10th of Eylestre, Continued

Built in a hidden gap between the back end of a warehouse and the side wall of a weaver's mill, the inside of the Redtree Street access pressed in close, with barely enough room for a grown man to walk forward without angling his body to fit.

Cog ran a legitimate fuel and stove business from the warehouse, and the oily, mineral smell of raw coal mingled with the musty stale air of the wartime tunnels as Orrelian opened the hatch and stepped over the sill. Then he gave me a small smile before he set off for the door at the far end of the warehouse, where Cog was waiting.

I turned to the first group of refugees and launched into the instructions Orrelian had tasked me with. "Across the street there's a flatbottom barge at the end of the docks. It's red. Don't run. Wait for the signal. You have to walk down the street to the docks and get into the red boat. Then you have to get in the hold and hide under the rags behind the barrels at the back," I whispered in Tetton. "Understand?"

Six pairs of eyes blinked at me from the gloom of the tunnel, six heads nodding in unison.

"Good." I checked the warehouse door. Cog had his hand raised. I gave the teenage Tettian girl at the front of the line a light pat on the shoulder. "Alright. He's ready."

The girl knotted her fists in her skirts and stepped out of the tunnel, her bright red hair the only spot of color against dingy grey and absolute black as she started down the center aisle between cargo bins full of coal. After a few meters she glanced back over her shoulder, bright blue eyes large in her pale face. She was leaving behind warmth and safety, walking toward a door with nothing but danger and uncertainty waiting on the other side. I swallowed hard. I knew exactly what that felt like. All I could offer was a nod and hope it was reassuring.

She turned and kept going, leading the rest of her group toward Cog.

Little by little, by fives and sixes, the refugees filed out of the tunnel, through the warehouse, crossed Redtree Street, went down the boardwalk to the docks, and boarded the lowlsung flatbottom barge Orrelian had rented with the opal money. It took more than an hour. Every twenty minutes, Rugga gave the warning signal, bringing everything to a dead halt while we waited for a Magi patrol to walk down Redtree and turn left at the boatyard fence.

Licha Stongfal and the other two Carakis were the last to come up the tunnel, each of them shuffling sideways. They listened in silence as I gave them their directions in Caraki, then they ducked past me into the warehouse and strode down the aisle, looming comically large over Cog while he waited for Orrelian's all clear from the docks.

"That's it, there are no more," Songbird whispered from farther down the tunnel, where she had been sorting the refugees by languages. "I need to go back now... Best of luck, Miss Warring."

There was a bit of shuffling as she met Arramy coming out and the two of them squeezed past each other, but then the click of her heels echoed away toward the larger main tunnel, and he was there, materializing out of the dark.

It was time to go.

I stepped out into the warehouse and stood back while Arramy closed the tunnel access behind us, latching the metal panel into place.

He looked so normal, like any other dock worker, with a shapeless grey and green knitted cap pulled down low on his head and a baggy brown wool dockman's coat over a cotton shirt he had tucked into his usual grey denim pants. A dark green scarf was knotted around his throat. His studded leather vest was notably missing, but he probably still had his gauntlets full of knives up his sleeves. Or a pistol somewhere.

He lifted one inky eyebrow and the very normal stranger was gone, replaced by dry amusement hiding in familiar winter-steel eyes.

With a jerk, I whipped around, cheeks warm. My boots crunched loud in the layer of coal that littered the floor as I picked my way down the aisle and got into line with the Carakis.

Cog held the door open an inch and stood with one eye pressed to the crack.

"Get ready," he whispered. Then he swung the door wide, letting in a gust of damp morning fog, waiting for all of us to file through before he got out his key and began locking up behind us.

Licha and his friends started across Redtree, their bulky outlines rapidly losing definition in the murk of dingy pre-dawn haze drifting from the river.

Arramy paused to help Cog do something. Slide a bolt home. Hold the padlock chain together. Something that simple. Without thinking, I turned back to wait for him.

Cog finished and set off for the boardwalk, and we were only a few steps behind when Rugga's hoarse warning crow had my breath freezing in my lungs. The patrol was early.

Two caws. Then a third and a fourth. There were more of them than before. Why were there more of them?

We were still in the middle of the street. Arramy gave me a swift shove toward the boardwalk and we broke into a run.

Another two caws, close together. The patrol was only a moment away from clearing the corner onto Redtree.

Arramy swore. "Cog!" he called. "The alley!"

Cog must have heard, because he tagged the Carakis, and the four of them ducked into the nearest walkway between the boathouses that lined the wharf.

We both realized at the same moment that we weren't going to make it to that walkway. Arramy put his hand on my arm and we stopped running, falling into step with each other a split-second before a group of Magis rounded the corner and started up Redtree.

The shout was instant. "You there! Halt!"

Arramy stiffened beside me, his grip tightening on my arm. I put my hand over his and gave his fingers a squeeze. "We have to give them time to get to the boat," I breathed, then pasted on a Pendar smile, pulled up a south Altyr accent, and turned to face the group of deputies coming toward us.

There were several of them — six, maybe seven — all of them with their long-barreled pistols drawn and aimed at Arramy. All of them were also young.

Inexperienced... Or dangerously determined to prove themselves. I smiled a little wider as the one in front. "Yes, sir?"

He lifted the barrel of his pistol, his round, swarthy face puckering into a suspicious squint. "This be merchant district. Show papers an' state yer business." He tipped his chin at Arramy. "You first. Carrel, search 'er bag."

A tall young man stepped forward and made a grab for my valise, yanking it away from me.

"What d'ya do fer living?" the one in front demanded, looking Arramy up and down.

"I'm a dockhand," Arramy said, only a trace of growl in his voice. His fingers were tense beneath mine, digging into my arm as Carrel unbuckled my valise, laid it open on the cobbles, and began rifling through it, dumping my clothes carelessly on the ground. "I work at Haversall's Merchanteer Fleet."

"Our papers are in the inside pocket," I provided, watching my unmentionables land in the dirt.

"Why don't 'e got bag?" the one in front asked, tilting his head, his gaze never leaving Arramy.

"Oh." I smiled again. "I just came back from visiting my cousin. She lives in Pensling —"

"'Ere, sir," Carrel said, holding up our binder of papers.

"Says ye're from Kanos. In Altyr. What-ee doin' 'ere, then?"

"Working," Arramy said. Curt. Cold. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew some sort of permit Marin must have made at the last second.

"Where ya live now, then?"

"83rd Street," I said, stomach tightening. We hadn't had a chance to come up with much backstory. Any more information would be impromptu, which could easily get us snarled into knots. "Number 36. Second flat from the top. Is all of this really necessary? We're only on our way home."

"Go ta yer district Bureau an update yer papers," the lead deputy said, suddenly sounding bored. He folded our binder back up and handed it to Arramy. "We're investigatin' report o' suspicious activity roundabouts. You've duty ta cooperate wi' our investigation. 'Ave ya seen owt suspicious? Too many people abroad at odd hours?"

I glanced at Arramy and started shaking my head, but he was staring down at the smaller man, his face impassive. "Nai."

"We just turned the corner," I tried, pressing Arramy's fingers.

A long, tense moment slid by as Arramy and the deputy looked at each other. Then Arramy said, calm and steady. "Is there anything else you need, sir?"

The deputy inhaled sharply and puffed out his chest a little, a haughty, self-important jut to his chin. "No. You an' yer missus can be on yer way. Straight home, now, an' don't forget t'update yer papers. New city edict."

I nodded and waited until the deputies had turned away before bending to hastily cram my clothes back in my valise. Arramy crouched next to me, tucking the binder into the pocket inside the lid. His murmur was a deep rasp by my ear: "We'll cross at the corner, then go up to the next street. See if we can't get down to the wharves from the other side of the shipyard."

I glanced at him, wordlessly agreeing as I buckled the valise shut again. Then we stood and began walking along Redtree in the same direction we had been going, moving as quickly as we dared.

There were only three deputies ahead of us. My breath snagged on something frigid in my throat as I darted a quick look over my shoulder. I very nearly dropped my valise. The other deputies were poking around the door to Cog's warehouse.

Arramy swore under his breath, ducked his head and kept walking.

Songbird and Ynette had said the streets were full of reports of spies and infiltrators, people caught up in the lies trumpeted loud by the Dailies, but underground it was hard to believe that so much terror could take root and sprout into full-fledged hate in only a matter of months. There was no denying the effectiveness of the Coventry's misinformation campaign. It was on clear display, unfolding like the gritty old-fashioned sylvotape records of the Liberation Wars. The deputies ahead of us began peeling off in different directions, knocking on doors, peering through windows, their steps jaunty and purpose-driven as if hunting other humans down had become a patriotic duty to be proud of.

"Someone reported us," I whispered, my pulse rapidly shifting beats.

Arramy gave me a sidelong look, his jaw ticking as he pressed his teeth tight. That was the only sign he had heard me.

I had to resist the urge to look up at the buildings looming over the street, that awful, chilly premonition crawling up the back of my neck, every nerve screaming that we were being watched. Any minute, whoever had turned us in was going to come out of wherever they were lurking, and they would point at us, single us out, paint a target on our heads for the Magi's long barreled pistols.

My blood slowed to a thick, frozen sludge, and my legs and arms promptly went numb.

No good could come of that. We hadn't been caught yet. I had to stay clear-headed. With brutal efficiency, I shoved that fear down into a hard little lump in my chest, took deep breaths through my nose and clung tight to my valise, focusing on keeping my head up, my steps even and my stride normal.

We reached the front end of the woolen mill and Arramy took my elbow, signaling that we should cross the street again. I could only be glad of the unyielding chill radiating from him as we passed mere meters from the two deputies who had continued on up Redtree, bound for the shipyard office building.

The narrow little street that ran in front of the woolen mill was still. The mill workers wouldn't arrive until the sun was up, since any flame, lantern or otherwise, could be deadly in the wool dust kicked up by the looms. No one called out, no one but Rugga, who gave us a parting crow caw from the roof of the workshop.

I bit my lip. We were slipping away, but we weren't free of the net yet. We still had to get down to the boat. If we didn't, who would translate at the border? Who would pilot the boat?