sparks from the anvil into the air. Aldwyn leaped for the ironwork table, carefully positioning the trap directly between the falling hammer and the sword. With a loud clang, the hammer came down square on the metal trap, splitting it in half, allowing Aldwyn to slip his tail free. He made a mental note to add this to his list of greatest escapes, then bolted out through a side door before the swordsmith could even realise what he had done.
Finally trap-free and back at full speed, Aldwyn’s feet barely touched the ground. He ran through the copper district, where merchants were busy setting up displays of hand-crafted candlesticks and cooking vats outside their shop fronts. But Grimslade emerged once more, not to be denied his prize. This was, after all, the same man who was said to have burned an entire building to the ground just to root out a single ’roach. When Aldwyn looked back, he was emboldened by the growing distance between him and his pursuer, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He kept running at full speed. The next time he looked back, he saw that Grimslade had done something unexpected: he had stopped dead in his tracks. He loosened the gold drawstrings of a leather pouch hanging from his belt and a shadowy puff of smoke burst out, quickly assuming the shape of a dog. Aldwyn tried hard not to panic, because just as tales of Grimslade’s villainous doings had spread through the back alleys, so too had stories of his shadow hounds. Concocted from black magic, these canine apparitions were conjured from a mix of onyx, black mondo grass and burned lupine hair. The tongueless cave shamans from Stalagmos who brewed these predatory demons found they could fetch a rich purse in the Sewer Markets from assassins like Grimslade. And they were well worth the coin. First created to guard the pitch-black jasper mines of Udula, shadow hounds could see in the complete absence of light and their teeth could cut through chain mail. It was enough to make any feline fugitive’s paws tremble. Aldwyn was beginning to wonder if the fresh and juicy flounder he still held in his mouth was really worth the trouble.
The shadow hound sped towards him, avoiding the beams of morning light. It let out a supernatural growl that made the fur on the back of Aldwyn’s neck stand up on end. Picking up the pace, Aldwyn headed straight for what appeared to be a dead end: a fifteen-foot fence that surrounded the sacred rock gardens of Bridgetower’s Sun Temple. With the shadow hound closing the gap, Aldwyn got a better look at the beast chasing after him. No eyes, no nose, just a cloud of black that left wisps of smoke in its wake.
Aldwyn hit the wooden planks of the fence running, his claws vaulting him fifteen feet and over. He landed in the rock garden on the other side, confident that no dog would be able to scale the same height. But the shadow hound was no ordinary dog. It moved straight through the fence like vapour, reforming again on the other side. Aldwyn’s eyes widened as he took off once more, heading for the front steps to the Sun Temple. Not taking time to admire it more closely, he dashed through the entrance to save his skin.
Inside the temple, citizens of Bridgetower had come to pray for the sun to heal their ruined fields, kneeling before a meditation pool illuminated by rotating mirrors. Rays of morning sunlight shot through a hole in the domed ceiling, bouncing off the glass reflectors and causing the water to glow brightly.
Aldwyn passed between two bronze offering bowls filled with flower petals and shiny coins. Overhead grand pictures in gold leaf showed a bearded warrior on a horse pulling the sun across the sky. Aldwyn hoped to run through the temple and sneak out the other side, but found that the silver exit doors had yet to be opened. He turned back to the entrance, only to see the shadow hound blocking his escape. The pads of his paws began to sweat.
“Maybe we can discuss this,” pleaded Aldwyn, dropping the flounder to the ground. “What do you say we go halfsies on this fish? Fifty—fifty.”
The shadowy apparition snarled ferociously sending tentacles of mist towards Aldwyn. He felt a terrible cold as the mist enveloped his white paw, but the tentacles retreated as quickly as they came.
“Sixty—forty works too,” said Aldwyn.
A few of the worshippers looked up from their prayer as the dog moved into the attack position. Baring its jet-black fangs, the hound leaped forwards, flying through the air, straight for Aldwyn’s neck. Aldwyn dodged out of the way, finding himself cornered up against one of the large rotating mirrors. Then he had an idea—an idea that would save his life. Just as the shadow hound got ready to pounce again, Aldwyn flicked his paw, spinning the sun reflector so the concentrated beam of sunlight was directed right at the smoky beast. The light seared a hole straight through the apparition and it let out a blood-curdling scream. Then, in a flash of black, the hound exploded. Only a sprinkling of powdered onyx was left behind.
Aldwyn took a deep breath, picked up the flounder and exited the temple with an air of supreme cockiness, ignoring the commotion he had caused among the worshippers. He crossed through the garden, climbed up a nearby tree and leaped over the fence to the neighbouring city street.
Crossing the merchants’ square, Aldwyn passed an elderly woman with a patch of chin fuzz selling potted plants from her handcart. He looked around and realised that he had never been along this section before. At first glance, it looked no different from any other row of stalls selling cauldrons, spices or books. But he had never seen steam pour out of an empty cauldron, or the pages of books flip on their own—although there was a good chance it was just the wind. And, come to think of it, why was the old lady with the chin fuzz selling plants that were shrivelled up and dead? What use could they have? Well, it didn’t really matter, as long as there was a flat rooftop where he could finally eat his flounder in peace, and catch a long nap afterwards.
Thwoop!
Aldwyn could feel his teeth vibrating as the fish was shot straight out of his mouth by a bolt from Grimslade’s crossbow.
“You’re an impressive foe,” Grimslade called out. “But the chase ends here.”
For a split second, Aldwyn was torn between running for his life and retrieving the fish, which was now pinned to a wooden barrel by the arrow. A second bolt that brushed past the fur on his head helped him make up his mind. Aldwyn dashed around the corner and ran for the first window he could find, leaping into where he did not know.
At first he could hardly see anything, so dark was the inside of the room. Then Aldwyn’s eyes adjusted to the dimness and he noticed dozens, no, hundreds of open cages, stacked floor to ceiling. Inside were animals of all kinds, from butter newts and salamanders to periwinkle falcons and three-toed sloths. There were spoon-billed mocking birds, badgers and hedgehogs covered in poisonous-looking needles. In a nearby glass tank, six diamond-shelled tortoises levitated in a circle while fast asleep, floating a few inches above the ground. On a shelf beside them, a mouse with a single ivory horn sticking out from its head was in the middle of a heated debate with a hairless aardvark.
“You can’t cast a proper hex without black lichen,” argued the mouse.
“Yeah, well you’d be surprised what you can do with locust dung,” said the aardvark. “It’s a pretty versatile component.”
“But who wants to smell that stuff?” responded the mouse, cringing.
Aldwyn didn’t have the faintest idea what they were talking about—hexes, components, locust dung—so he decided to turn his attention to a neighbouring cage, where a buck-toothed wombat was munching on the last bite of a baby carrot. After finishing, he gave his tiny tail a shake and disappeared. Aldwyn blinked, not sure if the light was playing tricks on his eyes. He gave a quick glance around and spotted the wombat now standing on the shop counter, stuffing her furry pouch with more carrots from a wooden bowl.
It