Coldmaker(21)

‘I’m going to kiss the Boilweed Girl,’ Matty said.

‘You mean the Upright Girl …?’ I asked, letting the words sink in.

‘Upright how?’ Moussa asked.

I held up my palm and made it straight like a knife, the same way as before.

Moussa paused, his face sinking with a frown. ‘Wait, you don’t think …’

I nodded. ‘I definitely think. She stood the same way. And where do you think she got that Shiver from?’

Matty’s eyes widened, his voice rising. ‘But’chu touched it? Does that mean the Vicaress is going to come after you too? You’re smart and everything, Spout, but you’re prolly not invincible like her.’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘But the Upright Girl came to my corner the other day and watched me from the alley. I think she has something to tell me. That may have even been why she chose the Market Quarter.’

Moussa’s face went so dark it practically melted into shadow. ‘That’s a really terrible idea. The Vicaress has got the same holy blood as the Khat. And she’s going to find your Upright Girl soon, and when she does, you won’t want to be anywhere near her.’

‘This girl is different,’ I said, feeling foolish for defending someone I knew nothing about. ‘I can feel it.’

‘Micah, she’s the enemy,’ Moussa said with a snarl. The bars went back up behind his eyes. ‘She’s going to bring bad times for all of us, all for some stupid waste of Cold.’

Before I could speak, Old Man Gum pounded a fist against the wall, right before the chimes went off above our heads. All the conversation ceased immediately, every Jadan falling into perfectly subservient poses: shoulders in, chin down, slight bends at the hip.

Gramble came into the barracks with his rations cart, a look of deep disturbance on his face. I hoped it was just from our talking and nothing more.

‘Barracks forty-five,’ Gramble called out, in a tone of voice that was very much unlike him. ‘There has been a certain disturbance today during the Procession. I am aware that a few of you disobey the rules and sneak out of here at night.’ I tried not to look too guilty. Gramble then waved about a piece of parchment that had a freshly cracked wax seal. ‘This ends tonight. Writ from the Khat himself has it that any Jadan caught out at night will be executed on the spot, and their Barracksmaster will go without pay for a month.’ His eyes were boring into mine now. ‘This sneaking about ends tonight. All of you.’

Gramble went around with his Closed Eye and gave out the evening rations. When it was my turn to declare myself ‘Unworthy’ I did so in a shaky voice, unable to look my Barracksmaster in the face.

‘I told you,’ Moussa said as we broke free from the wall, a grim veil over his eyes. ‘Bad times are ahead.’





Chapter Eight


Metal footsteps clanked in rhythm to the ‘Khat’s Anthem’.

Holy Eyes have long forsaken

Those of Jadankind

But the Khat is made of mercy

For those blind to the Cry

The heavy steps sounded from the distance, their clunking so sharp I knew the shoes must have steel soles. I steadied my voice, doing my best not to draw attention to myself. Unless Jadanmaster Geb had decided to go with an armour theme for his outfit today, then this was someone else stomping down Arch Road.

He keeps us from the darkness

He gives us hope and grace

Long live the Khat and all his sons

Who saved the Jadan race

The anthem finished and Arch Road went silent, but the footsteps carried on in slow progression. I kept my chin tucked in, listening to the scratch of a quill on parchment before each thundering shuffle.

The Sun was scrutinizing everything closely, its rays focused and strong. My corner’s tiny lip of stone was no match for the sky’s flare, and I could feel the moisture beading out of my forehead. I knew every Jadan on their corner would be wondering the same thing: who did these footfalls belong to, and where had our Jadanmaster gone?

The sky seemed eager to lap up our tension.

‘Spout,’ a smooth voice announced.

I nodded, keeping my head tucked in. ‘Yes, sir.’

There was another rustle of parchment, and a fine pair of leather shoes came into my vision, their bottoms cupped with iron. ‘Peculiar. That’s what the scroll says. But Spout is not a name.’

My chest squeezed with worry. I noted the ease with which this new Nobleman was speaking, as if he already belonged here. ‘My Barracksmaster calls me Spout, sir. So do most of the taskmasters and Nobles who know me.’

‘Look up.’

I hadn’t realized how sweaty I was until I jerked my head up, flinging a big, globby droplet from my forehead, which, thank the World Crier, fell just shy of his fancy shoes.

The Nobleman above gave me a disgusted look from a flat and broad face. Light grey stained the hair at his temples, and a deep scar crossed his face from forehead to ear. He had the look of an assassin from one of the High Houses. His stance was commanding, accentuated by a knotted red rope around his shoulders; and his hand was cupped gracefully around a crisp roll of parchment.

The man scribbled something onto his sheet. ‘Gramble is your Barracksmaster?’

I nodded, the sweat stinging my eyes.

His lips thinned, the scar settling deeper into his face. Stepping back, he announced to the whole street in a booming voice: ‘Ears! I am Jadanmaster Thoth. I am now in charge of the slaves in this Quarter, as Jadanmaster Geb proved to be ineffective. For the next two years, you will be under my supervision. You will receive water and figs at bell three and bell seven. If you miss water because of an errand, then you will receive an extra portion on the following bell. Praise be to the Khat.’