“Where are you going… ?” he began, but was interrupted by Pigeon making grunting noises. “Ah, one of the tongueless whelps. Whose business?”
Qinnitan’s stomach lurched. She had worked so hard on her other forged letter that she had completely forgotten she would have to produce some kind of permission to leave the Seclusion as well—slaves, even the relatively select Silent Favored, could not simply wander in and out at will.
An instant before she would have broken and run, the boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silvery article the size of a finger and showed it to the guard. Qinnitan’s heart climbed into her mouth. If it was Luian’s seal-stick and the word had already gone out…
“Ah, for old Cusy, is it?" The guard waved his hand. “Don’t want to make the Queen of the Seclusion grumpy, do we?” He stepped aside, glancing with idle but focused curiosity at Qinnitan as though he sensed that something about her was not quite right. She dropped her eyes and silently recited the words of the Bees’ Hymn as Pigeon steered her past the huge guard and in behind the peddler woman, who was just being released, apparently innocent of contraband.
“They say they were lovers once,” one of the guards who had been searching the cart said quietly as he stepped out of the peddler’s way. Qinnitan was startled until she realized he was talking to the other guard.
“Him? And the Evening Star?” asked his companion, equally quiet. “You’re joking.”
“That’s what they say.” The guard’s voice dropped even lower, to a whisper—Qinnitan only heard a little of what he said before the pair of guards had fallen too far behind her. “But even if she cared for him sail, she couldn’t do him any good now. Nothing between the seas can help him . .”
Jeddin? Were they talking about Jeddin?
Qinnitan felt hollowed, scorched, as though all her feelings had been burned away. The world had seemed mad enough, but today it had spun into realms of lunacy she could not have dreamed existed.
It was a warm evening and the streets were crowded. Outside the Seclusion the thoroughfare was full of expensive shops and teahouses—proximity to the great palace was almost infinitely desirable, no matter what the trade—and Qinnitan felt such a sense of relief and joy to be free among the loud and cheerful throng that it almost overcame the horror that still gripped her, but the feeling did not last long. Not only had she seen someone close to her murdered, she had now flouted one of the autarch’s gravest laws. Even if by some strange chance she might have been allowed to live despite Jeddin’s and Luian’s crimes and her connection to them, the moment she had passed that door she had sullied herself. The autarch would have no use whatsoever for a sullied bride of unimportant parents.
I might as well be dead, she thought. A ghost on the desert wind. It was a curious feeling, both empty and exhilarating.
As they wound their way down through the hanging lamps of the market district and closer to the dark waterfront, the crowds became less friendly, the criminal element less cautious, and the menace increasingly tangible. As they passed down an alleyway between two long buildings, the only light that leaked in from a shabby teahouse at one end with its shutters half raised, she realized fatal misfortune was almost as likely to take them here as in the very heart of the autarch’s palace. She would never have come to such a place in her woman’s clothes, but there were many unpleasant folk who would be just as happy with a pair of comely boys— especially those who presumably could not scream for help.
Little Pigeon also sensed the danger—it would have taken someone not just mute but blind and deaf to miss it—and he allowed Qinnitan to hurry him along toward the docks. As they stepped out of yet another narrow, dimly lit alley into Sailmakers’ Row, a wide road whose other end touched the shipyards and the nearest part of the docks, they found a tall shape standing in the road as if waiting for them.
“Hello, wee ones.” The stranger wore sailor’s garb, the pants barely below his knee and a mariner’s cloth wrapped around his head, but his clothes were ragged and his voice shook like a sick man’s. “And what brings you wandering down here at this time of the night? Are you lost?” He took a step toward them. “Let a friendly hand help.”
Qinnitan hesitated for only a moment—he stood between them and their destination, but the autarch’s wrath was behind them and they could not turn back—then she grabbed Pigeon’s hand and started toward the stranger at speed. The boy hesitated only enough to make a slight drag on her hand, then he leaped forward and ran beside her. The man stood, his arms spread but his dark-sunken eyes wide with surprise. When they hit him, he was knocked onto his back. He rolled there for a moment cursing before scrambling to his feet.
“You peasecods, you puppies, I’ll have your innards out!” he shrieked. “I’ll spike you and gut you!” He was up and after them now, and although he was at least a dozen steps behind, when Qinnitan looked back over her shoulder he seemed to be closing the distance rapidly.
“Where are we going?” she gasped, but Pigeon did not know any better than she did, and could only run beside her. The boy was faster than her, she realized, but he paced her, still holding her hand. What did Jeddin’s letter say —a temple, was it? The boat moored across from a temple? But what temple?
They came down out of Sailmakers’ Row and onto the quay, their pursuer’s steps banging on the boards not far behind them. Qinnitan slowed and almost stopped, daunted by the horrible sight of hundreds upon hundreds of masts, of boats lined in their slips for what looked like a mile, all bobbing in turn as gentle waves from the mild night sea ran down the length of the quay. The footsteps grew louder and she began to sprint again.
“Little scallops!” the man panted. He seemed almost at their shoulders and Qinnitan reached for her last strength to stay ahead of him. “I eat little scallops!”
In desperation she began to shout as loud as she could, “Hoy, the Morning Star! Morning Star! Where are you?” until she ran out of breath. There was no reply, although she thought she saw movement on some of the dark ships.
Now they all ran in silence for a moment, the man behind them wheezing but not slowing. “Morning Star!” Qinnitan screamed. “Where are you?"
“Just up a few slips,” someone shouted from one of the boats as they passed.
Qinnitan stumbled but Pigeon held her up. “Morning Star!” she shouted again, or tried, but her voice seemed quiet and strengthless, her legs soft as cushions. She could barely summon breath. “Morning Star!”
“Here!” a voice shouted from a short way ahead. “Who’s there?”
Qinnitan yanked Pigeon up what she hoped was the correct gangplank. The man who had been chasing them stopped, hesitated for a moment, then turned away and took a few staggering steps into the shadows and was gone from sight. Qinnitan leaned on the ship’s rail, gasping as the stars in the sky seemed to drift down and swirl around her like sparks. The masts and rigging were all around her, too, like some kind of forest draped in spiderwebs, but she was able to take in nothing else except burning air.