Sandis missed him dearly.
The library was closed, and so Sandis, hood up, snooped until she found a garbage bin with half an apple in it. She forced herself to eat it, for she had to keep up her energy. She walked the perimeter of the library, searching the road for dropped coins. She did find a penny, but nothing cost so little in Dresberg. She pocketed it anyway and thought of Rone’s amarinth. If things got desperate enough, would she sell it? Surviving Kazen’s men would do her little good if she starved to death . . .
When the doors opened, Sandis entered without issue. She was unaccustomed to approaching people—Kazen had always kept her in a passive role—but she found a custodian who looked friendly enough and asked if there was a catalog of names.
If Talbur Gwenwig were an author, it would have been easy to find him. However, he was not.
Despite her doubts, Sandis searched authors, politicians, and people of note, but her surname was nowhere to be found. She began searching periodicals, but quickly realized it would be fruitless to continue the search. For a moment she was tempted to look for the paper that had written about her father’s death, but she didn’t want to relive that experience. She needed to stay positive. Hopeful.
To her relief and guilt, she found a stairway that led to a private area for the librarians. One person had left his lunch in there. Sandis had meant only to eat the nuts, but hunger drove her to consume the entire meal. She apologized to the empty box and hurried from the library as the second-shift bells tolled.
She could check another bank. But would Kazen have spies posted at those places? Sandis would need to act soon, before the city’s grime stained her clothes and skin. Before she looked homeless. Beggars were seldom treated with kindness, and were never allowed in prestigious places like banks and libraries.
What had Sandis gotten herself into? At least the amarinth should have reset by now, though at the moment, it seemed wholly unimportant.
She needed to get a job. But a job would make her stationary. They would find her if she got a job. If she even could.
The hot, wet smell of Heath burned in her memories. She hugged herself as the sun began to set.
Ireth, are you there? What should I do?
The numen did not reply. Sandis stared up at the heavens, imagining she peered into the ethereal plane. No knowledge filtered down to her.
She needed to find a safe place to sleep.
Would the grafters look for her in the wealthier neighborhoods? Perhaps not, but some do-gooder would probably turn her in to the scarlets, which would be just as bad. She couldn’t hide the gold-leaf branding on her back. She’d be thrown in prison and bumped to the top of the list for execution, surely. She shivered.
Talbur Gwenwig, where are you? Who are you? He might reside in one of the wealthy neighborhoods. Maybe if she asked someone, they would know him. The likelihood was slight, but Sandis only had hope to sustain her. She’d feed it as much as she could.
Quickening her pace, Sandis changed direction and headed north, where the wall was closest. All the wealthiest people lived in proximity to the wall—as far as possible from the smoke ring. She’d need to start asking around before the sun went down. Before she would be condemned as a beggar on sight.
She passed another clock tower, a factory that made railway parts, a linens shop. A man at the edge of the market tried to hawk fruit to her, so she must have still looked decent. Decent enough to afford fruit. Her mouth watered. She kept going.
Her shoulder bumped into someone, and she muttered an apology. Paused. The faintest smell wafted toward her. Burned brain dust. Galt always reeked of the drug. A lot of the grafters did.
She looked up. Not Galt, but she knew him, and fear coursed down her spine like lightning. He had the sallow skin of a grafter, dark clothes, knotted cords of hair. Staps. One of Kazen’s men. The one who hadn’t questioned her the night she walked out of the lair.
The smell of the drugs made her eyes water. Pushed her pulse faster. Made her want to scream. Recognition dawned on his face.
She bolted, nearly twisting her ankle when she turned back the way she had come. Staps cursed and ran after her, his calloused fingers brushing her elbow as he tried to grab her.
Sandis pushed her legs as fast as they would go and barreled into a nearby crowd of people, hoping to lose herself among them. Hoping her smaller body would navigate the throng faster than his larger one, like it had with Rone.
A shrill whistle sounded behind her. Not a police whistle. She knew that sound. A cry rippled up her throat and caught on her heavy breath.
Staps wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alone.
Celestial, save me!
But God didn’t listen to sinners.
She ran, battering her swollen feet against the cobblestones until they numbed. A stitch bit her side, then another. Fear bubbled and boiled inside her gut, powering her like a steam engine.
But she wasn’t fast. Not as fast as she used to be. There wasn’t any space to run in Kazen’s lair. She would have to hide.
Sandis’s gaze darted about, anywhere but behind her. People, stands, garbage bins, the linens shop.
She veered for the linens shop, down its side to its back door. Locked. She ran down the next street, nearly barreling into a waiting horse. The thumping of two—three?—sets of feet followed behind her. The sun dipped behind the city wall.
She rushed for the clock tower. Tried its door. Unlocked, bless the Celestial! She ripped it open and ran inside, only to find a small, closed-off room, empty save for a set of stairs.
She took the stairs two at a time. The door slammed open behind her just as she hit the first landing and turned to ascend the next set. A cry escaped her, tearing up her throat as it expelled from her huffing lungs. A door, a door. Please, a door! She hit the fourth flight and grabbed the railing, trying to pull herself up faster, faster. They were almost close enough to grab her. She could hear their breathing over her breathing— Fifth flight, and a door. She grabbed it, and for a split second thought it was locked. But the old knob gave way under her sweating hands. She shoved the door open.
Cool, smoky air hit her face.
It was all ledge—a winding balcony below the clock face. Meant for maintenance.
Staps and the other two grafters erupted from the door. Sandis ran the length of the platform, searching for another door, another set of stairs. There was no way down. Thudding feet thundered behind her. She grabbed the rail.
Her mind formed the decision in a trice. She stepped over the rail. A gust of air rushed past her, cooling her perspiration. Her teeth chattered. The city was six stories down. A sliver of sun sparkled off her eyelashes.
Her pursuers paused.
The one with a shaved head, Ravis, stepped forward. He eyed her—and his jacket—and put his hands up in mock surrender. “Sandis Gwenwig. Let’s return you home. This is nonsensical.”
Sandis looked away from him, then let go of the rail and fell.
She’d never fallen so far in her life. It was strange. Her stomach rose into her throat, and time moved both too quickly and too slowly. Her mind couldn’t compute the city rising up to meet her. She couldn’t distinguish people, shapes, or sounds. Only that weightless sensation and the beating of her own heart.
Gold pinched her hand. The amarinth didn’t seem to mind the fall, or the wind rushing up at them. She spun it.
Then she hit.
It didn’t hurt. Jumping from a clock tower onto hard cobblestones should hurt, but it didn’t. Her skull didn’t fracture into a thousand pieces. Her bones didn’t break. Her skin didn’t tear. She hit with a heavy sort of pressure, like she was a flying bug and the street was an open hand. Though she held on to the amarinth, the gold loops that weren’t pinned by her fingers continued to spin.
She stared at it. One minute. She had most of it left.