My hands is slippery with sweat. It’s runnin down my face, into my eyes. My heart’s poundin. Time’s runnin out. Once the roof timbers burn through, this ceilin’s gonna come down an that’l be it.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, I mut er.

The second to last key slips in. I turn it. Leap to my feet. The second I touch the handle of the trapdoor to pul it up, I snatch my hand away, cursin. The metal’s hot. I throw my cloak over my hand, grab the handle an haul the door open.

I reach down in the darkness. His hand shoots up, grabs mine with a strong grip. I lean back an help him climb out. He’s coughin. I pul my cloak over both of us.

This way! I says. We head towards the door of the cel block. To the outside an fresh air.

The groan of creakin timbers splits the air. The roof! I says. It’s gonna go! Another groan an, then, at the door end of the cel block, the roof col apses with the most almighty crash. Dust an dirt mix with the smoke an bil ow towards us.

We’re trapped! he says.

Go back! I says.

We turn around, head back the way we jest come.

Think, Saba, think. You an Ash went in through the tunnel. How did Ruby git in here? The same way?

A tunnel! I yel . I think there’s a tunnel in the wal at the end!

We feel our way to the back wal of the cel block. Run our hands up an down an along the bricks, searchin fer a hole.

There ain’t nuthin here! he says.

There’s got a be! I drop to my knees, my ngers fumblin, feelin al along the bot om of the wal , down near the ground, then over to the corner an—

Here! I says. C’mon! I git down on my bel y an start crawlin through it. He’s right behind me. The tunnel’s l ed with smoke. I go as fast as I can go. There ain’t no sound but our shal ow breathin, our gasps fer air. Then the tunnel starts to widen, the ceilin’s higher an we can crouch an run along. The smoke starts to thin out.

I can see light ahead! I says.

Then we’re at the end of the tunnel. A rusted metal ladder. A pale golden light beams down. I scramble up the ladder. He’s right behind me.There’s sackin laid over the hole at the top. I push it up, real careful. Bits of straw drift down. I peer out. Straw al around. I lift the sackin a bit more.

The tunnel comes up into a fenced yard between two shanties. Straw on the ground, three pigs snuf lin in the corner. Besides them, nobody in sight.

In the distance, screams an shouts fil the air. The smel of smoke’s strong.

It’s safe, I says. Let’s go.

We climb out, vault over the fence, run along a lit le al ey an peer around the corner.

Looks like Maev an the Hawks’ve done theirselves proud. Smoke’s bil owin high into the air. A hotwind’s sprung up to help spread the re through the town from the direction of the cel blocks. It catches up sparks an bits of burnin wood an blows ’em onto rooftops an inside the flimsy buildins.

People hurry through the streets, headed fer the main gate, al loaded down with what valuables they can carry. They’re pul in bulgin samsonites behind ’em, clutchin lumpy bundles to their chests an pushin handcarts loaded up so high they cain’t see over ’em.

Fol ow me, says Jack. He dives into the crowd an I fol ow him as he dodges in an out among al the people. There’s a lit le kid wailin with fright, red-faced, as he’s hauled along by the hand.

The Angel of Death’s a bit too wel -known here, says Jack. His hand shoots out an next thing I know, he’s nicked a hat o a some man’s head an crammed it down on mine. That’l help, he says.

I got a find Ash, I says, scannin the crowd. An the rest of the Hawks. They got my sister.

I always wanted a sister, he says. So this is the Hawks’ doin. Very nice.

You know ’em? I says, stil lookin fer anybody I can recognize.

I heard of ’em, he says. I travel a fair bit in my line of work. C’mon, this way! He grabs my hand an heads down a al ey to the right. At the end we turn left, then right agin. There ain’t nobody left in this part of town at al . It’s al quiet. Jest the faint sound of shoutin in the distance.

He checks inside a shanty. Nobody home, he says an pul s me after him through the door.

He dumps a pile of clothes on the table.

He dumps a pile of clothes on the table.

Where’d you git al that? I says.

Lesson number one, he says. Best place to steal anythin is in a crowd. Special y a crowd in a hurry to be somewhere else.

He pul s o his shirt. When I see his bare chest I git a jolt, deep in my gut. Three long scars—pink, twisted, puckered—run from his right shoulder al the ways down to his left hip. Claw marks. I ain’t never seen the kinda beast that’ud leave marks like that.

He pul s the new shirt over his head. Starts to undo the top but on of his britches.

What’re you doin? I says.

What does it look like I’m doin? If yer the shy type, I’d advise you to turn around.

Oh! I turn my back on him quick.

Lesson number two, he says. Even if yer in a hurry, go fer the best boots you can nd. Don’t compromise on quality. Here, these should t you. He tosses me a pair of boots. Wel go on, he says, try ’em fer size.

I sit on the ground an pul ’em on. Jump to my feet an give ’em a stamp. They fit, I says. That’s amazin.

I got a good eye, he says. Right, that’s me done. You can turn around now.

I do. We stare at each other. His face is streaked with soot an ash. His teeth ash white in the gloom. You know my name, he says. What’s yers? Yer real name, I mean.

Saba, I says.

Saba, he says. I like it.

I got a git movin, I says. My sister’l be waitin with the Hawks an—

Before I know what he’s up to, he grabs my hand.

Hey! I try to pul it away but he holds it even tighter.

Saba, he says, I dunno what happy star sent you lookin fer me but I’m mighty thankful it did. If you hadn’t of turned up, I’d be dead by now.

Then he brings my hand to his lips an kisses the back of it. While he’s doin it, he looks straight at me with his silver moonlight eyes. I can smel the smoke on his skin. That an dried sweat an—faint, like a whisper—sage.

Thank you, he says.

Heat washes over my chest an up my neck. Rushes into my face. I snatch my hand away, shove it unner my armpit an glare at him. What’d you do that fer? I says.

I was thankin you, he says. I was bein polite.

I ain’t never seen polite like that before, I scowl.

Oh that ain’t nuthin, he says. I can be a lot more polite than that. He grins. A cocky, jimswagger grin like he’s king of the world. Then he bends down to pick up a crossbow an quiver that he must of took at the same time as the clothes.

I need to find my sister, I says. She should be with the Hawks.

Always good to have a plan, says Jack. Where you meetin her?

At the gate in the northeast corner, I says.

There ain’t no gate there, he says.

There wil be by the time I git there, I says. Nice to meet you, Jack. I turn to go.

Wait! he grabs my arm. I ain’t in no particular hurry, he says. I’l tag along. Make sure you find ’em.

I duck down the side streets an al eyways, headed fer the northeast corner of Hopetown at top speed. Jack’s right beside me.

We swerve an leap as bits of burnin buildin crash to the ground. Roof timbers, a door. The metal shanties twist an buckle an groan in the heat.