'Perception colors reality,' Owen said. 'Looks the same to me.'
'You're familiar with this place?'
'It's on our patrol route. It kind of always looks like this.'
'Hm. Could have used you this morning,' I said.
'It's a long route. We only get through here once a day, I guess. But yeah, sorry we weren't around.'
I shrugged and stood up. 'Let's not pretend it would have made that much of a difference.'
I walked around the perimeter of the fountain, looking for anything out of place. Just cobbles and street trash. This was the last place we had rested before making the final push to the train. Last chance anyone following us would have had for an ambush. Either no one had been here, or we had moved before they pulled the trigger. I didn't think that likely. We probably lost our pursuers in our rush. Resting here had probably given them a chance to catch up, to figure out where we were going. The Library Desolate loomed darkly to our west. I turned that way and started walking. The whiteshirts followed.
We had run this part of the route, and I didn't remember much of it. Twice I had to stop and backtrack, after taking lefts when I should have taken rights. I didn't remember making a lot of turns, but walking the path now, it was clear that we had been dodging around like a rabbit in the shadow of a hawk.
'You plan your escape routes as thoroughly as you plan your rescues?' Owen asked at one point as we clumped back to the road we had just left. 'Because this is either a very cleverly devised route, or you guys were just running scared.'
'The Fratriarch does not run scared,' I said. 'But no, we didn't plan this. We got spooked.'
'You should have gotten an escort,' he said. 'We would have walked you home.'
'That came up. Frat didn't want it.'
'That might have been a mistake.'
'One of many, Mr. Justicar. Just one of many.'
We ended up at the row of shops where Cassandra and I had pretended to argue while the two peculiar men passed us by. We got there just as night was taking the city of Ash in its grip. The moon was barely over the horizon, painting the high buildings all around with silver light. The sky was clear, and our breath puffed out as fog. Reminded me of the coldmen. Lots of stuff reminded me of those freaks today.
'This is it. Our planned route continued around this corner, up to the Terrace Boulevard, and then home. Long walk, but straight, and lots of people.' By now the Terrace would be empty, but the high lamps that lined it would still be burning white. 'Those two spoiled that.' I indicated their path with my hand. 'Came right through here and around that corner. We took off, back the way we just came.'
'And you said they were big guys?'
'Bulky. Never got a look at what they were wearing underneath those cloaks. Could have been armor.'
'Hm.' Owen paced the street, his patrol sticking close to the wagon. All the perimeter lamps on the stubby wagon were burning, bathing the vehicle in a circle of light. Good thing this wasn't a residential district, I thought. 'It seems weird that guys like that would be tailing you. They sound kind of obvious to me, like they'd stick out in a crowd.'
'There was something about them. Something…' I waved my hand, looking for the thought. 'Something arcane. Like they were shielded. We just didn't see them.'
'Amon's Betrayers are supposed to be able to do something like that,' one of the whiteshirts said, from the safety of the wagon's wide double doors. 'Walk through the night like shadows, and you don't see them until they've put the knife in your back.'
'Your momma tell you that, Travers?' Owen said. 'That's what they do, just before they steal the candy off bad little boys. That's what I heard.'
'I'm serious,' I said. 'Fratriarch said it, too. Something about them we couldn't see.'
'Well, okay. If the Fratriarch said it. But I'm still pretty sure Travers there is just passing on fables.' Owen walked down the street, his hand on his sidearm. 'This way, you said?'
'Yeah, around the corner. They even looked back at us as they went.'
'Stealthy couple of guys, making eye contact and sporting facial tattoos. I don't know how y'all ever picked up on it.'
'Stop being an idiot,' I said. 'If this is how you're going to be, you and Travers and your damn truck can just pack it up and go back to your station. File a report about your mothers, or something.'
Owen chuckled. 'Prickly, prickly girl. Come on, folks. The strange men went this way.'
'Not like they're still going to be there,' I said.
'Hope not,' Owen answered, then went around the corner. I followed. None of the other whiteshirts moved.
This road began to ascend gradually as it led up to the elevated boulevard that cut across this part of the city. Another late addition to the city's architecture, the boulevards served as direct routes for the foot and pedigear traffic that most citizens used, especially those who couldn't afford the monotrain service. We followed it up for a while. Eventually the wagon clattered around the corner behind us, the patrol walking carefully behind it in a loose semicircle.
'Brave bunch of boys you've got there, Justicar,' I said.
'They do okay. They're good guys. This is just a… kind of strange situation.'
'Walking around at night with a woman?' I asked, looking back at the patrol. They were young, holding their weapons tightly in their skinny hands. 'Yeah, it looks like it'd be a new thing for most of them.'
Owen chuckled. 'You're probably not what they think of, when they think like that.'
'Likewise,' I said. 'And this is where we stop.'
'Oh, be cool. I'm just-'
'You're still walking when I said stop. So stop.' I knelt down and peered at the ground, then looked around. We were at the mouth of a narrow alley that had a thin trickle of water running down a gutter in its middle. The cement at my feet was splattered with something dark. I put a finger to it. It was cold, and gummy.
'Get those lights up here.'
The boys obliged, after a few miscues and misunderstandings. I moved out of the way so the wagon could get good light on the street. It was spotted with dark, muddy blood. I looked up at Owen, then nodded down the alleyway.
'Put the wagon here, focus the beams down there,' he said, directing the patrol. The wagon turned tightly on the avenue, its tall tires showing a remarkable agility. The whiteshirts mostly stayed behind its bulk. 'Get out here, guys. Come on. Stand over here, like we practiced for building entry.'
They did, eventually. They really were just kids, and not that well armed. There was a single bullistic and his ammo guy. The rest had thick staves with blades that snapped out of the top, should a riot turn political. I waited until they looked ready, then decided I'd be waiting all night. I pulled Owen close.
'I don't want these guys getting in my way,' I said.
'They won't. Unless you decide to run away, of course, and then you might trip over them.'
'Be nice. But be out of the way more.'
He nodded. I drew my bully and crept into the alley.
You can't sneak up on the dead. I smelled it pretty quick, going down that alleyway. The air was rimed with ice, and stank of dead meat and old blood. Oil, too. I found them in a little alcove off the alley, the entrance boarded up. Someone had kicked the door in. I went back and got Owen and his boys.
The room was filled with about a dozen of the coldmen, all deader than they had started out. Lots of injuries, from severed limbs to ruptured skulls. The wounds were savage. Something an animal might have done, or a madman. Someone had put a blade into their chests and smashed that glass and leather piston. It was that old air I could smell, air that tasted like the breath of tombs.
'Lot of 'em,' Owen said. 'And well done for. Your tattooed friends might be on our side.'
'Or against these guys. Which might be the same thing. Or it might not.' I kicked through the corpses and their shattered weapons. 'What's this look like to you?' I asked, toeing a complicated metal box.
'Some kind of communications rig,' Owen answered. He knelt down next to it and fiddled with a few dials. The top folded out into some kind of array, orbits of metal and wire telescoping open like a mobile. 'Not too different from ours. Don't see any input or output jacks, though. Like it's a receiver with no speakers.'
He folded the box away and got two of his boys to take it back to the wagon. One of the whiteshirts was in
