Page 68 of City of Stone and Silence

“Trying to find out!” I call back at her. “Borrowing your roof!”

Karan’s rooms are above her shop, a tangled mess of discarded clothes and soiled sheets. And, leaning against one wall, a ladder, which is just the right height to reach a trapdoor leading out onto the slate roof tiles. I know this because one night, a year ago, we used Karan’s roof as a hiding place for a couple of scared mage-blood kids, and I sat with them and tried to calm their whimpering as Ward Guard patrols crisscrossed the district below.

I slam the ladder into place, and Garo, getting the idea, swarms up it, pushing open the trapdoor. I follow, blinking at the bright sunlight. The roof is sloped, and the slate tile uneven, so footing is tricky at best, but at least we can see over the heads of the crowd and the Ward Guard beyond.

There are a lot of Ward Guard. As a rule, they don’t fight fires, leaving that to neighborhood fire brigades. The sour feeling in my stomach returns, stronger than ever, as I watch a whole squadron of cavalry troop past, with a company of spearmen on their heels. No one seems to be carrying buckets.

The smoke is billowing out of the main entrance, with trickles rising from a few of the first-floor windows. It can’t be that bad inside, though, because Ward Guard are still moving in and out. I freeze as more of them emerge, followed by a line of men and women with their hands roped behind their backs. Many are bandaged, wearing stained hospital robes.

“Are they evacuating?” Garo says.

“It’s not a fire,” I mutter. “It’s a raid.”

My chest feels tight. Grandma has been raided before, though not in the time that I’ve been there. She talks about her friends in the Ward Guard, but there are times when they can’t turn a blind eye to her activities. She’s always gotten through it. Unless they find the sanctuary …

The smoke shifts, and I catch sight of a column of figures who are definitely not Ward Guard. They wear a uniform I’ve never seen in person, but recognize from a hundred hushed stories—dark leather armor, studded with blackened metal plates, their faces obscured by a hanging veil of chain mail. Immortals.

A moment later, they’re gone, but I know what I saw. I turn to Garo.

“We have to get to the sanctuary.”

“We’re not going to get through that,” he says, pointing down at the lines of Ward Guard. “And they may not find it. If we stay clear—”

“They’ll find it. There are Immortals in there. That means they’re not just looking for draft refugees.”

His eyes go wide. “You’re sure?”

“I saw them.”

I will him not to argue, and Blessed be praised he doesn’t. Instead he takes a deep breath, as though steeling himself, and lets it slowly whistle through his teeth. Then, with no trace of further hesitation, he says, “All right. How do we get there?”

Okay. I can admit, in the privacy of my own skull, that if I’m not falling in love with him, then … well. The thought distracts me from the madness of what we’re about to do.

“Follow me,” I tell him. “And stay quiet.”

The sanctuary, housed in the hidden inner section of a decrepit tenement block, is not supposed to be accessed directly—that would, obviously, lead any watchers to conclude the block isn’t as abandoned as it appears. But, because Grandma Tadeka is thorough in her contingency plans, there is a back door, carefully concealed against a day just like this one. It’s outside the Ward Guard perimeter, and clear of most of the crowd, but there are still more people than normal on the streets. I lead Garo to the abandoned building and force myself not to look over my shoulder.

We move a loose slat from a boarded-up door and push our way in, padding through silent, cobwebbed hallways. Plaster has fallen from the walls in huge chunks, melting into gray slush, and mold grows over what’s left in great blooms. The apartments visible through the open doorways are similarly ruined, floor mats black and rotting. I count doorways, muttering under my breath, and find an unremarkable door between two of the vacant suites. It opens into a closet, empty and full of dust. I reach out to the back and rap as loud as I can.

“Is there a secret knock?” Garo says, fascinated.

I shake my head. “There’s supposed to be a sentry on watch. I hope they haven’t run off, because it’ll be locked from the other side.” I raise my voice. “It’s Tori! Please, I need to get inside to talk to Grandma.”

A faint voice, a young girl’s, comes back from the other side of the wood. “I’m not supposed to let anybody in.”

I think hard. “Karuko? Is that you?”

“Yes.” She sounds scared. “I don’t know what’s happening. Grandma’s not here.”

“Who’s in charge?”

“Hasaka, I think,” she says.

“How about if you let me in and take me straight to him?” I say. “That can’t hurt, can it?”

I can feel her fear, seeping through the wood like black oil. For a moment I want to reach out and shove it down, steady her nerves with Kindre power, and then I recoil from the thought. You can’t just twist people!

“Okay,” Karuko says after a moment, a brassy note of courage peeking through. “Come quick.”