Page 67 of City of Stone and Silence

“Tori.” He lets out a breath. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” It’s even true. “I’m sorry for falling apart like that.”

“It’s only to be expected.” He yawns. “I’m not sure either of us has been getting enough sleep.”

“Probably not.”

“And—” I glance at the window, and swear, for the first time in quite a while. “Oh, rot.”

“I know. My father is going to be furious when I get back.”

It’s not a matter of furious. If Ofalo figures out I’m not there, he’s going to send out search parties. And afterward there’s no way I’ll be able to get out again, not for months at least. The acid in my gut rises higher, and I clench my jaw, trying to force it back down.

“I’ve been thinking, though,” Garo says. “About what we can do to help your sister. Father will know something, I’m sure of it. If I go home and throw myself on his mercy, he may be willing to help.”

“I thought you said he’d be furious,” I say, still trying to figure out how to deal with my own situation.

“Oh, he will. But I know how to handle him.” He gives me a sidelong look. “Er. It might be better, actually, if I told him I was going out to meet a girl, not work at a hospital.”

“I mean. You’re doing both, aren’t you?” I fight to ignore the rising blush. “It’s not exactly a lie.”

“Right.” He yawns again. “What about your people?”

“I’ll deal with them.” Thank the Blessed he doesn’t press for detail, because I don’t have any. “I think we should go back to Grandma’s first, though. She keeps track of the Immortals, she might know something.”

“I suppose being a little bit later isn’t going to make things worse.”

Garo gets to his feet, stretches, and holds out a hand. I take it and let him pull me up. Then, for a moment, I don’t let go.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For helping me. And for … last night.”

“It’s…” He gives an embarrassed shrug, and squeezes my fingers. “I meant what I said. Just … think about it a little.”

“I will.”

There’s a long moment of silence, awkward but warm. Finally, reluctantly, I let go.

Even after washing my face, I’m scarcely feeling my best. My hair is a mess, tucked up in a tangle under my cap, and my clothes feel stiff with yesterday’s sweat. I move gingerly as we leave the inn.

In a way, this is an unfamiliar world. For years I’ve visited the Eleventh Ward only by night, and seeing the crowded streets in the daylight feels strange. The crowds are different, more purposeful, more hurried, less inclined to linger by a puppet show or a sweets stall. These are people heading to another day of making ends meet, or just beginning their long hours of labor. Men with pairs of buckets slung on a long pole walk the streets, dispensing wickedly strong tea into any proffered mug for a couple of bits. Garo secures a couple of cheap clay mugs and gets us some, and I sip the biting-hot stuff as we walk up toward the hospital.

I don’t even know if Grandma will be there. She might be asleep—she must need to sleep, I know intellectually, but I have a hard time imagining her actually doing it. She certainly doesn’t rest at night. But I need to talk to her now, before returning to the Second Ward, because I have no idea how long it’ll be before I’ll be able to get out again.

Unless, of course, I simply make Ofalo leave me be. The thought is chilling. Ofalo has been nothing but kind to me, even if he’s been well paid for his services. Turning his mind against itself would be as wrong as knifing him in the back. But it was just as wrong to twist Nouya, and I did that for Isoka’s sake. I look down at the cup of tea in my hands, and half-expect to see marionette strings trailing from my fingers like glittering spider-silk. Garo walks beside me in silence, leaving me to my thoughts. We’ve crossed half the Eleventh Ward and gotten within a few blocks of the hospital before I realize something’s wrong.

I’ve never seen the building by day before. It’s squat and ugly, all peeling whitewash and cracked plaster. A dozen chimneys poke out the top. I’m used to seeing their faint twists of gray smoke rising up against the clouds, lit by the glow of the city below. Now, though, a more substantial column is rising, black and thick. It’s not wood in a hearth. The hospital is burning.

“Garo.”

I tug him to a stop, and point wordlessly. He looks up, swears, and for a moment we both stand there stunned. Then, in silent unison, we toss our teacups to shatter in the street and start to run.

Fires always draw crowds, but there are more people gathered than I would expect, a knot of Eleventh Ward onlookers several layers deep. They’re kept well back from the hospital by a line of Ward Guard, soldiers on the ground carrying hooded spears, with cavalry trotting behind the line. Garo and I come to a halt at the back of the crowd, and I rise onto tiptoe, trying to find the source of the flames. The building doesn’t seem to be a blazing inferno.

“Can you see anything?”

Garo shakes his head. I look around, then turn away and pull him after me, heading for a butcher shop on the nearest corner. The front door is open, and the butcher—a woman named Karan who’s worked with Grandma before—is gawking with the rest. I wave as I push past her into the shop, Garo in tow.

“Tori!” Karan turns. “Do you know anything? Is Grandma all right?”