Christian backtracked and raced around the building just in time to meet the girl coming through the other end of the passage. She gasped when she saw him standing there, his sword pointed directly at her. "Don't move," he warned, staring her directly in the eye. The girl looked to her right--just a stone wall. But to her left was the curving road that lead to the center plaza of town. If she could just distract him . . .
With a yelp, Christian fell backwards, hitting his head on a flower pot that sat on the ground behind him. The girl had kicked him as hard as she could with bare feet and was racing down the street, away from him. A second later, Christian scrambled to his feet and flew down the street after her, ignoring the dirt and dust that now covered his uniform.
"Stop her!" he shouted to the people the girl was rushing past, but they simply looked at the chase with curiosity, not helping at all. Christian crashed into a wagon full of fruit that an old man was pushing, sending apples, grapes, and Christian himself to the ground. Those few moments when everything was chaos were enough for the gypsy girl to race around the corner. When Christian regained his footing and started running after her, he realized he had lost her.
"Damn it," he muttered, kicking one of the apples. He hurried to the end of the block and faced an elderly woman who was sitting on a stool there with her cat. "Did you see which way that girl went?" he asked the woman, not really expecting a truthful answer. She grinned toothlessly at him and shook her head.
"Was petting my cat, dear," she said. "Didn't notice a thing."
"You had to have seen the direction she went!" Christian said, growing impatient. If the girl was still running, she was way ahead of him by them.
"Sorry, dear," the woman said. "Didn't see her."
Without even mumbling a thank-you, Christian turned away and headed back toward the center of town. The city was crawling with gypsies. And he was determined to catch one of them that day, if it was the last thing he'd do.