grabbed the rogue, but Roland ducked out of the way, slipping from the man's grasp. Then, he threw his fist, powered on by the rapier's hilt, at the wound he'd sliced into the guard's thigh. The guard let out a yelp and fell to the ground again.

Breathless, Roland turned his attention to the rotund guard. The man swung another fist. It missed. Then another. Another miss. He wouldn't stop, he was like a machine, and Roland was impressed with how fast and far a man of this girth could move. Of course, the rogue had a trick up his sleeve.

He waited patiently for a break between the punches, a single moment where he could enact his diabolical special move. He found it. The rogue threw himself closer, almost touching the rotund guard's body, and brought up his knee right into the man's groin. A single, pathetic whimper was uttered, and the man was suddenly on the ground with a tight clutch on his privates.

Bent Nose gave out a yell. Roland sighed and rolled his eyes. This guard simply would not give up. He came at Roland with a renewed ferocity. Roland dodged the first swing, ducked the second, and sidestepped the third, but even he was getting tired now.

Frustrated, the guard threw his arm shortly after the miss of his next swing. This one did it. His burly arm caught Roland right in the side, and Roland felt something break. The force lifted him off the floor and threw him clear through the next sheet. He rolled uncontrollably, two or three times, before stopping on his front. He needed a moment to recover, but there was little chance of that.

He could see more tubheads through the sheets, their silhouettes quickly approaching the commotion.

Like a bloody champion, the broken-nosed guard stepped triumphantly through the sheet. Roland half expected someone to announce him. The guard smiled, revealing several missing teeth, and stepped closer. The mace was high, and Roland knew if he didn't do something soon, it'd be coming down on his head.

'Wait!' Roland shouted. The guard stepped up to him as more appeared through the folds of clothing. He peered down at Roland in half-amusement. The rogue grinned. 'Tell me, what's a secret you have that you wouldn't want any of the tubheads here to know?'

The guard's eyes went wide.

Although he didn't know it, he had been nicked by a magical weapon. One that compelled him to be truthful. Roland could see the truth rising up like bile towards the man's throat. He knew from experience that the harder they try to hold it down, the more damning the truth was.

'I'm the one that's been crapping in everyone's helmets.'

Roland choked.

All the other tubheads came to an abrupt stop. An awkward, very, very awkward moment passed by as everyone just considered the words that had come out of this burly man's mouth. Roland couldn't believe it. There must be a bit of a story behind this, but he didn't miss the chance to sneak away.

'That was you!' A tubhead to Roland's right shouted. 'What the heck, Deegan!?'

'I didn't check my helmet before I put it on the other day. It was a right mess.' Another, to Roland's left. 'You bastard!'

'I had to get mine cleaned, it cost me a bloody fortune.' A tubhead just across the way.

'Why would you do such a thing?'

Deegan, the broken-nosed guard, looked sheepishly around as if begging for sympathy. He wasn't going to get it. These tubheads were irate and with bloody good cause, too. Roland slowly backed away from the situation, aiming for the sheet directly behind him.

'I don't know.' Deegan rubbed his neck. 'It was to assert my dominance or something, I guess.'

'You guess!?'

A tubhead lunged forward, mace high, and smacked Deegan around the face. An audible ping echoed off his helmet as the other tubheads all moved in. Roland escaped in the ensuing dust cloud and rushed into a new section of the laundry. His heart was beating so fast he could hear it in his ears. That had been a close one. He also couldn't help but stifle a giggle.

The rogue stealthily exited the sheets and came to the end of the washing, about ten feet from the edge of the building. From here, he could navigate his way down into the sewers and meet back up with Holsley.

That's when Merhim decided to make his move.

Unknown to Roland, the gnome had been waiting for him. He jumped out of a nearby sheet with a howl of anger caught in his throat. In one hand, he carried the cat sack. In the other, he had a brick, which he lobbed directly into Roland's chest. The brick connected and bowled the rogue over.

'Oof!' He hit the ground with a solid THUNK.

Roland had tears in his eyes as his body screamed out in pain. The brick had knocked him for a loop. He lay there, chest struggling to catch its breath, looking up at the bright sky above him. The rogue watched, helpless, as Merhim reached down and easily picked up the rapier. A quick sweep of the legs probably wouldn't work this time.

It was true what he had said to Kythos. One cut was all it took to get someone to speak the truth. There wasn't a weapon he could think of that was more dangerous against him. With it, Merhim could reveal the secrets of the ruby, could force him to open up about his darkest desires, or even get him to speak about his past.

Roland couldn't let that happen.

Despite the pain, Roland rolled onto his feet and ran back into the sheets. In the distance, he could still hear the guards arguing. He knew that he could leave now if he wanted. Just hop off the ledge and rush to the rendezvous point. That would mean leaving the rapier behind, though, and that wasn't an option. Not after everything he'd gone through.

Instead, he went back into the colourful clotheslines, hoping that Merhim would follow. It would be easier to ambush him in there and retrieve the weapon.

'Where are you, Roland?' Merhim said above the flailing of sheets and bloomers. 'I just want to ask you one question. That's all. A single question, and if I like the answer, I'll give you back the rapier, and we can pretend this never happened.'

He doubted it.

'What do you have against me?' Roland called back as he crouched behind some sheets, nursing his still-aching chest. 'You didn't like me from the moment you met me.'

'You're a pirate, eh,' replied Merhim. 'While Holsley doesn't believe it, I know you've been lying to him about your past. I've heard the rumours.'

Roland winced a little at the pain in his chest. Gods, that brick had hurt. 'What exactly have you heard?'

'That you helped the Cruel Queen raid villages and towns,' Merhim called to him. 'That you ain't a victim as much as I ain't a butterfly.'

'I didn't want to do any of that stuff,' replied Roland. 'You don't know what it was like to be under her thumb. You have no idea.'

'You deserve to hang. Don't you, Roland?'

He didn't answer.

'Just admit it, eh.'

The guards were regrouping. Roland could hear them formulating plans and taking on fresh orders to search the clotheslines. They'd probably dealt with the tubhead helmet shitter by now. Time was becoming incredibly thin, and he needed to get out of here.

'I'm going to protect Holsley from you,' said Merhim. 'Even if it's the last thing I do.'

It was now or never.

With no magnificent leap, Roland charged through the nearest sheet and rushed right into Merhim. They both went flying into the ground and were suddenly in a desperate struggle for the rapier. Merhim was the weaker of the two, but Roland only had one arm to gain any purchase with.

They growled at each other, grunting as they kicked up dust, but eventually Roland managed to pry the rapier and get away.

'It's over,' he said. 'I've got it.'

Merhim lay there, breathless, as Roland stood above him. For a sickening moment, Roland thought that he might kill Merhim. End it there and then. After all, he couldn't have this gnome following him around the city, betraying him at every opportunity. He shook the thought away in an instant. He wasn't going to kill anyone.

'You've been cut, eh.' Merhim pointed to Roland's arm.

With wide eyes, Roland saw that the gnome was right. It was a small cut, almost insignificant, but the size of the slice didn't matter; it only mattered that it had broken the skin. He backed away, throwing up his hands in defence.

'Wait!' he snapped. 'Don't—'

'What are you keeping from Holsley!' Merhim demanded. 'Tell me!'

Roland couldn't resist.

Like bile, the truth worked its way up his throat. He managed to hold it for a few precious seconds, but eventually he was forced to spit it out. The words even tasted like vomit coming up, and he scowled as he said them. Slowly, with sullen eyes, he answered the gnome's question truthfully.

'I'm the one who killed Dan Biggens.'

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