The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(21)

“Black Knife is here!” someone yelled, followed by, “Black Knife will save us!”

I pulled away from the edge of the wall. With any luck, the prisoners would simply steal the keys to their cuffs and leave.

Officers returned to help their injured comrades. I took a few more leg shots before springing up to run along the wall, away from the action.

Wind pushed at me, but I ran until the shouts and cries faded with distance. Only when I was alone again did I pause and crouch, and survey the northernmost edge of the district before me. My breath came in short gasps, mist on the winter air.

Had I done the right thing back there? Had I done enough?

There were so many people displaced because of the Inundation. Maybe Greenstone wasn’t the safest district in the city, but surely it was safer than being forced outside the walls, or into crowded shelters in the Flags. With new refugees coming into the city, the shelters would only become more congested.

I shook away those worries. I’d done what I could.

Cautiously, I descended to the street and kept to the shadows, making a straight line for Fisher’s Mouth. It felt good to stretch and push, to allow the night air to surround me. Everything in the palace seemed so far away now.

But the problems of Skyvale were more real than ever. Though the Inundation had lasted only a few hours, the effects were profound: ripples of stone cascaded down a warehouse, as though the building had been momentarily molten; squirrels that had been darting over buildings were now petrified, caught mid-crouch forever; and pipes meant for plumbing had partially phased through the factory where they were manufactured, giving the huge building a weirdly skeletal look.

This was the beginnings of the wraithland.

I hurried on.

Fisher’s Mouth was on the far side of the district, where the river coursed under the city wall. During the day, fishermen ran nets across the water. They could usually be persuaded to part with some of their catch in trade for items pinched from the more wealthy areas of Skyvale.

Tonight, the fishery was empty, save the sounds of a handful of people downstream. A child shrieked at the chill spray of water while adults scolded the girl. “Be quiet,” they said. “Police will find us.”

I slipped along the river, wrinkling my nose against the pungent odor of fish. It was hard to believe no one had come to steal a few meals, given the dozen barrels ready to be transported into the building.

One look into the barrels told me why. Brown-striped bass and red-bellied sunfish lay dead, but where the fins had been, now were hands. Tiny and brown, with webbed fingers. Their dead-eyed stares were strange, too. They looked human. Some had lips.

Bile raced up the back of my throat, and I turned away.

I had brought this here. My magic. My wraith boy.

Wary, I crept into the building, hands on my daggers. Heavy, wet darkness wrapped around me like a cloak, and I paused to let my eyes adjust.

A feral cat yowled. A deeper growl followed, coming from somewhere behind crates of packaged fish, which rose along the walls. The damp storage area and the crash of the river rushing at my back absorbed the sound.

I checked behind every crate and barrel, but found no sign of Ospreys. The small office had been raided for its supplies.

In the distance, the clock tower struck twenty-three. I needed to get back soon. Thanks to the additional patrols, I’d have to give myself plenty of time to sneak back through Hawksbill. Rushing had gotten me caught before.

Halfway out the door, I stopped. A creamy white paper fluttered in a draft, caught against the wall. Even dirt streaked and crumpled, it was easy to see the paper was too fine for a fishery.

I smothered a laugh as I rescued the palace stationery from the wall. The list was in Melanie’s handwriting, as familiar to me as her face and voice.

Locations, numbers: I knew this list. These were the resistance groups in Aecor, the list we’d copied during our infiltration of Skyvale Palace, though in a different order than the one I recalled.

“Oh, Melanie.” I folded the paper and tucked it into a pocket. “You are so clever.”

I could almost hear her reply: “Say it again.”

Melanie hadn’t turned. She hadn’t. Patrick must have wanted to move on as soon as she’d returned, so she’d left something she knew I’d be sure to spot.

Outside, I started for Hawksbill, but a scream downriver cut the silence.

My heart thundered as I hurtled myself toward the shrieks and adults’ shouts for the girl to move away from the water. Someone called for the police to help.

I sprinted along the riverside, the churning waters inky at my right. In the high moonlight, spray glittered as a creature lurched from the depths. It was all sinuous scales and snapping jaws, some terrible fusion between lizard and snake, and as big as a hunting hound. Enormous fangs dripped black fluid as it plodded toward a group of six or seven people, including the girl who stood just ahead of the others. Carefully, she backed away, one long slow step at a time. The whites of her eyes shone wide.

“Come on,” urged the adults. “Just a little farther.”

The girl whimpered, making the wraith beast leap forward—

“Hey!” I jumped out from the shadow of a melting wall, sword sliding out of its sheath without a sound.

The wraith beast whipped around in a flurry of claws and fangs and scales, wraith-white eyes trained on me. The girl spun and ran for her family; they caught her with reaching arms and dragged her from the beast’s sight.