He arcs his arm, ready to take a swing at the woman.
“Step away.” My voice escalates on the second word.
The man raises his head and sneers, until he spots the gun in my hand. He spits into the scattered belongings. I see the disdain in his small, mean eyes. He doesn’t think I’ll shoot. I want to prove him wrong. Because if I don’t, he’ll terrorize other women and other children.
But I only have two shots, and I may need both of them to save Elise. I wait.
Very deliberately, the man gathers himself and spits again, not into the clothing, but at me. It hits just below my hairline, hot and disgusting, and slides down behind my mask. I hold the gun as steady as I can, forcing my fingers not to pull the trigger, because he’s retreating. The man saunters away as if he hasn’t a care in the world. My hand shakes a little, wanting to hurt him. But I don’t.
I keep the gun trained on the man until he disappears down a side street, out of sight. The woman pulls herself up and clutches her child. I lower the gun and force myself not to pull the mask away. Not to wipe at the sticky residue that has pooled below my cheekbone. Even if no one else is infected, there’s still April, only a few steps behind me now. I must keep the mask on.
“Thank you,” the woman says quietly.
I don’t look closely at the child she is holding. He hasn’t cried out once, not even when the man knocked him from his mother’s arms. If he’s badly hurt, I don’t want to know. I can’t do anything about it.
“The Debauchery District is in that direction,” I say, pointing. “Take the child and get inside. One of the soldiers will find you medical help if you ask.”
“Araby?” Mina has my arm and is pulling me away. “We have to keep moving. He might come back. With friends.”
The woman heeds the warning and starts moving, scooping a few of her belongings into the battered case.
But I’m rooted in the middle of the street with my gun in hand.
“Araby!” It takes Henry’s small voice to bring me back to reality. I slide the gun back into my pocket.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“It’s near the river,” Mina says. “In the lower city. We have to hurry. Don’t stop again.”
She leads us to the abandoned industrial district. The buildings are massive enough to block out the sun. They loom on every side of us. The streets themselves often disappear as if they’ve been consumed by the factories.
We walk up one street, and then down another. There are hardly any people here, but I watch for the dark cloaks of Malcontent’s men.
As we pass a tent set up in the shadow of a blown-out factory, a girl stumbles into the street, scratching at her bleeding eyes. Henry screams, and all of us step back. The girl falls to her knees, and before I can let out the breath I’m holding, a man runs out of the tent. He sees us watching and grimaces as he throws a rough blanket over her. I lead our small band away. I’m not sure if she was already dead, but it’s just a matter of time.
We reach the stench of the river soon.
“There,” Mina says eventually, pointing.
The orphanage is a squat one-story building surrounded by hulking factories. All of the windows are barred.
“So here we are,” April says. “Now what?”
“First, we find a cellar with access to the underground tunnels,” I say, trying the closest door. It is locked.
“Araby, last time we were in the tunnels—” April begins.
“We need a way to escape out of sight once we find the girls.” I cut her off. “Look for a tunnel entrance. Prospero’s men won’t want to follow us into Malcontent’s domain.”
“They came into Elliott’s domain to take Elise,” April mutters.
“If you have a better plan, you can tell me. Otherwise, we find a tunnel entrance. You and Henry wait there, ready to help the girls to safety if we get them out. I’ll go up to the orphanage and knock on the door.”
“Are you going to tell them you want to adopt a few little girls?” April’s expression is almost identical to one that Elliott makes.
I lead them down the street that passes in front of the orphanage.
Studying the paving stones, I find the mark of an open eye. Before it was Elliott’s symbol, it was the symbol used by a secret society to mark entrances to the tunnels. I kneel and press the stone until it slides back to reveal a gentle slope leading into a narrow passage.
“All of you stay here in the shadows. I’ll knock on the door and try to find out how many guards are in there. I doubt Prospero has many people in the city. But if there are lots of guards, then we’ll have to think of some way to sneak into the building. Look for a back door or a tunnel entrance.”
If the sun wasn’t fading, I’d look for a way to sneak into the orphanage first. But it’s already late afternoon, and I do not want to be out at night with a pack of young girls. Whatever happens now, we have to do it quickly.
I approach the door, and rap heavily. A guard answers. He looks tired and unhappy.
“I’m looking for someone,” I say. “A guard. He’s very handsome. . . .” I try to make my voice wistful, like a girl in love.
The guard frowns. Clearly this isn’t what he was expecting.
“You need to move on,” he says. “This isn’t a safe place.”
“He said he would meet me last night,” I say in a rush. “And I couldn’t make it.” I hope that the frightened flush on my cheeks looks like a blush.
“Sorry, miss,” he repeats. “I’m the only one here. The boss has pulled the others—”
My gun is out and pointed at the center of his chest. If he’s the only guard, then my two bullets will be more than enough.
“Where are the girls?” I demand, waving across the street with my left hand. April and the others leave the doorway across the alley.
“Inside,” he says. “Believe me, I want nothing to do with this.”
Looking into his exhausted eyes, I believe him. “You should’ve joined the rebellion. They won’t make you kidnap children.”
“My family is at the palace, under Prospero’s . . . protection,” he admits.
He means his family is held hostage.
“I’m sorry for that,” I say. “Some of these girls are under my protection.”
“Keep the gun on him,” April commands. “I’m going to go in and bring them out. We don’t want to be trapped inside if more guards show up.”
The soldier’s eyes shift from me to April, and she grabs his lapel. “Is that what you hope to happen? Are more guards on their way?”
“Hurry,” I tell her. “Get them out.”
April and Mina disappear into the building. Henry stays near me. I keep my gun trained on the guard. He sits down on the step, seeming resigned. Mina appears in the doorway with five chubby toddler girls, all dressed in frilly white outfits. Elise is not with them.
I stare at the girls. “What’re they supposed to be?”
“Swans,” the guard says.
I look at him, but he just shrugs. “That’s what they are calling them. Prospero’s little swans.” Then he adds in a low voice, “Crocodiles eat swans.”
My heart sinks. I don’t trust Prospero, and I know his entertainment is often depraved, but surely . . . I study the girls’ tear-streaked faces. While my attention is on them, the guard lashes out, kicking my legs from under me. I land hard, the air knocked out of my body, just as his boot connects with my ribs. My mask has been pushed askew. Shrill voices are screaming.
But I’m still gripping the ivory handle of the gun. The guard aims another brutal kick at my chest, and I pull the trigger.
He falls beside me, clutching his own chest, and I scramble away, afraid it’s a feint, but blood trickles through his hands. As I stagger to my feet, I realize that I can’t quite catch my breath. I think he bruised one of my ribs.
The courier leads the bigger girls out, and Elise runs toward me, wearing the same ludicrous swan costume as the others.
“Don’t hug me,” I gasp, forcing a smile so she isn’t frightened.
Her face pales anyway. “Araby?”
“Henry’s waiting for you,” I say, nodding toward him and trying not to wince. Elise puts her arm around him protectively, as though he’s the one being rescued. Some of the girls bounce up and down on their toes, the lace and feathers of their outfits spinning around them.
“We need to go,” I call. Mina is carrying a girl who’s little more than a baby, and April is right behind her.
And I walk away from the man I shot. The first person I’ve ever killed.
The children squirm. Several girls sit on the steps, and one of them lies down in the dirt, staining her white costume. In the near silence, we hear the sound of wheels against paving stones.
Nearly all of the carriages that are left belong to Prospero. These girls were collected in his name. His men are coming. We have to go now.
April shouts, “Everyone grab a partner. Big girls with little girls. You have to hold someone’s hand.”
They jump to attention, looking up to her with wide eyes.
“Don’t let your partner go for any reason. We don’t want to lose anyone. Araby will lead us.”
One small girl has no partner, so I hold her hand, showing them to the mouth of the tunnel, which we left open. April takes up the rear, and the courier, holding tightly to his daughter’s hand, is somewhere near the center. Mina stays close to April.
One of the girls trips down the stairs, and they all squeal.
“Be careful and quiet,” I admonish.
The tunnel is narrow, which is good for keeping them all within arm’s length, but every time we get to a cross tunnel I hold my breath, worried that one of the little girls will disappear into it.
We have no light but what filters through the cracks in the paving stones above. Those tiny trickles of illumination only serve to make the darkness seem more oppressive.
One of the younger girls stubs her toe and begins to cry quietly.
We pass through a series of brick arches, and I hear rushing water.
And then I feel water seeping into the toe of my boot. The tunnels ahead may be flooded. “We need to find a way up,” I say. “Look for stairs or a ladder.”
We’ve passed a dozen ladders, but now I don’t see any, and the water is flowing over my feet. This feels all too familiar. My ribs throb, the wound on my back burns, and panic is setting in. Just when I’m about to tell everyone to turn back and search for one of the ladders that we passed before, one of the side passages opens to a stairway. I stumble up the steps, holding tight to the squirming girl in my arms.
April herds everyone into an open square, and though I don’t know how many we had to begin with, I keep trying to count them because it seems the right thing to do.
A cry startles all of us, and a woman runs toward us. The soles of her shoes seem to echo each time her feet hit the street. She grabs one little girl and embraces her.
Soon we are surrounded by a crowd, all talking at once.