I backed against the nearest wall, hands feeling hopelessly behind me for something, anything, to grab and use as a weapon. My Hair floated about my head as if I were underwater. Baldbeak hovered above, making as much noise as he could, but the glyph tattoos on the man’s hands were glowing bright blue, and they seemed to be keeping the raven from getting any closer. I scrabbled behind me, but found nothing but strands of dead ivy and loose mortar.
“I didn’t do anything,” I managed to say, my voice trembling. “Why do you want me?”
He just grinned, grabbing me by the wrists and pulling them sharply to my front, as if preparing to bind them. I writhed in his grasp. My Hair lashed out at him again, leaving a welt across his cheek, but his grin did not falter. Panic rose in my throat, and my head throbbed.
Suddenly—a shudder in the ground, bone-deep. An unpleasant, low, humming note. An earthquake? I didn’t know where the sound and sensation were coming from, but felt them rise from below my feet to fill me, rattling my teeth in my skull and making my limbs feel loose and pliant in their sockets.
No, not an earthquake—somehow, this sensation was coming from me. The man tried to strengthen his grip, but that shaking, rumbling, thrummingthing, whatever it was, built to a singular point, a searing crack that made my vision explode white. The man screamed: a thin, childlike sound. He clutched his right forearm with his left hand, but even so, I could see that it now dangled at an impossible angle. Something white and wet as a melting candle extruded from the skin. I blinked until my vision cleared, then felt my stomach churn as I saw it clearly.
The man followed my gaze. His whole body shook, and his face drained of color.
The bone. It was the bone of his arm, snapped in two. Exposed to the air.
My breath came raggedly. I hadn’t done that—had I?
The man swayed on his feet and vomited, the mess bubbling sluggishly out of his mouth and over his chin. He was about to pass out, I could see, from the shock and the pain. Before he fell, I heaved myself up to his shoulders and pushed off with my feet, using him as a springboard to grab the top of one of the brick walls. He groped for me half-heartedly with his good arm, but I was already up and over, landing heavily on the other side and running again, Baldbeak flying just ahead.
Silly. Slow.I heard Mother’s voice, clipped and impatient, and shook my head as I ran. I should have known better than to linger by the tapestry where I could be seen by anyone, when I had no idea who had taken Mother or might be looking for me. I needed to catch my breath andthink.
Baldbeak squawked from up ahead. He had found a crematorium with an immense protruding chimney whose base jutted out into an alleyway, a perfect hiding place. I ducked behind it and huddled there against the sooty brick, wrapping my arms about myself and trying to slow my breathing. My Hair crept around my neck, attempting to comfort me. It might have worked, except Baldbeak started picking at it with his beak, and soon the two of them were squabbling silently on my shoulder. I ignored them.
Who was that? Why had he pursued me?
As the heat of exertion faded, I started to feel a creeping, deadly cold. The brick chimney provided some radiant heat, but I would not survive a winter’s night outside. The glims lit up one by one as the evening set in, each with its own shimmering halo of lit raindrops, and the smoke of the many crematoriums showed brown against the night sky, sweet and rancid at once, seeping into my clothes.
Now that the glims were lit, it stood to reason that the night watchmen would be walking the streets very soon. The best thing to do would be to find a watchman and tell him my predicament, surely? The Watch served the king, not the Temple, Mother had said. I dared not step out until I heard one calling, though, lest I ran into someone else from the Temple, so I stayed hunched and hidden, poking my head out just enough to watch the parade of feet, hooves, and carriage wheels pass on the street. The cold soaked into my bones. I wished I were back in the Tower. I wished Mother were with me.
When I heard a night watchman calling the time nearby, I crept out of my hiding place and up to the road, my limbs popping and crackling like ice-laden boughs after their long stillness in the cold. I headed towards the sound, my Hair still about my shoulders and throat, doing its best to keep me warm. No one paid attention to me. The night was full of grubby, underdressed children darting from doorway to doorway or huddling under awnings. For all its reputation for piety, the Temple didn’t seem terribly concerned about the people who lived in the cracks and crannies of its holiest city.
I followed the watchman’s bellow and soon I saw him—a stocky man puffing on what smelled like a cheap cigar. I took a deep breath, smoothed my Hair as best I could, and started towards him.
A hand grabbed me by the shoulder, and I stifled a yelp.
“What do you think you’re doing?” said a voice.
I spun round.Someonewas standing there, I was sure—the grasp on me felt solid enough—but even when I blinked and tried to focus my eyes, I couldn’t make anything out. Which was ridiculous, because he was a foot away from me. At least, the voice sounded like ahe.
“Let me go!” I wriggled in his grasp, but couldn’t get away. My Hair tightened about my throat again.You’re no help, I said to it silently. Of all the times to decide not to lash out.
“Wait,” said the voice, still holding me firm with its disembodied hand. “Look.”
Reluctantly, I obeyed. The night watchman had come to a halt, his breath steaming in the air, looking like fire as the glim-light hit it. He stamped his feet, trying to keep them warm. The stranger’s invisible grip stayed firm on my arm.
As I watched, a figure approached the watchman, and they began to talk. The watchman lit another cigar, the smoke ribboning to where I stood. The other person shifted their weight, bringing their face into the light, and I recognized the man from the Temple steps. His arm was in a makeshift sling now. I shrank back.
“You see?” said the voice.
I swallowed and nodded.
“You are not safe here,” said the voice. “There is no one in power who will give you sanctuary. Not the Watch, not the Temple. No one. Do you understand?”
I nodded again.
“Good.” The hand on my shoulder withdrew, and the Hair slackened its grip on my throat.
“Wait,” I whispered. I turned to squint again at the figure that had never quite come into focus—but he was gone. Would it have killed him to tell me wherewassafe to go, or how he knew about the man who pursued me, or even who the Plague hewas?
I fumbled in my pocket for the little token that was the only clue I had as to how to navigate this strange city. The Tin Quarter. Mieka. I had to find both. But how?
