‘Where d’you keep popping off to?’

‘Nowhere.’

Con skewed his eyebrows at me and drummed his knuckles on the crutch. He hadn’t asked me about the cut on my lip yet; for all he knew it had happened on the night of our escape. He had a dark bruise on his forehead too. But he wasn’t stupid.

‘Tell me next time you go nowhere, alright? It’s a big place, this city.’

Sitting on the discarded crates outside the warehouse with Dewar and Mother Far, we watched the comings and goings of the street. Con and Dewar were talking now, while Jerome’s eyes fed on my face like a pair of hungry suckers. He’d always hated when I had secrets and would just stare at me, like now, as if those secrets were bugs in my hair he could pick out and study by pulling their legs off. It wasn’t subtle and wasn’t helping me stop thinking about the place inside the palace’s hill they called the “Deep.” Or the Discs. One of which belonged to me. That engineer didn’t know or care about the treasures I’d lost. What if he mixed them up, or lost them?

I’d made it back to the shelter in time for midday water, but the sun was so hot I was already thirsty again. Mother Far’s thirst was worse, I could tell by the way she kept on kneading her throat. Three cups a day wasn’t enough, not in this heat. Dewar was, right at that moment, saying much the same thing to Con.

‘How long do they expect us to go on like this?’ he said, eyeballing the chutes above our heads. I’d heard them called “aqua-ducks” or something like that. ‘What’s their plan here? What about the elderly, and the children?’

‘They’ve given us a roof, and food and water,’ said Con. Calm, so like Erik I thought, and it stung. ‘And we’re safe, at least for now.’

‘Yeah . . .’ growled the older man. ‘Come off it, you’ve seen the way they look at us. The Vedans don’t want us here.’

‘Dewar, we’d all be dead if they hadn’t let us into Antissa.’

‘That doesn’t mean I have to trust any Antissans!’

Jerome was still staring at me. I hissed—‘What?’—and with an awkward shuffle he looked away. Two minutes later he left his crate and came to sit by me, on mine.

‘Listen Flor,’ he said, using his best secret voice. ‘I dunno what they want with you but you just gotta run next time, okay?’

I looked away. ‘You told Con yet?’

‘No.’

‘Well, don’t.’

‘Only if you promise,’ he nagged, ‘to just run.’

‘Fine.’

‘Promise!’

‘Promise,’ I forced.

Evening came. The heat ebbed off; the street went quiet. Wardens returned, lit the lantern at our door and tumbled fresh coal into the pit. High though they were, the fortress walls didn’t hold in the day’s warmth long after sunset. The brown-clad men and women moved through the warehouse with the baskets that snapped and crackled as if in tune to early flames. Our people murmured, uneasy, but a little calmer than before. No one was weeping tonight, at least not at the moment. From the corner we had claimed I scanned the faces in their clusters. Mother Far as she dozed, Dewar as he rubbed her shoulder to wake her gently. Blearily she raised her hands to the food the warden gave her, and said ‘Thank you.’

Something tightened in my chest.

‘You alright there, Flor?’ said Con.

I nodded, automatic.

When water came to our corner, we all drank it in the smallest of sips and in silence. Then came the food; four thin strips of spiced meat to a head. They didn’t say what meat it was and no one asked, but it was good: better than the bread, though slightly dry and I could have done with one more gulp of water to wash it down with. But there wouldn’t be any more, not till tomorrow.

Jerome fell asleep, but I stayed up with Con by the firepit. On his leg, red blotches had surfaced through the dressing he’d been given. He knew it had to be changed; along with many of the others, he’d have to go back to the healers. Our eyes met over the bandage. ‘Does it hurt?’ I asked him.

‘Not like before,’ he admitted, rolling his eyes at the memory. I didn’t want to ask but knew I had to. He’d only been hurt because of me, and if it weren’t for him I would be dead.

‘How did it happen?’

For a while he only stared at the bloody clouds on the bandage. When he did speak again his voice sounded like it had those years ago when I’d asked about the fish carved by his father in Naemia. ‘I couldn’t see you anymore when I made it back to the village. And there was so much screaming I couldn’t think straight.’ He stopped. I waited. ‘The Rath broke up and surrounded the huts. There weren’t that many of them, maybe only a dozen.’

‘No,’ I interrupted, ‘there were more. Much more than that. About thirty or forty.’

He shook his head. ‘Maybe it feels that way, Florian, but it wasn’t so many.’

It didn’t sit right. Reluctantly, I let the bright-electric terror of the memory back into my mind’s eye for a moment. Surging through the fog, I saw the blurry rabble, moving, running, and those that broke ahead sprinting on all-fours like pack dogs. It made my heart race so I fogged it all back up again quickly.

‘Everyone was so scared,’ Con was saying, still shaking his head as if he’d forgotten to stop it, eyes going far away. ‘Some ran straight into their spears, not knowing how to escape, only knowing they had to run, try to get away, get to the river. I saw a boy fall with a spear in him and . . . well, I knew Jerome was at the carts already. I thought it was you.’

There was a shimmer on his eyes; I willed myself not to look away from them.

‘But it wasn’t.’ He took a breath. ‘I was almost there, at our hut, when I saw one of them going inside. So I ran harder, thinking that’s where you’d be if you were anywhere. But they were so damn fast, those . . .’ His face creased up. He bit his lip. He was going to swear, I could tell. But he didn’t. ‘Those things! And they just came out of nowhere. Bastard pulled me down and stuck my leg. I don’t remember the pain—must’ve had a weak one or something—but I grabbed the spear off him and tried to spike him right back with it. The spear just broke though, so I threw it and . . . ran.’ Only now, touching the top of his thigh, did he wince. ‘You know about the poison. Guess I was lucky.’

Gloomily, I looked into the coals of the pit. Inside my head I could still hear Con’s voice as he ran. Ran to my rescue, calling my name. If I didn’t say it to him now, I never would.

‘Thanks.’

‘For what?’ he said, not looking at me.

‘You know,’ I mumbled.

But he looked up and narrowed his eyes; those clear eyes I’d trusted ever since I was eight. He’d never been the kind of boy, or man, to brag of things, but my heart sank now that his modesty would force me to say it.

‘For saving my life,’ I said, embarrassed at how the words sounded aloud. ‘For pulling me out of the hut. For getting me on the cart in time.’ Hoping it would stop the heat from rising to my cheeks, I nodded firmly, several times. But when I looked at him again his eyes weren’t only clear, but vacant. It was one of those moments when he looked like Jerome. His shoulders tensed.

‘Florian, I didn’t find you in the hut. That Rath had gone too. It was empty,’ he said. ‘Some of Sarah’s things were lying over the floor, but there was nobody in there.’

I stared at his face.

‘When I got to the carts at the shallows, I was bleeding really badly and starting to black out. But I saw you. You were there before me.’

Before I could think of something to say to that, he smiled sadly and reached across his crutch to hold my shoulder. Like Erik, again.

‘What happened won’t be easy to forget,’ he said softly. ‘Maybe we never will. But we’re here now, and we’re safe. And we’re together, the three of us. That’s what we’ve got. We’ll look after each other. Okay?’

‘Mm-hm,’ I nodded. Automatic.

I helped him up so he could go back to our corner and sleep. Then I flopped back down and simply gazed at the coals and cast-iron rim of the pit, not knowing what I should think. On the iron, badly tarnished, was a relief of rearing lions ‒ lions with big feathery wings. Lions didn’t have wings, what was wrong with this place? Jerms was right, Antissans were weird.

After a while I went back into our corner as well, picked at the end of the blanket on Jerome, pulled it over my head and cushioned my cheek in my palm.

Warmth came quickly, but sleep didn’t. A small dog dashed over the dust of the plain, to ready spears. There again was the monster with those blue marks on its white skin and two black eggs of eyes on me. I’d not dreamed any of it. And there was the Disc’s mirror as I pulled its cloth away. Con called. He called again, again, again.

That creature would have killed me.

How was I alive?

Erik . . . Sarah . . . I reined those tears back with the force of anger and buried my head deeper in the warmth of the blanket, hoping harder than I’d yet let myself hope that it hadn’t been too bad. I’d never know. Not ever. I wasn’t alone in my thoughts, I knew that, as all around me now the sobs grew into weeping through the warehouse. And there they were, Con and Jerome, both by my side, as Con had said. They were like brothers to me, yet now somehow it made no difference.

My fist was slicked-up with sweat by the time I remembered that the Disc wasn’t in it.

The Disc. Could it have . . . possibly . . . ?

Next morning, I was the first in the warehouse to wake up, Jerome’s foot kicking me in the face. Untangling myself from his legs, I went to the door and sat under the lantern in the hush. The fortress wall was a shadow; one I hoped would just stay that way. I didn’t want the sun to break over its battlements, flood the streets and turn the houses back to yellow. I didn’t want another day. But the day didn’t care. At the top of the street, through the empty plaza, a single vendor trundled his cart between the covered market-stands. Shutters opened to his first cries of ‘Salt!’

----------------------------------------

Guards were everywhere in the streets between our warehouse and the big palace, making it impossible to return to the engineer’s “Deep.” No borderland refugee could get much farther than the plaza. Even if he wanted to.

The metal-seller next door was an engineer too, I soon learned. I figured that easily enough listening to his customers talk: they all spoke about something called the “Engineering Guild.” All through the day, his bits of metal would fall and land in the dust, either dropped by mistake or discarded as junk from the counter. He didn’t seem to notice or mind, though I only took and kept the ones that rolled close enough. Jerome took some as well, liking the round ones with holes and flat sides. By the end of the third afternoon he’d scored six. I was less picky, collecting ten different kinds of pieces in the same time: dark grey nuggets, threaded rods, flattened circles, tiny spheres. Bluish, greenish, yellow. Gold? Not really gold, I knew. But all of them were gems, even those rusted red and brown and fully black. And on the crates and in the sand against the wall, and in the dust, we made them soldiers in pitched battles against white stones where we could find them. It was something, anyway. A small distraction. But even then, I was only ever half distracted by the game.

Through the sandals that flapped past us, I kept one eye on the street. I watched the shops on the other side, getting to know the faces and the looks.

The three merchants who faced our warehouse would greet each other in the morning, but that was all. They never laughed or smiled or talked, not with each other. Nor would their eyes stray very far from the fourth stall, some way along; a stall that smoked and squawked from under a plain canvas awning inscribed with the words, “Effod’s Daskh.” Scruffy men and women were always sitting around about it, puffing on pipes.

The next day, our fourth day in the city, there was a change when the fish-shop didn’t open in the morning. Noon came and went and the flaps of yellow canvas still hung closed.

Then I saw him again. The old man from the crane. As soon as I spotted his green turban in the crowds, I was sure. It had been him I’d seen down in that Deep-place. Loquar. Like a rodent from an underground burrow, he scurried toward the stalls I’d been watching. Then suddenly crossed back to our side, as if changing his mind. He waited a while there, looking over at the closed yellow flaps. Only when a group of customers moved from the purple fabric-stall to the red-and-white-stripe coal stall, did he cross over again, making his way towards the purple with such suspicious-looking movements that I thought he might try to steal something from her. Surely he didn’t have a chance of simply melting away into the crowds with a yard of silk under his arm! He didn’t try. The merchant woman caught his eye and glared with interest, leaning forward as he came.

Which was exactly when a brace of donkeys stalled right there in front of me, blocking my view. As their drivers cursed, and Jerome nudged me to get back to our game of stones and nuggets, I craned my neck. But couldn’t see, not from here. So I got up, ignoring the whine of ‘Flo-rrrr . . .!’ behind me, and went to where Loquar had been standing before. Across the fly-whipping tails of the donkeys, I could see him speaking hurriedly with the woman who sold the cloth. He showed her something, though they’d both turned their shoulders against any onlooking eyes. I edged forward.

‘Move, borderlander!’ One of the drivers took a swipe at my head. I ducked.

‘Step away, Florian!’ Dewar snarled, his anger aimed at the drivers as he grabbed my arm and pulled me back towards our doorway. He held me to him, waving a stiff apology to the men, though probably meant as something else. With his big arms draped over my chest, I watched the donkey-driver spit and curse his animals, then try to push them from behind. Such was his mood that if I got in his way again, I didn’t doubt that he would strike me. And by the time he had persuaded his beasts to move again, and cleared off, Loquar was gone.

Leaving a strange, smug smile on the woman’s lips.

----------------------------------------

News came the next day from beyond the fortress walls; we overheard it from the wardens. To the north, Rath had attacked the last borderland settlement, and its survivors were now headed for Antissa with soldiers.

Last settlement. To them it meant nothing, but to us, those were the last Naemians left alive in the whole world. The last of us. At sunset, I watched from a safe place above the gates as the line of carts climbed the rocky track of the hill. Jerome watched beside me, though his big staring eyes would drop every time I tried to meet them. There were more than forty Naemians: dirty, ragged, shaking Naemians; some so badly wounded that I was sure they were dead. No children were among them, or any as old as our own Mother Far. The sounds of their pain rose to meet us, picking at the scabs of our own and making me wonder why we’d come to watch at all.

The soldiers who escorted them dispersed inside the gate, guards barking orders to keep the new arrivals in line and moving forward. Towards the warehouse. The healers took twelve of the injured ones, and the next morning five returned.

Despite the crowding of our shelter, the engineer next door reclaimed the annexe we had used – the small stone building in which I’d first woken – and filled it up with his metal. In a blistering temper he took back all the shiny metal cast-offs we had won, screeching so loudly at me and Jerome for our theft that his tanned face went nearly purple. Jerome stopped sitting outside after that, although he said it was just because it was so hot.

Then things got worse. We still had food twice, and water three times, every day. But now the food was changeless: a stodgy muck of tasteless oats thickened with a very bitter oil, and no more meat or vegetables. Consistent without kindness, the wardens lit the lantern and the firepit at dusk, but didn’t give us more blankets when ours would no longer go around. They never addressed any of us. Questions were always ignored. There was no privacy either. A single rat-eaten rag hung between the eyes of everyone and our more personal ablutions. Wash-water was scarce. Like Con, even the freshly injured had seen barely enough for their faces, hands and feet at the healers. Wounds had been cleaned against infection. That was all. These were my people, I knew, but they all stank of dirt and shit before long, almost impossible to bear in the full heat of the day.

I didn’t care about the sun, much less the angry engineer next door. In the daytime I’d sit out on the crates and watch the flow of passing, chatting, shouting, haggling Antissans with lives that hadn’t been broken yet. I envied them the vended foods they bought and ate in front of us: shelled nuts, dried fruits, salted jerky, biscuits and dumplings, boiled crab and cured fish. Mugs of beer. Rich black coffee in copper cups; served cold, I saw, but rapidly heated by a quick turn in barrel-tops of sun-baked sand. These were the district’s better smells, even if I couldn’t share any of their tastes. They made me think about other things. Like how crab and fish had reached the desert city, far as we were here from the sea.

And all the while I kept an eye out for the little green turban. Loquar had been in the Deep, I was convinced of it now. He was my link to the Discs.

----------------------------------------

The yellow flaps were closed again come the next morning and stayed that way. But sure enough, just after noontime, I spotted Loquar.

This time he stayed well away from the purple cloth-stall, waiting until the woman became distracted by her trade before hurrying across towards the coal-stall instead. The merchant beckoned urgently to him, but before I could see what came out of the turban, a red-and-white flap flopped closed. Almost blocking my view. I saw the string-bound bag change hands.

Loquar stepped back into the crowds.

Checking first for any backhands or kicks coming from the street, I slunk along the warehouse wall. But Loquar only went as far as “Effod’s Daskh” before he wove away again to the opposite side. Right outside the stone building where our wardens kept their post, he stopped. Waited and watched. I watched in turn until, from a residential terrace above the stall, a shawled old woman came down through the smokers’ fumes to hang her washing. I’d seen her do it every day so far and hadn’t really noticed. But Loquar, clearly, expected her. When her laundry covered the line, forming a screen between the stalls, he crossed the street. I followed quickly and hid behind it, just as Loquar plunged his head into the smoke under the awning. ‘Make it sharp, Eff,’ he scraped.

Something squawked inside the stall. Then came another voice: ‘What goods you got?’

I peered between a pair of shirts to see Loquar drop the coal-man’s bag on the counter and tease it open with a blackened finger. There was a shuffle as the merchant withdrew into the smoke and shouted back.

‘That’s the one,’ answered Loquar. Then the merchant said something else that made the old man cackle.

‘What you laughin’ at?’

‘Remembered a joke.’

‘You gave me lousy stuff before. Turns to ash afore it even gets into the bowl, as like!’

‘So what you wanting for it then?’ said Loquar.

‘Six kopechs. That’ll do me.’

‘Oh, six’ll do you?’

‘No less’n five. Hard times, y’know.’

‘Eh. Listen, Eff. You know me. You got hot competition over that there district wall, y’know that too. Can change my connections like that, so I can.’ His fingers snapped. ‘Then times get a smidgen harder, don’t they. Two kopechs.’

The merchant called Effod gave a cough. The coughing went on for a while, as did the squawking behind him, before he spluttered an answer and some coins clattered on his counter. There was no talking after that, but I waited too long to peep out. When I did, Loquar had vanished again.

The next day I was ready. When the washerwoman came down with her laundry, I was there; already waiting on her terrace steps. And right on cue, as soon as the shirts and thobes and yashmaks formed their screen between the stalls, the turban floated through the traffic. I took a post behind the longest of the thobes hung on the line, watching as the old woman turned and achingly climbed back up her steps.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The thobe was batted aside—pegs going flying—and I faced a mouth of yellow teeth.

‘I know you?’

‘No.’

Loquar snatched my arm and twisted. ‘Sure I do,’ he said, smile widening. ‘Borderling banner-scrub!’

‘Not me,’ I said, shaking my head and trying to wrest my arm free.

‘Don’t fuss now.’ He threw a furtive glance over his shoulder, then another ahead at the other three stalls. Leaning in towards my face, his own creased up so deeply that the oil pooled like little rivers in his wrinkles. ‘You been watching?’

‘No, I haven’t!’

‘Course y’ave,’ he grinned back. ‘Got a little deal there with ol’ Effod. Nothing rotten. Just good business, see, clever like. Get a good price.’

I backed away from rancid oil-stink. ‘Why?’

‘Got stuff he wants, don’t I,’ he shrugged. ‘Coals. For lightin’ stuff.’

‘I know what coal is,’ I retorted. ‘Doesn’t he have coal already? That’s what he sells, isn’t it?’

‘Nah, not like this he doesn’t. This stuff burns slow and keeps going twice the time. But he don’t use it, no, see. Sells it the same price to his customers so they come back for twice the daskh they smoked before.’

As I took in what I realised was a dirty little trick, he screwed up his eyes so that all I could see in each one was the murky, oyster-like cataract. Then he took me firmly by the shoulder, a little companionably almost, and hustled me over to the end of the warehouse’s block. We rounded that corner. There he put his back to the passers-by in the main thoroughfare and twisted off his green turban. Out of the hollow inside came a small, rounded machine: a kind of compact device made of some yellowy metal; all loops and whorls and angles edged with blades.

‘Clever piece, innit?’ he said. ‘Chops up fish, so it does. See there and there.’ He pulled a little lever while adjusting some invisible gear, demonstrating the slice of the blades that would decapitate a fish: first a large one, then a small one. It was an intricate thing, finely crafted I thought, much more impressive than his crane.

‘Did you make it?’ I asked him.

‘Never you mind that,’ he replied. ‘Now for this, fishbones there could’a gave me a tidy sum. But seeing as he’s closed up shop and all, I thought ol’ Effy could use it for choppin’ up his daskh.’

‘Will it?’ I said.

‘Wha?’

‘Will it cut that stuff too?’

‘Will it cut . . .’ he started laughing. Then cleared his face to match my own. ‘No, see, it’s for fish. Daskh’s not all soft like fish flesh, it’s thick and tough, stringy. It’ll get all up in the gears. Like as not, thing’ll bust before the week’s out.’

‘You mean break?’

‘More like stop working.’ His eyes fled sideways before he leaned in again. ‘Listen, kid. Effod knows me, right enough, but not for Guild parts. I take my good parts to Rubai there, the cloth-girl. Her lad’s an apprentice in the Guild.’

‘The Engineering Guild?’

‘Very same. Now Guild’s connected with the inkers what gets her good deals on cadmium or goldenrod or some Lostrian pigment. And she’s got special twine—that Zeidhan sisal—what the kindler don’t. So I take the twine to the kindler and he gives me my slow-burning coal.’

The words almost washed over my head but it didn’t matter. What mattered was what he wanted from me. This was my chance and I knew it.

‘Do you want me to do it? Sell it for you?’

He beamed at this and rammed the device into my hands. ‘Y’know, I like you already. Full of ideas, so you are. Eff’ll think you nabbed it off the Guild or some such. See?’

‘He’ll think I’m the thief.’

‘Yeh,’ said Loquar blankly. ‘But he’s gonna want the chopper. Not gonna rat you out, is he.’

‘I’m Naemian,’ I said. Heard Sarah’s voice echo in my head. ‘He’ll know where to find me when it breaks.’

‘Ha!’ The sour, pungent breath exploded in my face. ‘Smoke-head couldn’t tell a Vedan from a goat, much less a borderling.’ Loquar cackled, a papery sound, and yet with those filmy layers over his eyes I wondered how even he had recognised me. ‘Just go over there, try buyin’ some daskh off Effy-boy and make sure he sights the chopper. You want five tallans for it. Here’s one to get you going.’

Cradling the device at my hip, I opened my hand for the coin: square and rusty brown with a circular hole in the middle.

‘Yes?’ Loquar prompted me. When I nodded, he patted my cheek, tousled my hair and covered both with smelly oil. I winced. ‘Thought you was smart, kid. Come back with the five tallans and you can keep that coin right there. Off you scoot.’

Half of me didn’t believe what I was doing. Erik and Sarah hadn’t raised me to steal, or con merchants. But the other half knew that this was already working. I didn’t care about the tallan he’d offered. He thrived on deals, that much was clear, and if I did this thing for him ‒ maybe even better than he hoped ‒ I could make my own deal with him.

Reaching the stall, I looked into the vapours that came from inside; saw the rows of jars on shelves. In the corner of the gloom was a big, bedraggled buzzard that seemed to be trying to find me through its hood. Effod’s face floated forward through smoke, into the sunlight; withered, grey with dewy eyes. ‘What?’ he retched on a cloud from his lips. ‘Well, what’s wantin’ with you, boy?’

‘Daskh,’ I coughed back. ‘For my father.’ I could feel Loquar’s eyes on the device behind my back.

Effod sucked his pipe. ‘Hm, what’s he take?’

My mind raced, snatching words out of the next stinking daskh-cloud. ‘The cheapest one,’ I said. ‘I’ve got one tallan.’

The red-rimmed eyeballs lit with surprise. ‘A tallan, you say! Your da gave you a whole ruddy tallan for his daskh?’

Hoping to distract from my blunder, I took that moment to put the chopper on the counter. How was I supposed to know he’d given me more than I needed? I didn’t know what a tallan was worth! ‘He works for the Guild,’ I made up on the spot.

‘Hm, could have himself a damn sight better than my cheapest with a tallan. I know ‘im? City or Royal? Lot of ‘em Guild boys take my Ginger Slowburn. I’ll given ‘im pound and a half, how’s that sound?’ As I answered with a nod, he noticed the device. ‘What’s that about?’

Before he could touch it, I snatched it back. But he’d had a good look.

‘Looks a fine gadget you got there, boy. Royal Guildcraft is it?’

‘It’s my father’s,’ I said, now scrapping Loquar’s story for my own. Maybe I was better at this than I thought. ‘I’m to take it to the fish shop. For . . . for cutting . . . string.’

That was close.

‘String, eh?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Here now. Your da don’t gotta know you showed it me. Let’s have another peek.’

He leaned further forward on the counter, pipe clamped tight between his teeth, and I tried not to choke as his smoke made my throat itch. His wet eyes sparkled when I held up the device to show him, turned the little gears and pressed the lever as I’d seen Loquar do before. Carefully, I looked over my shoulder at Loquar, who winked – I think – from his post. Then at a sudden scream from the buzzard, I swung my face around again.

‘String,’ murmured Effod again, drawing on the pipe. ‘How’s about a deal?’

‘I’ve to take it to the fish shop,’ I repeated.

‘Fishmonger’s gone under,’ said Effod. ‘Won’t risk the coast journey what with them Rath out on the border, so no more fish, see. Sell it me and I’ll give your da another half-pound o’ the Slowburn.’

I shook my head and tucked the thing under my arm. ‘Well, the fish man was going to pay him fi—’ I chanced it, ‘Six tallans.’

I’d let it slip; his face clouded.

‘You was gonna say five,’ he burred low. ‘You try’na con me, son?’

From his threatening frown I took a backstep, knowing I’d have to stick to my price now or, if he was anything like Loquar, he’d drag it all the way down. Dewar used to talk to Erik about this kind of business all the time, though I’d not understood it back then.

‘It’s not for you anyway,’ I said, ‘so I’ll just take it back home.’ Maybe trusting too much, I turned away from his counter and began to cross the street again. Loquar gaped at me in dismay, head shaking rapidly side-to-side. But he’d been right about Effod: he did want the chopper.

‘Forgettin’ your da’s daskh,’ he called after me.

I turned back. Three cowhide sleeves had been laid out on the counter. Pretending to still be a little unsure, I walked back towards the stall. But when I got there and held out the tallan, he grabbed me. The buzzard screamed.

‘You want six tallans?’ Effod growled and pulled me half-way up onto the counter, so near his face that I could make out the paths his leaking eyes had made alongside his leathery nose. ‘I’ll give you five plus another half-pound o’ the daskh. That’s two pounds for your tallan. You tell your da Eff had a special on the ginger stuff today!’ Letting go with a shove, he went to his shelves, returned with another sleeve and thwacked it down on the others. Then opened his purse, counted five coins and slammed them down too beside them. ‘Give up the gadget.’

I did it quickly; passed him the chopper and swept the coins into my hand. Effod shrank back into his smoke and I escaped, leaving him to marvel over the contraption that would soon be useless to him. Loquar signalled me to keep walking and I followed him as far as the building I’d since learned was a brewery.

‘Second there I thought you was givin’ up on me,’ he said as I tipped the tallans into his hands. Then I held the pouches out to him. ‘What’s this?’ He took them, lifted the fold of a sleeve, sniffed deep and grinned. ‘Ginger Slow, my first choice!’ The sleeves went straight into his turban and then the coins into a pouch. ‘Canny work, kid. Here, take another tallan for your trouble.’

‘I don’t want it,’ I said.

The milky eyes stilled. He scratched his beard. ‘What d’you mean you don’t want it?’ he said, not quite so friendly anymore.

‘I want to make a deal.’

‘Oh, now you tell me.’

‘You work in the Deep, don’t you?’

The eyes shrank, his appreciation for my services shrivelling fast. ‘Odd job maybe. What of it?’

I told him then about the Captain, the Commander and the Chief Engineer. I described the two Discs and the tall vertical cabinet in the corner that they were locked in. When I said what I wanted, he cocked a grubby eyebrow.

‘You do know you’re talkin’ about the Viceroy of Vorth, kid?’

‘Don’t care,’ I stated, stern as I knew how to be.

He stared at me as the breath scraped in and out of his hardened lungs. Then, with a faraway look, nodded. ‘Which one’s yours?’

I stammered at that: a problem. In the Chief Engineer’s workshop, even I had been fooled by the likeness. This Loquar would have no way of telling one Disc from the other.

But mine had been taken. It had been stolen and kept from me. Looking straight into the oysters of his eyes, I made my mind up: ‘They both are.’

----------------------------------------

For another two nights, a hundred of us pressed tightly together in the warehouse shelter, trying to savour the warmth over the stench of our bodies. Both days at noon, I looked out for Loquar, hoping that I could trust him to hold up his end of our deal. But when after the hottest daylight hours, he didn’t come, I would wander; making sure to tell Con where I was going. Jerome sometimes came too, but always returned by himself before long. Antissa scared him.

The people of the city seemed to like us no better. On the warehouse street, the presence of guards was almost regimented now, while trying to weave between the tradesmen and camels was not much more use. Merchants and buyers alike blasted us with their curses all the time, chasing us back as soon as seeing us. Already I was used to the look of a raised hand. Dewar was right. We weren’t welcome.

The first of the Vedish evacuees came the second evening after my business with Loquar. The commotion of dust and shouting somehow carried me to the wall of the fortress where Antissans lined the battlements to watch the hundreds coming from the north.

‘Verunia’s emptied,’ I heard someone say. ‘Caliph Arif brings his people to safety.’

The wardens of our shelter had mentioned Verunia before, the caliphy of Vorth that lay to the north of the fortress, between the ergs of the desert and our own River Elm. I wondered if that meant the Rath had crossed to this side now.

In the dusky haze, the crowd climbed the hill by the road that snaked up among the crags towards the gate. Their skins were the same as most Antissans; soft browns and bronzes. Their hessian cloaks were slightly thicker. I saw the caliph himself: a man with a short, pointed beard, purple garments and a chain of silver links under his coat. He rode with soldiers at the head. No one was dead, I could tell. There were no wounds or any weeping; just the painted-on stares of people newly dispossessed. The gates were opened and their numbers crawled into the city.

Voices filled the night air. Back at the shelter, I could still hear the sounds of families all vying for space in a nearby district. Infants wailed. And yet I found that I still envied them all. Even though they’d been uprooted from their homes, they had another home to go to.

Then something changed for us too. The next morning, as on the day of our arrival, we huddled on the threshold of the warehouse in our scores to clear the way for engineers from the Guild. It had been found that, through its rear wall, the warehouse extended into yet another disused old building, and now our quarters were to be expanded into it. We’d have more room.

Both buildings, however, had warped and weakened with age. Concerns arose that to break through the shared load-bearing wall would cause the roofs of both buildings to collapse. All through the morning they came and went. Even the engineer from next door became involved in the project. Our meal was forgotten about, and at midday when still not a hammer had been lifted on the job, Dewar’s patience ran out.

‘They can’t just leave us like this,’ he fumed and shot spit onto the ground through his front teeth. I watched the dust soak up the gobbet.

Con shrugged. ‘Guess they didn’t expect so many so soon. Think about it, Dew, the other warehouse could’ve gone to the Verunians instead. To be honest, I’m surprised it didn’t.’

A short-lived banging came from inside; far from the kind of banging that would open up a wall.

Dewar shook his head darkly, tamping the temper we knew so well. After the Vedans I’d encountered in the last few days, I found it strange to think that he’d once been the man I most feared in the world. I watched Jerome, who still feared him. In the ten days we’d been here, he’d taken enough desert sun to erase the freckles from his nose. But then all of us had browned from the hours spent out on the street.

‘The wardens have nothing to do with the work,’ Dewar said. ‘They’re just standing there like statues and watching, that’s all, and for what? Those masons have been here for hours and not put so much as a scratch in that wall!’ He gestured to old Mother Far, sitting not far from him. ‘Evelyn’s too weak to sit in this blazing heat without a scrap of food or drop of water. And what about the children?’

Con nodded, lifting a palm. ‘Dew—’

‘We’ve more than a dozen children here, all thirsty!’

He was right about that. And it was true: at least ten engineers were now in there, not one displaying the kind of workmanship I’d been led to expect. Especially knowing, as I did, that the head engineer ran the city like a king. And as for our wardens, surely they were supposed to bring us food. I was hungry. We all were. We couldn’t buy it for ourselves!

Dewar pushed himself to his feet. Worried faces turned towards him, Con’s first among them. ‘Don’t do it, Dewar. Let them finish.’

‘And when will that be, when Evelyn’s dead in the dust?’ He started moving through the huddles.

Con stood too fast, almost dropping his crutch, then with a wince hobbled as fast as he could through the path Dewar had opened. Impulse launched me after them; Jerome behind me in turn.

Just as many people were huddled on the inside of the warehouse door, hard up against the inner wall like corralled cattle. Dewar waded through them purposefully, big hands on heads and shoulders, then strode around the firepit towards the crew at the far wall. Two masons perched there on ladders, tapping with their mallets and chisels. Others looked on, including the tan-robed wardens and a pair of fortress guards. Jerome tugged on my arm and pulled me down behind a shelf.

‘Excuse me,’ said Dewar.

Jerome made himself small as a warden turned around and saw the man coming towards him.

‘You’re to get back with the others until we complete our work here.’

‘With respect, sir, we are thirsty and hungry,’ Dewar put to the warden, more than firmly. ‘There was no morning meal and it is now well past midday. None of my people are accustomed to Vorth’s heat and the work you conduct here forces more than half of them to sit without shade.’

‘The heat will abate,’ the warden answered stiffly. ‘As for your meal, you will have it when it is brought. Now step away.’ The second warden glared.

I thought Dewar might leave it at that, but he didn’t. ‘What about our wounded?’ he said, gesturing behind him just as Con caught him up. ‘Our children and elders? Some didn’t even get enough food last night.’

‘There was food enough for all.’

‘That may be. But the warehouse was crowded with new arrivals. Many were outside.’

‘Then it was the fault of those who were. Do you not see the engineers sent down to double your quarters? Even now, when our city struggles to house the Verunians from the north, we offer you more space, more shelter. Are you not grateful for this boon?’

‘Of course, but—’

‘Of course. You’ll have your food upon completion of the work, borderlander.’

‘But you’re not doing anything here,’ Dewar urged. ‘You’re not an engineer yourself.’

The warden’s eyebrows formed an arrow. The guards, alerted by Dewar’s tone, sidled closer. One guard was a lot bigger than the other; a figure I instantly disliked. Jerome, I was sure, couldn’t get much smaller.

‘There a problem?’ said the big guard.

Dewar puffed out his chest. ‘Yes. My people—’

‘Your people,’ cut in the shorter of the two, ‘will be one whining borderlander short if you don’t get back where we tell you.’

‘We are hungry.’

‘And you will eat when we say,’ the guard snarled back. ‘Get on the street!’

Con risked his balance to put a hand on Dewar’s shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he said, but Dewar shoved his hand away.

‘You too!’ the big guard barked at Con. ‘Clear off, the both of you. Right now!’

The masons stopped their idle tapping while engineers paused their discussions. This was getting worse. Dewar stood his ground. Growing like a storm-cloud, the big guard shouldered towards him, fists like red, knotted clubs. His arm drew back.

‘Guardsman!’

Heads turned as the bright white High Commander Plamen swept in between the huddled Naemians at the door. Two men in uniform walked behind him. The big guard took a step back, away from Dewar, and the wardens fanned out. A little sheepishly, I thought.

‘What goes on here?’ Plamen demanded.

Nervously the chisels took up their tapping again, which made it harder to hear what was said when the Commander got there. But I didn’t get the chance to listen anyway: Jerome pulled my arm. When I looked, he was signalling me towards the door. He knew Plamen was the man who had taken me once; the man I’d told him I would run from on sight. Now I crouched close behind my friend and crept after him, never taking my eyes away from the Commander’s white back at the far wall.

That was, until a rolled-up blanket caught me in the shin and brought me down.

Commander Plamen turned at the sound, though whether it was the slap of my hands on the stone or Jerome’s ‘Shit!’ I’ll never know.

I looked at Plamen, met his eyes and then froze. Not at him, but at the oily brown face at the foot of the ladders.

Loquar. He’d been here this whole time and hadn’t even bothered . . .

‘Flor!’ hissed Jerome.

Con and Dewar looked at us in confusion while Plamen nodded to his men, ‘That’s the one.’

Jerome pulled me up hard. He spun me round, pressed me through the ducking, dodging Naemians and then propelled me through the doorway. Outside, I nearly tripped over more legs, then stumbled straight into the white flanks of the Commander’s horse. The huge beast bucked towards my face but Jerome was quick as always. He snatched my wrist, dragged me underneath the horse’s belly, around the other waiting horses and onward into the street.

The guards on watch must have known. A few surged forward at Jerome, who skated sideways in the dust and darted left. ‘This way!’ he yelled.

Into the grain-store beside the warehouse. Angry curses surrounded us. Then we were out into the alleys behind the warehouse and other buildings.

Around the first corner we turned was a dead-end.

No, not quite dead. There was a ladder to the rooftop; Jerome half-way up it already. ‘Come on!’

I leapt onto the rungs after him, taking them two at a time and, at the flat top, vaulted a low perimeter wall. We dropped behind it for cover just as we heard the sound of boots scraping to a stop below us.

‘Are there two?’

‘I saw two.’

‘He only wants the one.’ That was the Commander’s voice. He sighed. ‘Keep this game short, if we could, please. I tire of ferrying children.’

‘Yes ekharan, but they could have gone—’

‘The ladder.’ I lurched sideways: Jerome had my arm in his grip again, and as soon as I was up he was dragging me through an open doorway. We ran into the factory building where inks and dyes were made, and sprinted down one of the upper-storey rafters. Below us, pumps were heaving and feet squelching in great barrels of the stuff. I ducked and swooped around the fabrics hanging to dry right in our path, but Jerome wasn’t nearly as careful. As he tried to dodge a damp sheet by ducking past it, he grabbed and batted it instead.

His hand came of it blue.

We slammed into a door at the other end. I searched all over it for a latch but Jerome had already mounted a box under the window, now forcing wooden shutters back and smearing them with blue dye off his hand. He was through the window to his waist when, down below, one of the Commander’s men burst into the factory. These men weren’t guards; they carried swords.

Jerome grasped me by my forearms.

‘Watch it!’ I shouted. ‘You’ll get that blue stuff on me!’ He ignored my complaints and hauled me squirming through the gap of the window. Ridiculously strong when he wanted to be, he even caught me as I tumbled down and out.

Another rooftop: the plaza humming just below. We looked towards a crate at its perimeter wall.

‘In there!’ he ordered.

I glanced at the factory window, heard shouting coming from inside, but knew I couldn’t refuse him this time. He raised the lid ‒ the crate was empty and there was space enough for both of us. So we climbed inside it together, eased the lid closed over our heads and crouched in darkness, musting up the air with our panting.

It was only seconds before I felt his nails dig into my arm. I’d heard it too: from the other end of the rooftop, the slip of hands over rungs. We tried to stifle our breathing as footfalls landed on the roof. There’d been another ladder, then.

The steps were slow, leisurely almost, as they neared our spot and stopped outside. Plamen, I knew.

‘Jerms?’ I whispered.

‘What?’

I brushed my fingers over the sticky dye he’d left printed on my arm. ‘Never mind.’

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Again I entered the workshop of the Chief Engineer.

‘Well if it isn’t ekhin Flint,’ said Rusper Symphin. He plucked the goggles from his eyes and snapped them flat against his forehead. ‘Do come inside.’