Another officer spoke directly to a doorway where I’d seen a family huddled. “Greenstone was hit hardest during the Inundation. It hasn’t been fully secured—”
“Nowhere has been secured but the palace!” a man shouted. “Even the shelters are dangerous! We live in terror while nobles plan more parties!”
Chaos exploded in the street. Homeless scattered in all directions, some toward the police, who lifted their batons to defend themselves, but most just ran away. Shoes—even bare feet—pounded the paving stones as people began grabbing their belongings, lifting children, and vanishing around buildings.
Icy wind breathed in from the west; I shivered on the top of the wall, watching as lantern-wielding police officers took off after the homeless. Screams and cries sounded as people were captured. Officers cuffed some to poles, and cuffed others to them, creating a chain of prisoners guarded by a few officers while the others chased down those who’d escaped.
After the initial frenzy, the roads below me grew quiet, with only the occasional sob and cough to break the long note of wind cutting around corners.
I peered down to count how many the police had arrested.
There were several groups of people huddling together—families, some with small children—and many who looked like strays caught when their friends or relatives took off.
There were just over a hundred people, plus others the police were dragging back. Only three or four police stood guard.
A handful of officers was no problem, but even a hundred frightened people could turn into a mob. I’d seen people react to Black Knife’s presence before; often it was friendlier than I wanted to risk. Anyway, I doubted Black Knife being revealed as Princess Wilhelmina would win me favors. But what could I do? I was just one person, and wasn’t finding Patrick more important?
Shame welled up inside me. Allowing the police to force these people out of the city was as good as giving my approval.
Cold air seared the back of my throat as I felt my hip for the small crossbow. Just because I couldn’t risk going down there didn’t mean I couldn’t give the prisoners a chance to escape.
I cocked the string and loaded a small bolt into the slot, then adjusted my position and took aim.
The bolt struck home in an officer’s leg, and a new wave of panic erupted as prisoners screamed and struggled to free themselves. My next four shots went quickly, all but one finding their targets.
“Black Knife is here!” someone yelled, followed by, “Black Knife will save us!”
I pulled away from the edge of the wall. With any luck, the prisoners would simply steal the keys to their cuffs and leave.
Officers returned to help their injured comrades. I took a few more leg shots before springing up to run along the wall, away from the action.
Wind pushed at me, but I ran until the shouts and cries faded with distance. Only when I was alone again did I pause and crouch, and survey the northernmost edge of the district before me. My breath came in short gasps, mist on the winter air.
Had I done the right thing back there? Had I done enough?
There were so many people displaced because of the Inundation. Maybe Greenstone wasn’t the safest district in the city, but surely it was safer than being forced outside the walls, or into crowded shelters in the Flags. With new refugees coming into the city, the shelters would only become more congested.
I shook away those worries. I’d done what I could.
Cautiously, I descended to the street and kept to the shadows, making a straight line for Fisher’s Mouth. It felt good to stretch and push, to allow the night air to surround me. Everything in the palace seemed so far away now.
But the problems of Skyvale were more real than ever. Though the Inundation had lasted only a few hours, the effects were profound: ripples of stone cascaded down a warehouse, as though the building had been momentarily molten; squirrels that had been darting over buildings were now petrified, caught mid-crouch forever; and pipes meant for plumbing had partially phased through the factory where they were manufactured, giving the huge building a weirdly skeletal look.
This was the beginnings of the wraithland.
I hurried on.
Fisher’s Mouth was on the far side of the district, where the river coursed under the city wall. During the day, fishermen ran nets across the water. They could usually be persuaded to part with some of their catch in trade for items pinched from the more wealthy areas of Skyvale.
Tonight, the fishery was empty, save the sounds of a handful of people downstream. A child shrieked at the chill spray of water while adults scolded the girl. “Be quiet,” they said. “Police will find us.”