only four blocks from the Road of Chalcedony, and across the Road and up three stories, there's a roof market. Stuff there was cheaper than what you could buy on the Road itself—and fresher, too, half the time.
The air was cold enough to bite, and I could smell the rain coming. I walked fast, not needing to get soaked again, thanks all the same. But when I came to the Road, I couldn't go no farther. Couldn't even get near it.
"What the fuck is going on?" I said.
A scissors-grinder said, "It's the hocus. Lord Stephen caught the son of bitch, and they're bringing him back to the Mirador." It's the Mirador's way with hocuses they're pissed at. They drag 'em the length of the Road of Chalcedony, and the people of the Lower City, who ain't got them nice bourgeois manners, line the sidewalks and yell and throw things.
I wasn't annoyed no more. Now all I wanted was a better view. Don't get me wrong, I don't like the Mirador, and they don't like me—but I ain't no fool, neither. The guy who broke the Virtu was nobody's friend. I started edging closer.
You could track their progress by the way the shouting got louder, and I knew I wouldn't have to wait long. The Mirador don't do that sort of thing very often, but I could remember the last one. They'd found out that one of the younger hocuses was fucking around with "forbidden magics"—if you put a knife to my throat, I'd guess that meant blood-magic, but it could've been most anything. They marched her up through the streets to the Plaza del'Archimago and burned her in front of Livergate. She was young and pretty, and half her body was most of the way to charcoal before she finally died.
Everybody around me started yelling their stupid heads off when the Lord Protector and the Protectorate Guard came into view. The hocus was walking behind Lord Stephen's horse. I couldn't get close enough to see good without doing somebody some serious damage, but I could see how tall he was, and Ginevra'd been right. He did dye his hair bright red. I couldn't think why anybody would want to. That was all I could see of him.
I saw when the rock came out of the crowd, though, somewhere near me. I'd've thrown one myself, if I could've got a clear line of sight. The People around me were yelling insults. The stone hit the hocus—you could tell by the way the crowd screamed—and that's when I left. I hoped they stoned him to death right there in the middle of the Road of Chalcedony.
Felix
Pain explodes in my head, and I fall to my knees, blood trickling into my good eye and down my face. The Road of Chalcedony blurs and doubles around me. With my good eye half-gummed shut, I am nearly blind, Malkar is somewhere, waiting to hurt me.
There is a terrible howling, shrieking noise assaulting me from all sides. Monsters line the street, baying like hounds. I have been trying not to look at their gaping maws, their red, glaring eyes, ever since we came through Chalcedony Gate. The bear-headed man keeps his horse moving forward at the same deliberate pace. He does not care whether I walk or am dragged.
I stagger to my feet and walk, stumbling over the cobbles, flinching from the howls of the monsters, which only makes them howl louder.
I am coming apart, on the verge of howling back at them. I lock my throat, keep moving. I can see nothing now but blurred shadows, terrifying bursts of movement that my bad eye cannot track. I fall a second time tripped by a pothole. I can hear myself whimpering, and I hope that no one else can hear. I get up again, cringing from the noise, from the monsters I can no longer see. I fall the third time because I can't go on walking. There is too much pain, too much fear. My legs can no longer bear me through this maelstrom of shrieking glass.
Stephen does not look back; the crowd, sensing blood, redoubles its baying in anticipation. The noise is
a whip; I am back on my feet, though I am shaking from head to foot, fighting to keep from falling
The air was cold enough to bite, and I could smell the rain coming. I walked fast, not needing to get soaked again, thanks all the same. But when I came to the Road, I couldn't go no farther. Couldn't even get near it.
"What the fuck is going on?" I said.
A scissors-grinder said, "It's the hocus. Lord Stephen caught the son of bitch, and they're bringing him back to the Mirador." It's the Mirador's way with hocuses they're pissed at. They drag 'em the length of the Road of Chalcedony, and the people of the Lower City, who ain't got them nice bourgeois manners, line the sidewalks and yell and throw things.
I wasn't annoyed no more. Now all I wanted was a better view. Don't get me wrong, I don't like the Mirador, and they don't like me—but I ain't no fool, neither. The guy who broke the Virtu was nobody's friend. I started edging closer.
You could track their progress by the way the shouting got louder, and I knew I wouldn't have to wait long. The Mirador don't do that sort of thing very often, but I could remember the last one. They'd found out that one of the younger hocuses was fucking around with "forbidden magics"—if you put a knife to my throat, I'd guess that meant blood-magic, but it could've been most anything. They marched her up through the streets to the Plaza del'Archimago and burned her in front of Livergate. She was young and pretty, and half her body was most of the way to charcoal before she finally died.
Everybody around me started yelling their stupid heads off when the Lord Protector and the Protectorate Guard came into view. The hocus was walking behind Lord Stephen's horse. I couldn't get close enough to see good without doing somebody some serious damage, but I could see how tall he was, and Ginevra'd been right. He did dye his hair bright red. I couldn't think why anybody would want to. That was all I could see of him.
I saw when the rock came out of the crowd, though, somewhere near me. I'd've thrown one myself, if I could've got a clear line of sight. The People around me were yelling insults. The stone hit the hocus—you could tell by the way the crowd screamed—and that's when I left. I hoped they stoned him to death right there in the middle of the Road of Chalcedony.
Felix
Pain explodes in my head, and I fall to my knees, blood trickling into my good eye and down my face. The Road of Chalcedony blurs and doubles around me. With my good eye half-gummed shut, I am nearly blind, Malkar is somewhere, waiting to hurt me.
There is a terrible howling, shrieking noise assaulting me from all sides. Monsters line the street, baying like hounds. I have been trying not to look at their gaping maws, their red, glaring eyes, ever since we came through Chalcedony Gate. The bear-headed man keeps his horse moving forward at the same deliberate pace. He does not care whether I walk or am dragged.
I stagger to my feet and walk, stumbling over the cobbles, flinching from the howls of the monsters, which only makes them howl louder.
I am coming apart, on the verge of howling back at them. I lock my throat, keep moving. I can see nothing now but blurred shadows, terrifying bursts of movement that my bad eye cannot track. I fall a second time tripped by a pothole. I can hear myself whimpering, and I hope that no one else can hear. I get up again, cringing from the noise, from the monsters I can no longer see. I fall the third time because I can't go on walking. There is too much pain, too much fear. My legs can no longer bear me through this maelstrom of shrieking glass.
Stephen does not look back; the crowd, sensing blood, redoubles its baying in anticipation. The noise is
a whip; I am back on my feet, though I am shaking from head to foot, fighting to keep from falling
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