grab—while Goldie and Toadspit, who were supposed to be looking after her, shouted at each other.
She swallowed and studied the ground again. “I—I think she stabbed one of them with the arrow. It’s
his
blood. And look, one of them has—has picked her up. You can see where
her
footprints stop and
his
get deeper, as if he’s carrying something. Here, they went this way.”
Their argument forgotten, they set out to track the two men through the dark city. To Goldie’s relief, Toadspit was steady on his feet again, but he clutched the bow in his fist, and there was a grimness about him that she had never seen before.
They lost the bootprints many times. For all their skill, they could only track what they could see, and the light from the moon and the watergas lamps was never enough. Sometimes the prints disappeared altogether, and they had to search in every direction until they found a fresh smear of mud, or a pebble kicked out of place.
It was all too easy to make a mistake. Once they followed the wrong person for nearly three blocks and had to backtrack quickly. After that, Goldie borrowed Toadspit’s folding knife and cut notches in a stick to show how long and how wide the bootprints were, so they wouldn’t be misled again.
The children tracked the two men past the space wherethe Great Hall used to be, and past the gray stone carcass of the House of Repentance. At last they saw warehouses looming out of the darkness, and the newly repaired iron levees that protected Jewel from the sea. Rising above the levees were the masts of ships.
“The docks,” Goldie whispered. It was the first time she had spoken for more than half an hour, and her voice sounded strange in her ears.
The bootprints led the children to an old wooden wharf, where fishing boats were moored nose to tail, with their nets strung out to dry and lobster pots piled high on their decks. A mist was rolling in from the south. The stink of seaweed and fish hung over everything.
Goldie could hear the water lapping against the piles beneath her, and the slow creak of wooden hulls. Somewhere, a chain rattled. As the mist thickened, she began to feel as if she were tracking Bonnie through a dream. A gray-spotted cat darted across her path like a puff of smoke. The chain rattled again, very close this time.
There was a hiss of gas, and an engine struggled to life.
The children shrank back into the shadows, peering at the boat opposite. It was small and stumpy, with a single mast and a deckhouse at the back. A coarse rope net hung over its side. Its engine belched uncertainly, then steadied.
Toadspit’s fingers dug into Goldie’s flesh. “It’s them,” he hissed. “It must be.”
As he spoke, the engine took on a deeper note. The water swirled and slapped against the wooden piles. The mast trembled, and the boat began to edge away from the wharf.
There was no time to wonder if it really
was
the right boat. Goldie and Toadspit raced across the wharf and threw themselves over the widening gap. It was a long jump and Goldie almost didn’t make it. Her fingers touched the rope net. Missed. Touched again. Her right hand fumbled. Her left hand clung desperately. Her feet flailed in midair—
Then, just when she thought she must fall and be swallowed up by the cold, churning water, her toes found the net. She clutched at it, pressing her whole body against the side of the boat and gasping for breath.
Beside her, Toadspit was already crawling upward. Goldie scrambled after him, and the two of them slipped over the rail and sank down behind the deckhouse, with Bonnie’s bow between them.
Somewhere nearby a man cried, “Half speed!” The boat surged, and the lights of Jewel disappeared into the mist. Ahead, everything was darkness.
T he Grand Protector of Jewel was at her desk when the note from Vice-Marshal Amsel arrived. She pushed her papers and her early-morning cup of hot chocolate to one side, adjusted her eyeglasses and read the
She swallowed and studied the ground again. “I—I think she stabbed one of them with the arrow. It’s
his
blood. And look, one of them has—has picked her up. You can see where
her
footprints stop and
his
get deeper, as if he’s carrying something. Here, they went this way.”
Their argument forgotten, they set out to track the two men through the dark city. To Goldie’s relief, Toadspit was steady on his feet again, but he clutched the bow in his fist, and there was a grimness about him that she had never seen before.
They lost the bootprints many times. For all their skill, they could only track what they could see, and the light from the moon and the watergas lamps was never enough. Sometimes the prints disappeared altogether, and they had to search in every direction until they found a fresh smear of mud, or a pebble kicked out of place.
It was all too easy to make a mistake. Once they followed the wrong person for nearly three blocks and had to backtrack quickly. After that, Goldie borrowed Toadspit’s folding knife and cut notches in a stick to show how long and how wide the bootprints were, so they wouldn’t be misled again.
The children tracked the two men past the space wherethe Great Hall used to be, and past the gray stone carcass of the House of Repentance. At last they saw warehouses looming out of the darkness, and the newly repaired iron levees that protected Jewel from the sea. Rising above the levees were the masts of ships.
“The docks,” Goldie whispered. It was the first time she had spoken for more than half an hour, and her voice sounded strange in her ears.
The bootprints led the children to an old wooden wharf, where fishing boats were moored nose to tail, with their nets strung out to dry and lobster pots piled high on their decks. A mist was rolling in from the south. The stink of seaweed and fish hung over everything.
Goldie could hear the water lapping against the piles beneath her, and the slow creak of wooden hulls. Somewhere, a chain rattled. As the mist thickened, she began to feel as if she were tracking Bonnie through a dream. A gray-spotted cat darted across her path like a puff of smoke. The chain rattled again, very close this time.
There was a hiss of gas, and an engine struggled to life.
The children shrank back into the shadows, peering at the boat opposite. It was small and stumpy, with a single mast and a deckhouse at the back. A coarse rope net hung over its side. Its engine belched uncertainly, then steadied.
Toadspit’s fingers dug into Goldie’s flesh. “It’s them,” he hissed. “It must be.”
As he spoke, the engine took on a deeper note. The water swirled and slapped against the wooden piles. The mast trembled, and the boat began to edge away from the wharf.
There was no time to wonder if it really
was
the right boat. Goldie and Toadspit raced across the wharf and threw themselves over the widening gap. It was a long jump and Goldie almost didn’t make it. Her fingers touched the rope net. Missed. Touched again. Her right hand fumbled. Her left hand clung desperately. Her feet flailed in midair—
Then, just when she thought she must fall and be swallowed up by the cold, churning water, her toes found the net. She clutched at it, pressing her whole body against the side of the boat and gasping for breath.
Beside her, Toadspit was already crawling upward. Goldie scrambled after him, and the two of them slipped over the rail and sank down behind the deckhouse, with Bonnie’s bow between them.
Somewhere nearby a man cried, “Half speed!” The boat surged, and the lights of Jewel disappeared into the mist. Ahead, everything was darkness.
T he Grand Protector of Jewel was at her desk when the note from Vice-Marshal Amsel arrived. She pushed her papers and her early-morning cup of hot chocolate to one side, adjusted her eyeglasses and read the