Hallon tallies a stack of tinned beans and cross-checks the number against the list Wahid gave her. The plan is to load up the carts as soon as they come back and send them out again during the night.

The Barmaki children pace behind Hallon. They’re running their own errands, but they’ve not let her out of sight. So far, she’s managed to not to be alone with them, but they’re patient hunters, getting permission from their mother to help with small tasks while they bide their time.

Lady Barmaki is cautiously pleased with their desire to help. Cautious being the key word. Her eyes say, “What next?”

From outside, there’s a thump, and the inn’s windows rattle.

Dana steadies herself against her brother. “Is this an earthquake?”

Lady Barmaki frowns. “No dear. I believe it’s a bomb.”

Hallon and the General are already moving towards the door. Their neighbors look out their windows, but the street’s empty. At first, nothing happens, but a siren soon wails in the distance, and white smoke drifts up into the sky. To the north. In the direction of Groud’s Factory and Milo’s cart.

Hallon runs.

###

Milo coughs. One moment, he was talking to Abdullah. The next, he was sent tumbling end over end, thrown across the yard.

His head hurts.

His ears ring.

The numbers are all jumbled together, lost in the smoke and debris.

A shadow moves through the smoke.

I need to get up. The thought sounds like a good idea, but Milo’s body doesn’t cooperate. He struggles to lever himself up at least. His hand slips on an arm. Just an arm, the equations incomplete without the rest of the body.

Milo screams and scrambles away.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

The shadow moves closer, and a giant emerges from the smoke, impossibly tall and wearing a black mask. Milo is lifted up and slung over the giant’s shoulder.

###

The General tackles Hallon from behind. Surprised, she swings her elbow back but catches herself before breaking his nose. “What are you doing?” she yells.

“You cannot!”

“Why?” Hallon demands.

“The streets are not safe. The soldiers will shoot first and ask questions later.”

“But Milo—”

“You will do him no good if you are dead!”

“I can’t not do something,” Hallon says.

“I understand,” the General says. “I truly do, but if you go now, you run to your death.”

The siren continues to sound. A dirigible flies overhead, traveling to the source of the explosion. Words echo strangely between the buildings. “—is in force. All residents—indoors. Violation—punished by—”

“We must get inside and quickly,” the General says.

Hallon weighs her options. If only she had her power, she’d be able to assure Milo’s safety in an instant, but then life’s full of “if onlys.” They’ll fill you up and leave room for nothing else if you let them. In the end, she decides to trust the General’s local knowledge.

He offers a hand up, and she takes it. “I almost broke your nose,” she says.

“I knew what I risked when I surprised you. Come, the others are waiting for us.”

###

The giant’s shirt is damp with sweat and chalky with rock dust. Milo is barely a burden to him at all.

Other people move in and out of view. Most wear black masks. The ones who don’t, have their throats cut. Which doesn’t make sense. Aren’t you supposed to rescue the injured? Instead, the equations of the slaughterhouse have replaced those of the factory—the motion of the knife, the way the blood gushes and the limbs kick out, fighting death’s approach. You’re supposed to make things at the factory, not take them apart. Milo’s mouth tries to protest the equations’ wrongness, but nothing works properly. Everything’s gone askew.

A black mask curses. “Gah! What a mess!”

The giant gestures with his free hand.

“Shut it. I’ll talk if I want. Besides, there aren’t any more witnesses, except the one you’ve got, and he’s the best of the lot.”

A popping sound intrudes. Gunfire.

“We’d better hurry. There’ll be more soldiers soon.”

The giant turns and reveals Marid. He wears a mask, but Milo recognizes the eyes. They’re burned into his memory. That means it’s Sab carrying Milo. Marid never goes anywhere without Sab.

Milo's body realizes the danger and lashes out with fists, elbows, and knees, but it’s useless. Sab’s grip is a vise, implacable. He swings Milo around, dashing him against the factory wall.

“Careful—” Marid says, but the rest goes unheard.