I stride through the streets headed for the pit. The sun is a bright disk rising to the summit of the sky. My hand holds my knife belt. I am ready for anything. The streets of the Hybourg do not unnerve me now. I do not fear the men I walk past. I have death in my eyes and the feeling of death in my heart. I am going to get Tug back.

The crowds gathered outside the Hybourg jostle and press to get closer to the entrance, where a guard lets one person in for every person who departs. I move through the hucksters and shoppers, sensing space-an opening where there was none before-and those weaker minds who instinctively recoil as I approach. My determination slices through the daily grind of middle-aged, tired men trying to make a living or buy goods they cannot purchase elsewhere.

At the front of the swollen crowd, a 6ft 4inch guard with metal bracelets about his neck, feet, and arms puts up his sword to block my entrance. I pull down my hood and look at him directly, my gaze focused, sharp, and fearless. He raises his sword, and I stride on without waiting for any other signal.

The stench of the tunnel stings my nostrils as I wade through the mud toward the black flagstone where the pit begins. The fug and smoke wrap around me. Because it is summer, the smell is worse than in the spring, but I breathe it in, not caring. It could be the smell of rotting corpses, and I would not flinch.

I enter the great hall, eyes adjusting to the dimness, and make my way to the alcove in the wall. The small passage where I hid the last time and where the Sai took the boy for their own, is folded in shadow. The gap is impossible to distinguish. I feel my way forward, searching for the split and when the rough wall ends, I slip into the hole.

I guide myself through the tunnel with outstretched arms. At the end of it, I crouch down and run my hands across the floor. The grid, a square the size of an armchair, is crossed with five metal bars. I reach through and search for a latch or anything that may be pushed or turned. I find only a small hole, perhaps for a key.

I have no key, and I do not rate my chances of stealing one from a guard. I pull at the grid, grunting and sweating to shift it.

Eventually, I sit back, tears of frustration in my throat. How will I get into the mine shaft without giving myself up to the gang? But I cannot give myself up. This is not Blackfoot forest with Tug and Brin. Giving myself up would be suicide and no guarantee they would honor an exchange of me for Tug. I have to be smarter.

I crouch against the wall and my head drops into my arms. I cradle myself, stress and exhaustion darkening my thoughts. I am so distracted, and there are so many minds in the pit, crammed together, I do not feel the one in the alcove passage moving closer to me until it is ten feet away. I shoot to my feet, reaching for my knife. But then I recognize the child.

I edge toward the small form visible in the half-light. She holds out my purse. It is the slave girl whose brother fought his captors, who ran away, and who stole my purse earlier. Losing my coin seems irrelevant now.

"What do you want?" She creeps closer, her moves uncertain and fearful. My heart opens a little for her plight. I am not the only one in this vast pool of hell who is suffering. Her mother is in one of those cages; her brother is with the Sai.

Coins jingle as she shakes the purse at me. "I don't need it." Her wounded and yet defiant manner snags my attention.

"Why don't you need it?"

"The stallholders refuse to sell me food, and I cannot get past the guards."

Of course, her situation is impossible. None of the vendors will want to serve a runaway. Even if they didn't witness her earlier escape, there is only one reason a young female is in the pit and not in a cage. I draw the knife from my belt. She steps back, wary and uncertain of my intention.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I ask, stepping toward her. At first, she is frozen, but then I detect the smallest of nods.

"Come closer." She closes the gap between us hesitantly. I take her by the shoulders and slice off her ponytail with my knife. She gasps as it falls to the ground. I hack at the sides of her hair where it is longest, the way Tug did with mine. I cut as short as I can, though it is not easy with so little light and my inappropriate tool. But she lets me work without moving. Once I've finished, I sheaf my knife and crouch down to her height. I hold her chin tightly between my thumb and finger, squeezing hard until her wrist grasps mine.

"Stop!"

"Stay angry. Don't let them see your fear."

Her eyes light with understanding. She releases her hand and I give her chin a final, hard pinch, watching as the anger returns. Then I push her back along the tunnel and out into the crowd. She tries to hold my shirt.

"No." I bat her hand away. "Hold your head high and don't stop."

We walk side by side. I concentrate on steadying my breath and honing my thoughts to the last time I saw Tug. Because this is crazy. I've got enough to worry about without trying to get a slave girl out of the Pit. But I cannot go against my nature. I cannot leave her here. Circumstances have brought her to me, and I will play my part.

I grit my teeth as we move down the main aisle, past the cages. I had not realized it before, but in the midday summer sun, it is possible to see the semi-transparent black crystal roof of the pit. Shafts of light from the high slit windows shine through the layer of smoke.

My heart pounds as we enter the tunnel. So close to freedom. Almost there. I have almost got her out. A guard observes us departing, his unforgiving eyes watching our every move. I glance over and see it is the same guard who blocked my passage on the way in. He leans over from his side of the tunnel and blocks our way with his sword.

I turn my eyes on him slowly, purposefully. In my mind I carefully note his features, blocking out thought and fear. A jagged scar slices through his top lip, there are odd cuts around his neck beneath the silver hoop, his dark eyes slant downwards and his thick skin has the look of rubber.

"No children in the pit," he says. I nod. He shakes his head and I realize he is worried he could be caught lapsing on the job. I shift my eyes to stare forward. "Leave."

I stride with the girl beside me, the top of her head barely at my shoulder. Her hand reaches for mine and this time I take it. Her arms and legs tremble and I realize she can barely walk. But she manages to make it away from the square beyond the crowds, not stopping until we reach the pens where there are pigs and fowl.

Now that imminent danger is no longer upon us her footsteps slow. She glances back at the pit entrance, then releases my hand and comes to a stop.

I halt beside her waiting for her to speak.

"What about Ma and Nile?"

"I can't do anything for them."

"And what about me? What will you do with me?"

"I'll take you somewhere safe."

'There is nowhere safe in the northern Kingdom."

I gaze at her young, serious face. She is a little older than Kel, seven or eight. Her words remind me of myself. I can almost hear my voice in the echo of them. After we left the Sea of Trees, I knew because of my sight, I would not be safe until the gold flecks marking my heritage faded. But even then, I'd never be entirely secure because I would always have to hide the truth--I was a Shadow Weaver.

And here is this girl. She is not sighted. She is a simple Carucan girl from a village, farm, or small northern town, and her freedom is threatened. Has the Kingdom always been this way? Is this the way of the world, something we must accept?

"You are right. The north is dangerous. But I will take you to the safest place I know."