‘Give me some time,’ she said eventually. ‘Just a little while. To get away.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I haven’t killed anyone, not here. You could give me that much.’
They had both had the same dream. That had to mean something – Tomas had written a great deal about looking for signs, and this was the only sign Lusk’s life had ever seen fit to show him. Feeling as though perhaps he was trapped in another dream, Lusk met the woman’s eyes and nodded once.
‘Go. I’ll give you as long as I can.’
Fell-Noon took the reins and tugged them. Fulcor shifted round on her wing-feet and scampered up to the platform on the far side of the room. The sky was a blue and grey plate above them.
‘They will still come after you,’ he called. ‘The Winnowry doesn’t let anyone walk away. They will chase you.’
‘I’m sure they will. But I won’t be in this fucking hole, and that’s the main thing.’ Fell-Noon leaned low over the bat and spoke softly into its large, crinkled ear. ‘Fly!’
6
Feeling as though she’d left her stomach behind in the chirot tower, Noon lifted her face to the sun as the giant bat propelled them up into the empty sky. The cold wind stung her skin and forced tears to gather at the corners of her eyes. She was outside, finally – ten years of bars and silence and hopelessness, and already the Winnowry was falling away behind her. She felt caught between laughing and crying. Below her the strip of sea that separated the Winnowry from the mainland was streaking past, the colour of beaten steel, and she thought she’d never seen anything more beautiful. Beneath her bare hands she could feel the living force that was Fulcor; hot blood, thrumming muscles, a thundering heart. Freedom.
Faster than she would have believed possible, Mushenska was looming close, its busy port bristling with ships, the taste of sea spray in her mouth. With a lurch, she realised she hadn’t thought about what she would do next at all. Her need to be outside of the Winnowry’s walls had driven everything else from her mind, and now she had decisions to make that would likely mean her life or death. Abruptly, she was certain that Novice Lusk had sounded the alarm the very second she had left the chirot tower, and she twisted around in the saddle, squinting her eyes against the wind to peer at the Winnowry. It was as ugly as ever, the twisted black scalpels of its towers ripping at the sky, but all was still. Nothing flew in pursuit of her as yet, but even so, she needed to get out of sight while she decided what to do next.
Fulcor was taking them over roofs now, a confusing collection of brown and grey and black shapes, obscured here and there with smoke. Hoping she was doing the right thing, Noon leaned forward and spoke a single word into the bat’s ear.
‘Down.’
Fulcor dropped, causing Noon to press her thighs desperately to either side of the animal’s back, and then, with a whirring of leathery wings, they were still. The bat had landed them on top of a surprisingly crowded flat roof – the place was littered with crates and there was a long, well-maintained garden. Noon unstrapped herself from the saddle, slipping off the bat while keeping her eyes on a small shed-like construction on the far side of the roof. It would lead, she guessed, to the interior of the building.
‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’
She wasn’t, though, and as she gained her feet her legs turned oddly boneless, tipping her into the dark dirt of the narrow garden. A smell so ancient she had half forgotten it, of deep rich earth and growing things, rose to engulf her. She made a choked noise, half a sob, and, as if in answer, Fulcor chirruped.
‘I’m fine,’ she said again, her whole body shaking. She reached out a hand to the plants growing in their neat rows and saw with wonder that she had slumped next to a tomato plant. There were tomatoes growing on it, tight in their skins and perfectly red. After a moment, she reached out a trembling hand and plucked one from its stem, jerking a little as she did so. She had entirely forgotten what it felt like to pick something from its branch, had entirely forgotten the smooth feeling of tomato skin under her fingers. There were no fresh fruit or vegetables in the Winnowry – too dangerous. Fell-witches only ate food that had been cooked and cooked into a hot grey paste.
Laughing quietly to herself, Noon raised the tomato to her lips and bit into it. Flesh and juices exploded onto her tongue and she jumped as though someone had pinched her. It tasted like . . . she had no words for how it tasted.
‘Like life,’ she murmured. ‘It tastes like life.’
Oblivious now to the curious bat watching her, or the possibility of pursuit, Noon picked a small handful of tomatoes and slowly ate them all. After a little while, she realised she was crying as she did so, hot tears turning the pale ash on her face to sticky grit. With a hand covered in tomato juice she pulled up the bottom of her shirt and rubbed her face with it.
Shivering slightly against the chilly breeze blown straight in from the sea, Noon looked around, forcing herself to pay attention. Mushenska spread out in all directions, the confusion of roofs and chimneys completely alien to her. There was a great deal of noise too; a soft roar, not unlike the ocean at night, only this was punctuated with the shouts and cries of people living their everyday lives. Somewhere below, a man was shouting about fresh bread, and a woman was remonstrating with another woman about the shoddy work her son had done on a fence. Out here, beyond the towers of the Winnowry, people were getting on with their lives, in a city that was just waking up for the day. It seemed impossible.
And then, as if she’d summoned it, the door to the outhouse clattered open and a stout red-headed woman with sun-weathered skin stepped out onto the roof. She had an empty basket on one arm, and it occurred to Noon that the woman had probably come up here to harvest the tomatoes. For her breakfast. The woman’s face jerked, first with surprise, and then with anger.
‘Oi! What do you think you’re bloody playing at?’
Noon fell back, her hands in the dirt, and, instinctively, she pulled the life energy from the plants behind her. The hot green flame kindled inside her for the briefest moment, and then it jumped from her hands in a bright blossom of fire. It passed harmlessly upwards, doing little more than adding an extra brightness to the morning, but the older woman let out a warbling shriek and fell back against the door, clutching at her considerable chest.
‘Shut up.’ Noon swallowed. It felt strange to be talking to someone who was neither a fell-witch nor a custodian of the Winnowry. The effort seemed to suck all command from her voice. ‘Shut up, don’t move. Just . . . stay there.’