Zhang nodded with as much control as he could muster. Someone behind him was weeping.
“My name is Davidia. I’m captain of the wall guard here,” the woman continued, in a more formal tone again. “I work for the city of New Orleans. We need to record all of your details before we can allow passage, as well as conduct an inventory of your property.”
“They’re all books,” Zhang said. “Almost three thousand.”
Davidia was very still for a moment. “You brought three thousand books from Arlington?”
“From Washington, D.C.,” Malik said. “From the D.C. Public Library. We saved as many as we could.”
Davidia turned and spoke softly but urgently to one of the guards next to her, to go and inform someone at once that “the newcomers brought something.” The young man nodded and bolted away. He’s going to tell The One Who Gathers, Zhang realized. He tried to follow the sentry’s path, searching for proof, but the young man vanished into the crowd bustling beyond the gates, and Zhang was lost for a moment. So many people. Their shadows blended into one giant block of shade on the ground, an indiscernible mass.
“We’ve had reports from a few other survivors who’ve come from the north . . . There’s no president anymore in D.C.?” the captain asked hesitantly once Zhang turned back to her.
“No,” Zhang said.
The wind sharpened once more, ruffling Davidia’s papers on her clipboard again. “That is sad news. But it’s good that we know for certain. And what you’ve brought—you’ve all done well. It may be very useful indeed.” She smiled. “We’ll find out soon.”
“There’s one more thing.” Zhang put his hand up, to stop her before he lost the chance to warn her about the ones in white. “There’s a large force on its way here, to attack the city. They’re moving slow, but they have huge numbers.”
“Yes,” Davidia said. “Thank you. We know.”
Zhang didn’t turn to her, but he could feel Ahmadi’s eyes snap to his face, boring into his temple. If this false prophet is even half as strong as all the lies claim, they already know we’re coming. What the hostage had claimed turned out to be true. But what did that mean about what he had said next? There’s nothing they can do.
But Davidia was already busy with her clipboard. “Before we get any further—I need the rest of your names, please.”
“Malik,” Malik said.
“Ahmadi.”
The captain went slowly down the line. Zhang waited, exhilarated. As each person gave their information, they all grew more and more overcome until they were almost hysterical with laughter. Ahmadi grabbed Zhang’s arm in the clamor, and he saw there were tears streaming down her cheeks. When he hugged her, he realized his own face was already wet as well. He kept laughing and crying into her hair.
“And the shadowless?” Davidia asked, calling over the din.
“What?” Ahmadi looked at her, baffled. For the briefest instant, a flicker of a feeling Zhang had long forgotten shuddered through him. Max? he almost said.
“The shadowless,” Davidia repeated, and pointed behind them.
They had all been so overwhelmed by the sight of New Orleans that they didn’t realize until they turned around that in those wonderful few moments, Vienna had lost her shadow.
The One Who Gathers
HE WATCHED THE NEWCOMERS APPROACH FROM HIS USUAL place, atop the summit of the small slope at the center of the city. His “altar.” He had heard some of the others calling the place where he sat by that name, even though it was silly. The buildings behind might be known as the sanctuary now, but his seat was no altar. It was simply a small brick square on the ground, braced from behind by a wall of average height—bare and gently curved so it provided some shelter from the back and sides.
The day was clear, the sun strong. He’d seen the carriages even before they reached the walls, when they were still on the far side of Lake Pontchartrain, barely beginning to cross the long bridge. He had summoned Davidia then, to tell her they were coming.
“They’re not Transcendence in disguise, are they?” she’d asked nervously once she’d reached him at the top of the hill. She shaded her brow with her hand, but the carriages were still too far for human eyes to see.
“No, not Transcendence,” he answered. “I think they’re friends.”
Davidia put her hand down and nodded slowly, lost in thought. “We haven’t had that many come in a long time,” she finally said.
“We haven’t,” he agreed. He knew what she wanted to ask. “A good thing,” he said.
“Sorry?”
Is that a good thing or a bad thing? “I think it’s a good thing,” he repeated. “It means there are still more who wish to remember.”