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tried to dunk her in a rain
barrel.
    None of it
mattered anyway, especially not with Argent moving towards her with
that silver grin. He was behind her too quickly, knife tip pressing
into her kidney. Various elbows and torsos blocked them from the
soldier’s view.
    “Saffron, I’ve
missed you.” His voice was gravely and interesting, it was how he
managed to talk himself into moderate power in the underground. At
least for a Core rat. “Ah, ah. I wouldn’t.”
    Killian’s hand
froze on the pommel of the katana poking up behind his
shoulder.
    Saffron
shifted, her boots cold and wet. “Argent, I don’t have your money,”
she said tightly. She couldn’t look at Killian. It was stupid to
have been tempted by real paper and watercolour paints and pencils.
She should have stuck to the nubs of coal from the fire barrels
lining the streets and the plaster of the apartment walls.
    “That’s bad
news, love,” Argent said. “Real bad news.”
    “Yet,” Saffron
amended. She couldn’t afford Argent drawing attention to her, not
with her stolen leaf mask. “I have a lead.” If Jedekiah at the
sideshow where she worked could pay her wages this month. Argent’s
dagger poked an uncomfortable hole through the back of her jacket.
“If you kill me, you’ll never get your money,” she reminded
him.
    “But I’ll get a
bit of sport and send a warning to the others who owe me a
debt.”
    “In the square
on a Ritual day?” She asked. “Not likely. Give me two days,” she
added. “I’ll give you interest.”
    “Damn right you
will. Double.”
    She clenched
her jaw over a stream of insults mostly involving his mother and a
goat. “Fine.”
    “Two days and
twice the credits. I prefer seeds or batteries.” Argent yanked her
sleeve up, slashing down on her forearm in three long slices before
she could jerk out of his grasp. Pain throbbed and burned as blood
oozed out of the cuts. Even if she managed to clean them, the cuts
would leave scars, as intended.
    “Three credits,
Saffron. This way you won’t forget.” Argent shoved her into
Killian. “Cross me again, and your ass is mine to sell.”
    Killian fussed
over the cuts as the drums sounded. Soldiers marched down the empty
street, led by the standard bearer with his gold-fringed flag. The
Directorate symbol was in Ogham, an old language from across the
sea based on trees: a straight line bisected with two short
parallel lines on the right, like winter branches. Back in school,
a teacher had once told Saffron that some of the European cities
still existed but since it was unlikely Saffron would ever see a
boat, never mind sail on one, she’d stopped paying attention.
    Cartimandua
followed on a huge horse. It was fatter than any person Saffron was
ever likely to meet. Cartimandua herself was slender and strong,
like a sword blade. She wore a leather tunic with a bright red sash
better suited to a Roman empress. As the Legata, she was tasked
with securing the City and protecting the Green Jacks. Tattooed
Numinas from the Cella waited in their ceremonial chitons to read
omens or pray, or whatever it was they did up on the dais.
Cartimandua faced the crowd with a smile.
    “Great, another
speech,” Saffron muttered. A nearby soldier cuffed her on the back
of the head. The soldier eyed them both until Killian dropped his
gaze to his boots. Saffron simmered.
    “Today we bring
justice to three outlaws.” Saffron snorted at the word. There was a
reason that the Elysians called the processional way to the square
‘the Corpse Road’ and it had nothing to do with justice. The three
prisoners who were brought out in chains would have agreed. The
first looked to be about fourteen, scared and sullen. The
Directorate were probably thrilled; younger criminals had a better
chance at being strong enough survive the process.
    “This boy
stands accused of climbing into a tree and breaking some of its
branches,” Cartimandua explained, managing to sound both
disappointed and