Gates of Thread and Stone(10)

My fingers curled around the cloth of my shirt. No. The Black Rider was a cover-up, either because the Kahl didn’t know where the missing people were or because he didn’t care. Kahl Ninu never even tried to explain why some poorly named rebel would need to kidnap anyone.

The popular rumor in the Alley was that the Rider had tamed his own pack of gargoyles, and he kidnapped Ninurtans to feed them. Not sure what that had to do with overthrowing the Kahl, but maybe it was a psychological tactic. Demoralization or something.

Or it was just another ridiculous explanation to appease the questions. Those taken were never heard from again. Ninurta was a big city, but nothing a thorough guard unit wouldn’t be able to sift through if it put in the effort. If the missing people were still here, the Watchmen would have found them by now.

I gritted my teeth and pushed away from the wall. I would worry about all that later, after I ran out of other options.

I shifted the package, gripping it against my stomach. Delivering the thing seemed so trivial compared to Reev’s absence, but I couldn’t lose my only source of credits.

I’d never been this far north before. I repeated my boss’s directions in my head and turned left at a corner where a large poster boasted the freshest bread in the city. I doubted it.

The folks in the North District considered everything past the abandoned train tracks and the boarded-up station the Upper Alley. The streets here were still dirty, threaded with cracks and riddled with potholes, but they were better kept than those down by the docks.

I followed the road and ignored the pedestrians who stared at me. A couple of women strutted past in high-collared silver tunics and heels that would’ve made my sore feet sting in sympathy, except the added height only made it easier for them to look down on me. The people here liked to think of themselves as White Court residents living outside its walls, because they had more credits to spare than the rest of us.

If you asked me, though, Purgatory was Purgatory.

I found the house next to a shrine dedicated to a god I didn’t know. Built before Rebirth, the carved facade was crumbling, but it was clear it had been sculpted by a talented hand. Not many people visited the shrines anymore, and the mahjo temple was used now only for farewell ceremonies. Faith and prayers could take a person only so far, especially without the mahjo to reinforce the old beliefs. But I understood why people would want to believe in those sorts of things—they made the world feel less lonely. And you never knew what a person could do fueled by hope.

When I was younger, I used to pretend my powers had been a gift from some higher being. Or that, maybe, these powers had a purpose. That I had a purpose. I had toyed with the idea that I was mahjo or, possibly, even a distant relative of the Kahl. But the history texts never spoke of mahjo with the ability to slow time, and once I got older, I came to accept that I was probably just a freak accident. I didn’t know if or how that connected to my memory loss or why someone had left me on the riverbank, but these were questions I had stopped asking years ago. No point torturing myself.

Once, when Reev was at work, I had watched a farewell ceremony through the paneless stone windows of the temple. After the candles were blown out, the caretakers collected the body and transferred it onto a long, enclosed wagon pulled by a Gray. Led by Watchmen, they’d taken the body outside the walls to be released into the sea beyond the cliffs. The city that stood here before Ninurta had burned its dead and scattered their ashes to the sea, but the tradition had been somewhat streamlined.

I had wondered: Is this what happened to my parents? Had their bodies been sent down the final leg of the river, dumped over its edge into the depths below?

The man who answered the door gave me a quick once-over. His lip curled. He covered his hands with a cloth before accepting the package. In return, I rolled my eyes and dusted my clothes off on his doorstep.

Glad that was over, I searched the Upper Alley for another couple of hours until the soles of my feet screamed and every step felt like walking on thorns. The sky had grown dark, and the shadows between buildings stretched black fingers into the open street. I trudged back home, forcing my thoughts to center on the pain in my feet instead of the panic in my chest.

All the while, I held on to the hope that Reev had spent the day with Angee and forgotten to let me know. But when I pushed open our door, I found the place as empty as I’d left it.

The entire day had passed without a word or message from Reev. I had no more doubts that something was wrong.

Reev’s shift at the Raging Bull had started hours ago, but I knew he wouldn’t be there. He was late once to work—I had been helping Avan wash his shop windows while guessing what his soapy stick figure drawings were supposed to be, and Reev hadn’t wanted to leave the apartment without knowing where I was. I got back to the Labyrinth in time to see two of Joss’s men arguing with the residents and demanding to be let in. The only reason Joss hadn’t fired him was because Reev agreed to work a month without pay.

But today, Joss’s lackeys hadn’t come around.

I didn’t think about what I had to do. Thinking would lead to doubt, and doubt would lead to hesitation. I couldn’t hesitate. Not on this. Not for Reev.

I packed the bare essentials, which was pretty much all I owned. Most of my shirts—loose, long-sleeved tunics mainly—had been hand-sewn by Reev. It cost less, and he could charm the textile workers in the Labyrinth to sell him fabric for cheap.