PART 1

Abbee felt something strike her back, and she pitched forward off the bridge pier. She caught a glimpse of blue sky and the noonday sun before the Charrin River rose up and slapped her in the face. It was cold and wet, and it wrapped around her threadbare shirt and trousers. She twisted and rolled, trying to get her face above the surface. Caught a glimpse of the bridge pier with faces on it. Most laughing or snickering. A couple of sad faces. Timm and Chella, brother and sister. Timm was a wiry boy and two years older than his sibling, a slender wisp of a girl with poor boundary control around other people’s pockets. They frowned at her as she thrashed in the water. The others jeered and pointed.

The water closed over Abbee’s head. She opened her mouth to scream and instead sucked in a mouthful of river. She kicked and thrashed. Her mouth crested the water, and she choked and spluttered. Maybe hanging out on a bridge pier when she couldn’t swim wasn’t the brightest idea in the world.

“Aw, look at her!” someone shouted. “Gonna be another strike! She’s up to four!”

“Five and she’s out!” another cried. “Five and she’s out!”

Anger rose in Abbee’s chest even though she knew she was dying. This wasn’t fair. They knew she was almost out of strikes. Abbee couldn’t see her name on the pier, on account of squeezing her eyes shut. She wouldn’t see it, anyway. It was on the other side. Lots of names were carved into the bridge pier. Most of them had four vertical lines and a fifth through the lines and the name. Five strikes, and you were crossed out. You got crossed out; you got kicked off the pier. Couldn’t come back. Abbee’s name was in green and had three strikes. Somebody had said the names went back twenty years. Abbee was twelve. She couldn’t imagine someone reaching twenty years old. Not a bridgie, anyway.

Abbee felt something grab her arm. The river monster? Sammy was always talking about the river monster. Timm and Chella said it didn’t exist, but Abbee couldn’t swim. She didn’t know if the river monster was real or not. Sammy had seemed serious about it, so Abbee had believed him. Then again, Sammy had pushed her into the river three times already. Abbee kicked. Her foot connected with something soft.

“Abbee!” a voice shouted, sounding strange through the water. Sounding familiar. “It’s me! It’s Timm! Lemme help!”

A hand on her arm again. Abbee tried opening her eyes underwater. It felt weird and wrong. She saw light above and shadows below. The river was deep here, too deep to see the bottom even with the sun overhead. Plenty of dark down there to hide a big river monster.

Abbee felt an arm wrap around her waist. Her head crested the water. She gasped for air. Timm wasn’t much bigger than Abbee, but he had powerful legs. He swam every day. He kicked and pulled, kicked and pulled. He brought Abbee over to the pier and swung her around. She slapped her hands against the rough stone. Chella bent over and pulled her up out of the water. Abbee tried to help and heave herself up, but her arms didn’t work. No strength. She’d expended all her energy flailing in the water.

Chella pulled on Abbee’s arms, but she was tiny. Timm pushed and scraped and heaved until Abbee lay on her back on the pier. She stayed there, coughing and gasping. She was alive. She was alive. Tears welled up in her eyes, clouding her vision. She was alive. She rolled over and started to cry.

She heard the distinct ping of a stone chisel. Abbee knew it was Mith, Sammy’s hanger-on. Mith had three strikes next to his name. He was always the one to carve a strike for somebody else.

Sammy’s head appeared above her, blocking the sun. Rough-cut brown hair hung down around his big round head, framing his usual sneer. “Four strikes, Danner.”

Abbee wiped her tears away. She hated crying in front of Sammy. She hated looking weak in front of anyone. Her father had said she was weak, like her mother. Abbee hated her father like she hated looking weak. Her mother was dead, and her father drank and hit people. Mostly Abbee. She wasn’t big. Fighting with her inebriated father had been like slapping a bear. The bear was slow and clumsy, but it still hurt when it landed a blow. A lot. On the moonless night Abbee had fled her home, she’d escaped with a black eye and bruised ribs. Every breath had been agony. Abbee wished she’d known people big enough to help her hit back, but she’d been alone on the streets of Akken.

Sammy wasn’t much better. He knew Abbee couldn’t swim, and he pushed her off the pier anyway. Abbee knew hanging around a lot of water without knowing how to swim wasn’t smart, but she had nowhere else to go. The bridge pier was the last stop on the river before the North Bend. Abbee knew that the North Bend was where all the thieves in the city lived. At least, that was what her father had said. She hated her father and disliked everything he’d said, but he’d been right about the North Bend. Everyone who lived on that side of the bridge looked harder and meaner than anyone else.

Abbee climbed to her feet and glared at Sammy. She hated that he kept using her surname, even after multiple attempts to get him to use her first name. Abbee disliked using surnames and titles in general, partly because she’d never had a title that she liked. But mostly because “Danner” reminded her of her father and she hated everything about him. “You said you’d stop pushing me into the river.”

“I lied,” Sammy said. He barked a short, nasty chuckle. “And you let your guard down. Made it easy. You want someone to blame—I get it. Too bad that’s you. Blame yourself.”

Abbee wished she’d present a talent right then. A mover. Throw Sammy off the pier with her mind. Or maybe a torch. Set him on fire. But Abbee was twelve and had no talent. Twelve was late. Abbee wasn’t getting a talent. She knew it. She still wished for one. Wished so hard. Nothing came. It never did. Nobody on the pier had a talent. Sammy was old enough, but he didn’t either. Abbee wondered why nobody returned after presenting and kicked Sammy off the pier. Chella said people with talents stopped caring about being in a bridgie gang. They got jobs and made real coin. Abbee knew she wouldn’t be like that. She’d come back and kick Sammy off the pier.

“You gonna do something?” Sammy asked.

Abbee realized she’d balled up her fists. Sammy was a lot bigger than her. Hitting him would be like hitting her father. Like hitting a bear. She relaxed her fists. “No.”

“Good. It’d be too bad if you got five strikes and a busted nose at the same time.”

Thunder crashed in a clear sky, and the pier shook under Abbee’s feet. Everyone froze. Abbee heard shouts of alarm from up on the bridge. More than that. Voices. Angry whispers from all around, in a language she didn’t understand. The whispers died, and the bridge stilled. The shouts kept going.

“Mith!” Sammy barked. “Go up and find out what’s goin’ on.”

“Why me?” Mith whined. “Make Danner go.”

“Are you arguin’ with me?” Sammy demanded. “Do it, or it’s another strike for you.”

Mith glared at Abbee and clambered up the side of the bridge. He moved like he’d done it a thousand times, and reached the top in seconds. The boy looked down and mouthed something to Abbee. She knew what he’d said and felt her face go red. Mith disappeared over the railing. He didn’t see Abbee’s rude gesture in return.

Sammy stood staring up after Mith. Waiting. He’d turned away from Abbee. She could run up and push him into the water. Maybe. She was small. Might bounce off Sammy’s back. And what if it was real trouble, and she needed someone big like him?

Mith leaned out over the bridge railing. “Can’t see it from here,” he called down, “but people are sayin’ the Tower Bridge blew up.”

Abbee remembered seeing the Tower Bridge. A grand span over a great chasm, connecting the Tower’s plateau to the Overlook District. Her mother had brought her up the Tower Road one time. Took all day to climb to the top. They were poor. Couldn’t afford a cart. Abbee’s father had been furious that they’d spent a whole day to see a stupid bridge.

“Blew up?” Sammy echoed.

“With people on it.”

“From what?”

“Dunno. Constables are runnin’ all over the place.”

“Are the carts closin’?” Sammy asked.

Mith leaned back to look. His head reappeared. “Nah, not yet.”

Abbee released tension from her shoulders she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Whatever was happening in the city wasn’t the end of the world. Common on every corner the whole city over, the frosty bread carts could tell the weather. If a big storm was coming, or some bad trouble with the wizards, the carts would close up shop and rattle off. If the bread sellers weren’t nervous, nobody else had to be.

“We’re comin’ up,” Sammy said. “Everybody with me.”

Abbee grabbed the first brick and hauled herself up.

“No, Danner. You stay.”

Abbee fumed and dropped back down. He’d waited until she was about to climb just to tell her no.

Sammy arched a brow. “You gonna fight about it?”

Abbee folded her arms and hugged her anger inside. “No.”

“Good. Stay here and watch the pier. If anything’s missin’ when I come back, it’s another strike.”

Another strike would be five. Abbee glared at him. Sammy smirked at her and climbed up the bridge. Timm followed. Chella opened her mouth to say something. Closed it. She shrugged and climbed up after her brother.

Abbee blinked back tears. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t know why somebody had to stay on the pier to watch their stuff. Timm had said that the constables rarely harassed the bridgie gangs, but they’d clear the pier if they saw detritus from the railings. The gangs always returned, like flies to bad meat. Abbee hadn’t wanted to think of herself as a fly. Still didn’t.

This was stupid. Nobody cared about the junk scattered under the bridge where nobody could see it. A small lean-to sat at the far end, out of the wind, made from scavenged planks and canvas. Abbee used it for sleeping only if Chella was there. Abbee didn’t like being close to Sammy and Mith. The latter especially. He creeped her out.

Abbee waited for what felt like forever. Nobody came back. She sat at the base of the pier and watched the river rush past. She didn’t like being this close to the water. She wished Sammy had let her go with the others. Abbee resolved to ask Timm to teach her to swim when he came back. She didn’t like being helpless. Especially helpless against boredom.

She heard shouting overhead. Angry, frustrated yelling. Abbee climbed up the side of the bridge. Sammy couldn’t yell at her and give her a fifth strike for investigating. It could be the constables, coming to clear out the bridge piers again. She got to the top and peered over the edge.

The bridge was wide enough for four carriages. Abbee knew this because there were currently five of them jammed together down toward the west end, blocking traffic. Their drovers stood atop each one, pointing and yelling at each other, and ignoring the three constables shouting for them to move. Abbee giggled.

Beyond the bridge stood the High Falls of Charrin. Clouds of mist shrouded the bottom. The highest known waterfall in the world and visible from outside the city. Atop the High Falls stood the Tower of Akken, where the wizards lived. Abbee saw three of the Tower’s marble spires from this angle. The Tower Bridge was on the other side. The escarpment stretched in both directions as far as Abbee could see. The tall cliffs supposedly went all the way to the ocean on both sides of the continent, but Abbee had never left Akken. The world outside was rough and scary.

Pedestrian traffic had started to back up behind the carriage jam. Some stood still enough, and distracted enough, to make easy marks for bridgie pickpockets. Abbee climbed over the railing and dropped to the ground. Looked left. Three people stood a few paces away, watching the drovers yell at one another. Abbee gauged the closest one. Their trousers had a pocket sewn onto the side. Something bulged in it. Something squarish. Abbee figured someone might get a couple of fingers in there without them noticing.

“Hey!” Chella barked. Close.

Abbee jumped. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

“You weren’t lookin’,” Chella said. “You were busy tryin’ to get up the nerve to pick that pocket. And you would’ve gotten caught.”

“What? No, I wouldn’t.”

Chella laughed at her. “They’d a caught you red-handed. You’re no good at it. You won’t ever be, neither. You won’t and you know it. You’re too clumsy. Sorry, Abbee, but you are. You need light hands.”

“I can learn,” Abbee said.

“Right,” Chella said, “like you can learn to swim.”

That stung. Doubly so because Abbee’s mother had said the same thing about Abbee’s hands. Abbee hadn’t been deft enough to help her mother with sewing. She couldn’t manage the threads, and she’d consistently poked herself with the needles. Abbee’s mother had let her carry things. But Abbee hadn’t been allowed to touch anything smaller than a pincushion. Her mother had been patient and kind about Abbee’s shortcomings in the sewing department. Her father, not so much. Every time Abbee had poked herself with a needle, he’d called her stupid and slow.

“Where are the others?” Abbee asked, looking around.

“They went upriver. Somebody said there are bodies at the bottom of the Falls.”

“Bodies?”

“That’s what Sammy said. He said he overheard somethin’ about a monster too. Dunno about that part. But you and me are to get bait.”

“Bait?” Abbee asked. “For the river monster?”

“That’s not real,” Chella scoffed. “This monster people are talkin’ about probably isn’t real either, but that’s okay.”

“We’re getting bait?” Abbee asked.

“Sammy said he heard something about a reward for catchin’ the monster. Said he’d split it with us if we got all the bait we could find. I think he’s full of it. He wouldn’t split a bread crust with his best friend. But I’d rather goof off than hang out with Sammy all day. C’mon, let’s go.”

“What about the pier?” Abbee asked. “Sammy said—”

“Nobody cares about the pier,” Chella said. “Sammy just told you to wait down there to tell you to do something. You gotta grow a spine, Abbee, else he’s gonna keep walkin’ all over you.” She turned east, toward the River District end of the bridge. “This way.”

Abbee followed her. “Where are we going?” There were parts of the city she wanted to avoid, and they were all in the direction Chella was walking in.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I dunno,” Chella said. “Far enough that I can’t smell the river.”

***

Abbee watched Chella pickpocket all the way across town. She stole enough money for frosty bread, several apples, meat pies, and a jaunty hat. Chella shared her food with Abbee. She gave the hat back, though. Said she’d never be able to keep it. Mith would steal it and drop it in the water. Chella made sure to never come back to the pier with something that made her a target. The sun was high in the sky when Abbee asked why Chella wasn’t in charge.

“You always need someone like Sammy,” Chella said.

“What?” Abbee asked. She couldn’t imagine a reason why anyone would want Sammy around. “Why?”

“You always need someone who doesn’t mind a bloody nose. I don’t like gettin’ punched. So I put up with Sammy. He doesn’t mind so much. He’s also dumb about money.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

Chella flipped a copper coin between her fingers. “It means he’s easy to distract.” She snickered, and the coin disappeared. “Kind of like you.”

“Isn’t everybody?”

“Sammy thinks that we have to steal all the time,” Chella said. “That we have to get as much coin as possible and hold on to it. It’s dumb.”

“Why is that dumb?” Abbee asked. “Wouldn’t—”

Chella chuckled. “Because he’s afraid. It’s the same reason he fights all the time. He’s afraid that someone will take what’s his. It’s not his. None of it is.”

“It isn’t?”

“Look, anytime I need money, I go get some from someone. It’s easy. It’s there for the takin’. I don’t worry about losin’ it either. If a bigger boy than me says, ‘Give me your money,’ I hand it over. I usually give them a silver.”

“A silver?” Abbee echoed. She’d held a silver coin once in her life. Her mother had shown it to her, after getting it from a single job one time. Abbee had turned it over and over in her clumsy fingers, wondering at the wealth. Then she’d dropped it. Her father had snatched it up, and neither she nor her mother had ever seen that silver coin again. “You give them a whole silver?”

“They’re so surprised to get a silver they’re not payin’ attention when I run away. I don’t mind givin’ it to them. I can always get more.”

That was strange to Abbee. It went against everything she knew about money. She looked around and realized they’d crossed into the Yards. The buildings here were all the same. Rows and rows of four-story buildings. About a third of them had stores and shops on the first floor, and the rest were all apartments. They were older than houses in the North Bend but sturdier built. Abbee’s family were too poor for the Yards.

Chella slowed and veered off to the side. She leaned up against a building and fiddled with the end of her sleeve. Abbee recognized the “pretend you’re not scoping out a mark” behavior and did the same with the hem of her own shirt. She didn’t have to pretend. There was a hole in it, and it was getting bigger.

Abbee glanced around the street, trying to figure out what Chella was looking at. A frosty bread cart to the left, flanked on one side by a row of shops. A baker, a tailor, and a man out in front selling chickens off the back of an old cart.

“What are we looking at?” Abbee asked.

“Quit starin’,” Chella admonished. “Those chickens.”

“The … really? We’re going to carry chickens all the way back to the bridge?”

“You’re gonna carry them,” Chella said. “And yes. For bait. Also for you to stay.”

“What?” Abbee asked. “What do you mean, for me to stay?”

“Look,” Chella said. “I wasn’t gonna tell you this, but you’re nice to me and Timm. Sammy was talkin’ today. He’s gonna give you a fifth strike if you come back with anything less than a full chicken. Or a rabbit. His words. He says you don’t do anything.”

Abbee stared at her. “That’s not true.”

Chella snorted. “Believe what you want. You can’t pickpocket and you can’t swim. You can’t fight. The only thing you’d be good for is … well, you’re too young for that. You’re a drag. Sammy aims to give you a fifth strike.” Chella pointed at the chickens with her chin. “You gotta get those chickens, or you’ll be sleepin’ on the street tonight.”

Fear gripped Abbee. She’d slept on the street her first night after running away, in a moldy crate behind a tavern. She’d cried herself to sleep. The innkeeper had chased her away in the morning with a broom.

Abbee watched a man buy chickens. The chicken seller, a tall, fussy man with a beard, took the money and opened a cage. He reached in under two brown chickens and pulled them out by their feet. The chickens thrashed and squawked. Abbee had never held chickens before, but she’d seen people carry them plenty. She figured she’d get a couple of chickens, easy.

“Okay,” Abbee said. “I’ll get some chickens.”

Chella smiled and pushed off the wall. “Good. I’ll distract the seller. You grab the chickens and run.”

Chella asked the seller for directions. Abbee went around the side of the cart, angling for the cage furthest away from the tall, fussy man. She managed to get the hasp open and yanked open the cage door. She was so excited that she pulled too hard. The entire cart rocked. Chickens squawked in protest.

“Hey!” the chicken seller shouted.

Abbee reached in and grabbed two chickens. She hauled them out. The chicken seller rounded the cages and grabbed for her. Abbee turned tail and ran.

“Thief! Thief! Constable! My prize chickens! Thief!”

Abbee glanced over her shoulder and saw a man running after her, wearing the dark blue uniform of an Akken constable. She swore. It was just her luck that one happened to come by. The constable was fast, but Abbee was smaller. She fit into tighter spaces than him, but his legs were longer. He got within reach in seconds. Abbee felt fingers slip off her shoulder. She poured everything she had into her legs and squeezed through a stack of crates. She spared a glance and saw the constable a few paces behind her. He was going to catch her. Abbee whipped around the next corner and stopped. Her fear screamed at her to keep going. She forced herself to stay put. She waited until his footfalls got real close. Real loud.

Abbee hauled the chicken in her right hand around as hard as she could and let go. She hit the constable in the face. He stumbled back, flailing. Abbee didn’t like to lose one of her chickens, but at least she still had one. One would be good enough for Sammy. It had to be. Abbee tore off down the alley. Didn’t look back until she got to the end. Busy street a few meters away. The constable was all the way down at the other end. He had feathers and bird droppings on his jacket. Abbee grinned at him.

She ran out into the street holding her one chicken, and she bounced off something solid and fell back onto her bottom. The chicken wriggled out of her grip and fled the alley, squawking and flapping. The air in front of her shimmered, and with the faint sound of trumpets, a tall constable appeared out of thin air. A lightbender. The biggest man she’d ever seen. Bigger than her father. Abbee backed away from him. The constable had his hands on his hips and his chin held high. He wasn’t looking at her. He looked like he was trying to be impressive. Or impressed with himself, maybe. The other constable, who’d chased her, walked toward them from the other end of the alley. Abbee scrambled to her feet, ready to scoot right past this big doofus.

“How about you stop looking for a way out?” the other constable called. He had a hand hovering near the hard leather case on his belt.

Abbee froze. That hard leather case held the constable’s wand. If he pulled it out and pointed it at her, she’d end up in a precinct via warp. If she were unlucky, she’d show up missing parts. Nobody ever got their bits back.

She was caught. She’d lost her chance. Instead of getting scared and freezing, she should’ve run like that chicken. Every time she froze, she got hit or hurt. She was caught, and even if she got away from the constables, Sammy was going to throw her off the pier. For good this time. Abbee told herself to forget about Sammy. He wasn’t here, and he wouldn’t help her, anyway. It was all on her to talk her way out.

The other constable got closer. He was older than the big one. He wasn’t looking off into space. He was looking right at her. He moved with the easy confidence of someone in charge. He looked smarter than the North Bend constables she was used to. He had a slight smile on his face, as if he thought everything she was about to tell him would be a lie.

“Tell me why you took those chickens,” he said.

“Bait,” Abbee said.

“Bait for what?”

“For the monster.”

“Monster?” the constable echoed, drawing closer.

“The one that left all those bodies down by the river.”

“There are bodies down by the river?”

Abbee wondered if the constable was messing with her. Had Sammy lied to Chella about the bodies? “Parts, anyway.”

“Why would you be setting bait for something that left body parts lying around?”

“For the reward, dummy.”

The constable frowned at her. “There’s no reward for any monster. Who told you there was a reward?”

“There’s no reward?” Abbee asked. “Sammy said there’s a reward. Sammy said he’d split the reward with us if we got him all the bait we could find.”

The constable stopped a couple of paces away from her. The big one hadn’t moved. Still had his hands on his hips and everything.

“Who’s ‘us’?” the smart constable asked. “Who’s Sammy? And how many chickens have you stolen so far?”

“‘Us’ is me and my brothers,” Abbee said. She didn’t have any brothers, and she definitely didn’t include Sammy or Mith in that category. Maybe Timm. Even so, she told everybody she had brothers. Big brothers. Nasty ones who’d clobber anyone to smithereens if they messed with her. Sometimes it worked. Mostly over here, on this side of the river. Everybody in the North Bend knew she was with Sammy’s crew and she didn’t have any brothers. This constable was from this part of town. The nicer part of town. Abbee tried to sound like she was from the North Bend and had a lot of big, beefy brothers. “Sammy is Sammy, and if you don’t know who he is, I ain’t tellin’. And I haven’t stolen any chickens. You see me holdin’ any chickens?”

The constables exchanged a glance.

“You hear about any bodies down by the river?” the smaller one asked the big one.

“Nope,” the big one rumbled. “That’s the River District Precinct, though. They don’t share.”

“Maybe they don’t share with just you, Randall,” the smaller one said. “They like me just fine.”

“Everybody likes you, Trippers,” the big one, Randall, said. “You’re the Big Shield, after all.”

Abbee had heard of the Big Shield. Everybody knew about that one. Some big-time constable who dealt with out-of-control talented. Their magic didn’t affect him or something. Seemed like a weird talent to have. Abbee had been expecting some big brute of a fellow like her father. Not this Trippers person. He looked smaller than she’d have thought the Big Shield to be. He didn’t seem weak, but she’d have considered the bigger one, Randall, Big Shield material.

Trippers looked back at Abbee. “You’ve seen these bodies?”

“No, but they’re down by the Falls. Along the riverbank.”

“You know quite a bit about them for somebody who hasn’t seen them.”

“I haven’t,” Abbee protested. “I don’t go down by the river. Sammy likes to push people in, and I can’t swim. I don’t wanna drown.”

“Sammy doesn’t sound very nice.”

Abbee fought the urge to nod. He didn’t know the half of it.

She was about to tell him when Trippers asked, “Why are you out stealing chickens for him, then?”

“Where are these chickens you keep talkin’ about?” Abbee asked.

Trippers’s small smile touched his eyes. “You do realize that just because you can’t hold on to things doesn’t mean you’re not in trouble, right? You made me chase you, so Constable Randall here is going to take you in and put your name on the rolls.”

“Me?” Randall said. “Why do I have to do that?”

“Because I need to go talk to the River District Precinct, and it’ll be easier for me to get the story out of them if you aren’t standing behind me looking all majestic.” Trippers walked past Abbee and out into the street.

As he rounded the corner and vanished, Abbee glanced at Randall. “I don’t suppose—”

Randall shook his big head. “Don’t start. Trippers will check later to see if I brought you in. He’s a stickler, not to mention the captain’s favorite. I’m not getting chewed out over you.” He eyed her. “How about we make a deal? There’s a hot meal at the precinct for you, but only if you don’t run. If you run, I’ll warp you.”

Abbee loved the idea of a hot meal and hated the idea of getting warped. She didn’t know this part of town well and didn’t know how far they were from the precinct. She didn’t want to lose any fingers or toes. “I promise I won’t run off.”

Randall gestured back down the alley. “After you, then.”

***

The Yard District Precinct sat on a busy three-way intersection called Three Points. Abbee knew two of the streets were Tulley and Roper but couldn’t remember the third. She and Randall crossed the intersection and approached a large building. It looked like every other precinct. Imposing. It had a wrought-iron fence around its grounds. A nice lawn and a fountain. There was no hiding the fact that it was a place where people told other people what to do. The big marble sculpture of a constable standing proud on the fountain was what really sold it, in Abbee’s mind.

Randall had to help her with the big front doors. He ushered Abbee into a big open room with desks, bustling people, and a loud hum of conversation. A woman sat on a chair on a pedestal in the sea of desks, wearing a constable’s outfit and a hat. She looked like the kind of person who saw everything and disliked all of it.

“Over there,” Randall said, gesturing to a counter set into the wall on the right.

A harassed-looking man sat on the other side. The man saw Randall and brightened. “Did you bring it?” he asked in a hopeful tone.

“No,” Randall said. “I got interrupted on the way over.” He pointed at Abbee. “Put her name on the rolls, and I’ll go again.”

“Oh,” the man said, crestfallen.

“You know, Harald,” Randall said, “it’d be a lot easier if you went to see Whimsy.”

The other man, Harald, flushed. “No way. I’m not explaining to her how I got … never mind. She’d blabber to the whole precinct.” Harald’s face reddened even more. “Not in a million years. I came to you because you keep secrets, Randall.”

Randall nodded. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

“You better,” Harald said. He turned and scratched something below the counter, out of sight. He straightened and didn’t look like he’d taken care of whatever itched. “This thing is killing me.” Harald opened a thick, leather-bound book on the counter and flipped to the middle. He picked up a quill pen, dipped it in a pot of ink, and held it over the page. “You there, what’s your name? And don’t try to lie. We’ll find out. We take a dim view of that sort of behavior.”

“Abbee.”

“Abbee what?” Harald prompted.

Her first instinct was to lie, but Abbee remembered what Harald said about lying. They’d find out. Every time someone had found out she’d lied, the consequences had been dire. “Danner.”

Randall shifted. Harald noticed it. “You know … Okay. Abbee Danner.” Harald scratched on the page.

Abbee glanced at Randall, who was looking at her with a thoughtful expression. He’d recognized Abbee’s name. Abbee had no idea how that was possible. She was a nobody living under a bridge. She’d never seen Randall before today.

Randall saw Abbee looking at him and pointed with his chin at Harald. “She’s in for stealing chickens,” Randall said. “Put Trippers down as the collar. I’m just delivering.”

“You promised a hot meal,” Abbee reminded him.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get it.”

Harald looked harassed again. “Randall—”

“Everybody’s going to get what I promised today,” Randall said. “Don’t any of you worry.”

Harald gave Abbee a hard look and scratched on the page. “You better. Okay, she’s on the rolls. Who’s the plaintiff?”

“It’s Nooli,” Randall said.

Harald chuckled and put his quill down. He closed the book with a big thump. “Prize chickens, eh?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Those birds he sells are real prizes. It was only two. I doubt he’ll even make the trek to complain about it.”

“And if he does?”

“Send him to me, and I’ll take care of it.”

Harald considered Abbee again. Shrugged. “Okay. Give her some food and then get me that ointment you promised.” He scratched again. Hard. “This is killing me.”

“I don’t suppose I have to tell you to stay out of—”

Harald waved. “No, no, you don’t, and don’t say it out loud.”

Randall nodded. “Right. Abbee, this way. Hot meal coming up.”

Abbee followed Randall across the big room with all the desks. “What happened to him?”

Randall shook his head. “I promised not to say.”

“Looks uncomfortable, whatever it is,” Abbee said.

“True statement.”

“Who’s Whimsy?” Abbee asked.

“She runs our infirmary,” Randall said, “and she also runs her mouth. Don’t tell Whimsy anything you don’t want the whole precinct to know.”

“Why do people tell her things, then?”

Randall smiled. “You’d think they’d learn, that’s for sure.”

He led her past a stairwell heading down, a hallway, and into a shallow side room off the main one. The side room was opposite the front doors. It had a long table with bench seats. On one end was a heavy pot with some bowls and spoons stacked to one side. Half-dried dark brown gravy spattered the side of the pot. Abbee caught a whiff, and her stomach growled at her. Randall grabbed a bowl and handed Abbee a spoon. He lifted the cover off and slopped a generous amount into the bowl. He sat down on one side of the table and gestured for Abbee to do the same on her side. She didn’t want to sit with her back to the main room, but she felt safe with Randall. She didn’t know why, because she was technically under arrest, but he hadn’t expressed anything but care since she’d met him. Abbee sat down and attacked the stew. It was wonderful.

Randall watched her inhale the food. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“A couple hours ago,” Abbee said. “But before that it was yesterday.”

“Where’s your mother?”

Abbee looked away. “She’s gone.”

Randall leaned forward a little. “What about your father? Is he looking for you?”

Abbee’s whole body tensed at the idea of her father finding her. Her breath froze in her chest. She tried to become invisible. Hoped for a lightbender talent to present right then and there. Hide. Hide from the world. Maybe she’d be broken and she’d stay invisible forever. That didn’t seem so bad to Abbee.

“It’s okay,” Randall said. “We’re not going to look for him.”

Abbee remembered to breathe. She looked around. Over her shoulder, she watched the constables move around the room. Abbee knew that the woman sitting on the pedestal was in charge. Everyone was deferential to her, but in a respectful way. The woman wasn’t like Sammy. She didn’t rule by fear. “Who’s she? The one in the big chair.”

“That’s Captain Barnes,” Randall said. “She runs this precinct. Don’t cross her.”

Abbee watched Captain Barnes. Watched the way the woman held herself on her chair. Watched the way she watched. After a few moments, Captain Barnes turned in her seat and looked right at Abbee. Her eyes were like steel. When Barnes turned around, Abbee felt like she could move again. Breathe again. Abbee was in awe. She knew Barnes could stand up to her father. Abbee wished she were half as strong as that woman.

“How do you get to be a constable, anyway?” Abbee asked.

Randall pursed his lips.

After a moment, Abbee felt uncomfortable. “What?”

“Wait here,” Randall said. His chair screeched as he pushed it back and stood up. The big constable walked across the room and climbed up steps on the back of the pedestal. Randall and Captain Barnes had a short conversation Abbee couldn’t hear. Captain Barnes glanced at Abbee several times. She nodded once and said in a voice that carried all the way to Abbee, “She’s your responsibility, Constable.”

***

It started with a broom. Randall gave her a new shirt, trousers, and shoes. Gray, like a constable’s jacket. The shirt was a little too big, but it was better than her threadbare smock. The trousers and shoes fit. Randall handed her a broom and dustpan, saying, “Start here in the bullpen. Bin’s under the stairs here. I have to leave for a little while.”

“The ointment for Harald?” Abbee asked.

“That’s right,” Randall said. “Don’t mention that to anyone. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone. Don’t get in anyone’s way. Don’t go downstairs.”

“What’s downstairs?” Abbee asked.

“The infirmary, the holding cells, and beneath that, the mover pit. None of those places are for you.” Randall nodded at the broom. “Do a good job, and you might get to do it tomorrow.”

Abbee liked that idea. “How do you have clothes that fit me?” She stuck out her arm. The sleeve hung past her fingertips. “Well, almost fit.”

“You’re not the only young gofer we’ve had around here doing chores.”

“Where’s the last one?”

“He went downstairs.”