Moonrise

they were too high, too far away to tell – sitting up, sailing just beneath the gleaming ceilings, sailing past bright lamps and wind-stirred banners. Tiny birds they might have been – bluebirds with their blue coats – passing out of sight in echelon. Going south.

There was shouting from apartment windows. A Shrike, Christopher, sprinted up and called, 'Dolphus says chasers!'

Baj skipped steps as he looked back, and saw, where the narrow street began, men, citizens, coming after them.

Patience rose above them in the air and turned back to see, her coat's colored cloth ruffling out around her. 'They will slow us, fighting!… Dolphus!'

Baj thought he heard the Shrike answer her.

Patience, sailing backward in billowing stripes, shouted again, a war-goddess's trumpet call. 'Leave six… to hold them!'

Baj thought he heard the Shrike answer – skipped again to look back, and saw five… six of the tribesmen trot to a halt, left behind.

Then Baj bent himself again to running, though now the cold air poured into his lungs like hot ashes as he wearied. Errol galloped up beside, keeping close, tongue-clicking in excitement.

It was surprising how soon the noise of their passage was sliced with screams sounding the street behind them, as six Shrikes held the narrow way they could not hold for long.

Nancy stumbled and would have gone down, but Baj caught her arm. He called 'Slower!' but Patience paid no attention, bounding, flying on as if they could fly after her.

Richard lunged, reached up and caught her coat-tail, hauled her in like a fish. 'Slower…' He caught his breath. 'Slower, my dear… or you'll lose us.'

'Slower, then,' she said, but gave them a cold look – then settled to the ice-road and trotted away, her scimitar swinging in her hand.

A little farther on, she went up a flight of wide steps, their ice worn clear blue, and Baj and the others followed then down a long way of mirror-ice colonades, past a confusion of Boston people rushing – likely to their homes or places of duty – with children being hauled along wide-eyed, and two… three little dogs tugging on their collar cords. Some adults called out as Patience led past…

Baj and the others went reflected in the columns' gleaming rounds, so they seemed to meet themselves again and again, running figures – though running slower, now – with familiar faces appearing, then smeared, stretched away, and gone.

There were shops along those streets. Shops deep in niches between the pillars, with men and women hurrying to put their various goods away – goods laid out on ice counters or likely rare wooden counters, or counters apparently made from slabs of stone. Wonders in all shapes and colors. Great soft drifts of fur displayed, black, striped, spotted-gray, and white. And a niche of trays of southern fruit, brought somehow – on the frozen sea? – all that long way north… Then stacks of knitted-wool clothes… shelves of bright steel tools.

All wonders, for Baj, in a town of wonders – marvels being passed by at a labored run – and all for a purpose of murder. It occurred to him how delighted old Lord Peter Wilson would have been to see it all… A city so magical.

Were there Boston poets for this… this frozen city? Perhaps crouching naked, warmed by their minds over desks of ice, and writing of the souls of Persons their Talents had made, souls now grown richer than their own.

Wearied to a near jog-trot, Baj and the others followed Patience past a shop where a woman and her daughter – the girl looking so like her mother, though naked where her mother wore furs – were emptying trays of loaves and biscuits into bins. There was the wonderful odor of baking… Looking back, Baj saw the women glance up as the Shrikes went past, and stand frozen, their hands to their throats.

He tripped again, almost fell – then trotted on beside Nancy, paying better attention… Baking, baking in a city of ice. Baking or any cookery – what pots, what pans? Certainly iron or fired clay for their stoves, which must burn black-rock coal, skidded on sledges in deep winter all the long way from West Map-Virginia, then likely hauled up onto the ice from some deep lead… Must burn that, and have great double-walled flues to carry the stoves' heat up and out before it melted their frozen bakeries, their cook-shops, their apartments.

… A little white dog, sharp-muzzled and fluffed with fur, scurried out into the road to chase them, and followed for a considerable way, snarling, threatening to bite.

A comical little creature; Baj imagined the child who owned it huddling under furs with the dog for warmth. Imagined all the Boston people – those many without the Warming-talent – living with constant cold, their only relief coats of pelt and the grudging heat of those iron stoves found necessary… All their days and nights spent in furs and southern wool, their children swaddled in defense against the glacier-cavern's killing air. A steady burden of suffering, where civilized men and women spent their lives – like the grimmest savages over-the-Wall – sheltered under snow and ice for warmth half-imagined… Forever breathing out slight clouds of frost.

Reason enough for the Township's ancient oddness, its cold and merciless heart.

… All of them were very tired now. Baj found his mind being left a little behind. Only the stinging cold and his aching leg-muscles assured him he was where he was, and not dreaming of it in some Smoking-mountain glen… His lungs ached with Boston's frigid air; his breath was bitter smoke. Nancy staggered beside him. Richard was panting, laboring just behind.

… They were out of the colonades, had left the streets of shops – with a woman suddenly screaming, pointing at them as they went – and were crossing a small square, fenced by four high ice buildings of windowed apartments. Baj saw, to the left and right, that those narrow frozen streets, their great apartment buildings, diminished into considerable distance – still gleaming bright under endless chains of hanging lamps.

The Walkers-in-air would tend those thousands of lights. Whale oil. Whale oil and captive little flames to pretend sun to the buried city.

Patience suddenly swerved left off the way, and led them stumbling after her into such a narrow high-walled close, an alley, that shoulders rubbed ice on either side, and they soon went single file, exhaustion's hoarse breaths echoing beside and above them.

Then she turned suddenly left again – and was gone.

There was a deep-stepped entrance, cluttered with frozen debris, with a low frost-splintered door in shadow at the bottom. Baj went down, shoved at the wood, and pushed through as it gave, Nancy and Richard behind him.

He stumbled into darkness and cold so absolute, so still, it seemed a sort of solid – freezing water made somehow breathable. Heard the Shrikes crowding in behind him.

'What is it?' Nancy said.

'Storage,' Patience's voice, 'for those living above. Now, rest.'

Rest… Baj reached out, found Nancy still beside him, and hugged her as they sat on what was either freezing stone or rough ice. Errol burrowed between them. Tongue-dicks…

It was difficult to take deep relieving breaths of air so frigid. Baj sipped his breaths, slowly drew them into his lungs as his cramped leg-muscles eased… Warm-time minutes passing, he found it a great relief to sit still, and felt he would be willing to stay in the dark for awhile.

Nancy began to murmur something – then was silent as a sound came first whispering… then muttering… then roaring down the street past this building's front, a sound like an avalanche of stones, with shouting. It was a killing crowd – and certainly chasing them.

'This was a lucky rest.' Dolphus's voice. 'It seems that Boston has noticed us.'

'When they pass,' Patience said, '- we go.'

That pursuing tumult, which had made even the ice building tremble, slowly seemed to drain away, passing… and in a little while, was gone but for occasional footsteps, men calling.

'Up,' Patience said, from darkness. 'Up and out!'

Up the ice steps behind the tribesmen, and into Boston's lamp-lit always day, Baj and Nancy jostled along the alley. At the street entrance, Patience half-skipped, half-sailed past them… drew her scimitar, and led them to the left – the way the mob had gone.

Four men – startled late chasers – were met there, and rolled under, transfixed by Shrike javelins.