The Glass Arrow(59)

Suddenly, I’m thinking of Straw Hair, running towards the fence. I’m yelling at Daphne to stop her, but she and her friends do nothing, as if they’re rooted to the ground. Again, that heavy, helpless feeling comes over me, like a wet blanket on my shoulders. I want to stop Daphne like I wanted to stop Straw Hair, but I can’t. If I leave here, I risk everything. My life. Kiran’s life. My freedom.

I blink, and when I open my eyes the Watcher has Daphne by the forearm. He lifts her with one arm, and her feet fly out from beneath her. Then he throws her down and kicks her. It’s not as hard as he can, but hard enough that her cry is cut short.

The water jug spills across Kiran’s bedroll, breaking my trance. My fingers ache from squeezing it so hard. I can’t even right it. My eyes are stuck on the scene before me, and I’m sick with anger.

A dog may eat a man’s food, and sleep in a man’s bed, but that does not make it a man.

The Watcher kicks Daphne twice more. He doesn’t have to, she’s already down. She’s not even moving.

“Stop.” A strained whisper comes from my lips.

I’ve known Daphne as long as I’ve been in the city. She’s not one to be daring, unless it involves drawing the street crowd with her kissing act. Most of the time she keeps to someone else’s shadow. So I’m shocked when she snags the knife handle out of the dirt and jams it straight into the Watcher’s foot.

At that moment, half of me is cheering. The other half is horrified.

Very slowly, the Watcher removes the metal from his boot, balancing easily on one foot. When it’s clear, he grabs the slack in Daphne’s chain and gives it a hard yank. The handle is in his hand, and I know that means the broken shard of metal is sticking out of his fist.

Daphne screams.

I’m halfway down the ladder before my head catches up. I can’t cross the stream. I can’t be seen. I’m nearly free—out of the Garden, out of the mayor’s house. Helping Daphne is as good as soaking myself in water and running for the electric fence.

I don’t even like her. Not really.

She’s only a half friend.

Her scream stops short.

I jump the last three rungs down, and now my feet are on the barn floor and I’m running for the back exit I know is just below the loft. Kiran is racing towards me from the opposite side, but I reach the turn first, and streak out the back door. My white dress, now smeared with dirt and speckled with horsehair, catches on the paddock fence and rips from the thigh down.

At the edge of the stream I see them: The Watcher is facing away from me, and Daphne is shoved up against the office wall. In his raised hand shines the broken knife.

I slide down the gravel bank and leap across the stream, landing with a splash just short of the other bank. Blue water dyes the body of my dress and makes the fabric stick to my skin. I rise just as the Watcher is turning, his giant hand still holding Daphne’s shoulder.

I have no weapons. I have only my fists.

What have I done?

I should run, but the Watcher is reaching for the belt across his chest. I hold my breath, fearing the wire, but instead he removes his messagebox. I know he means to send an alarm to the Garden, maybe even to the other Watchers, and I can’t allow that to happen. I need more time. Time to get to the gates.

I charge him. He can’t hold both of us so he throws Daphne down, opening both his arms towards me. My diversion has worked; he can’t finish the code before I collide into his brick-wall body.

I go for the lower gut. Watchers have muscles like steel, but they’re still slightly softer below the reinforced bones of their rib cage. I aim for that spot and pummel it with my fists until he heaves me clear off the ground.

I think he’s going to toss me against the wall, so I splay my limbs out in all different directions in order to make myself as difficult to throw as possible. The world tilts, I’m upside down. I kick hard, and my knee slams into his face. His nose breaks with a crack.

In the background I hear a faint gasping and realize Daphne’s been freed. My plan was to help her, but now all I want is to get away.

“The key!” I say. “Get it!”

Daphne swipes down his chest and rips the entire belt free. She scrambles across the ground at his feet, but I can’t see if she gets the key to her bracelet because the Watcher is once again reaching for my throat.

He doesn’t get me. I thrash hard, and he ends up rolling me into his side, my legs behind me, my upper body beneath his arm, the way he would carry a bundle of sticks. He’s pinned my arms against my sides, and though I struggle, I can’t break free. There’s a thunk and the Watcher goes suddenly still. A rock falls into my path of vision and hits the ground.

I jerk my head back and see Kiran. He’s standing on our side of the stream, arms braced before him, fists ready. His shirt is damp from the water, plastered to his his chest. In the moonlight he looks like a wildcat, muscles lean and taut, body ready to pounce.

The Watcher’s hold on me loosens, and I can work my hand free and hit him again, anywhere I can. He’s bleeding from where Kiran’s rock smacked him in the eye; a drop splashes onto my face.

Kiran throws himself at us. He must have figured the best plan was mine; take him by surprise, hit fast and hard. There’s not much use going for the face. If Kiran leaves his body exposed and the Watcher hits him, he’ll end up broken in half.