Class Reptilia

The sounds of merriment in the pub downstairs had at last quieted when Blackstone roused the party to leave the inn. They gathered their things a little snappishly—the air was stale, and the room far too small for so many Linnaeans of different species. When Ember and Blackstone had returned with news of the railroad the night before, the others had been forced to hold their tongues for fear of being overheard by watchers unseen. No one, save maybe Kairo, had gotten anything resembling a normal amount of sleep.

The caracal left first, through the window, and the rest left in small groups to avoid attention. Ember was last, and when she joined the others at the stables, her horse was tacked and ready. She shot a grateful look at Orthus, who she was sure was responsible, and he gave her a nod in return.

They led the horses through streets just beginning to swell with the early-morning crowds. The humidity and stink pressed in on Ember, and she felt a tug of longing for Mendel's wildness—the great trees and wildflowers and the harmony of it all. It was a relief when they were able to mount and leave Wicksby behind.

Blackstone called them to a halt just as the town disappeared over the horizon. Ember spurred her horse to a stop and dismounted, unsure why they would be stopping so soon; there was nothing around but tall, dry grass, although she had glimpsed the road not far to the west.

"What are we going to do?" Lilith burst out, chewing on the tip of a fingernail with her large front teeth. "This is a disaster."

"We could sabotage the tracks," Kairo offered from where he sat cross-legged on horseback. "Slow down their progress."

"There's no way our leaders don't know about this," Orthus pointed out. "Even if some of our spies have been captured, Corax can communicate with crows."

"But I haven't heard anything," Lilith argued, more animated than Ember had ever heard her.

Orthus grunted, his implication obvious: you don't hear everything. Ember glanced at Blackstone, waiting for him to intervene, but he was standing staunchly with his arms crossed and a contemplative look on his face. Ember realized that he, demonstrating a superior social awareness to her own, had stopped them to allow them to air their stewed-on opinions.

"Why not poison their water supply?" Callia offered, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the workers' camp. "We could be in and out without anyone seeing us."

"And risk provoking Ciradyl?"

Callia rolled her pale eyes. "It's clear enough they're already provoked."

Tension hummed between them like a plucked string, and Ember scowled, growing worried. Moral concerns notwithstanding—although she didn't expect Blackstone to approve Callia's plan—her first priority was reaching Ciradyl and retrieving her father, and she couldn't afford any derailments.

"Everyone be silent," the commander said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Orthus is right. Our orders are to retrieve Mendel's captured spy and seal up the information leak. We can't risk drawing attention to ourselves and ruining our mission."

"Yes, sir," the others acquiesced, although Kairo's tail thumped the saddle once, betraying his irritation, and Lilith's face was downturned. At the very least, the atmosphere had eased a little now that everyone had spoken their piece and expectations had been set. Ember huffed a little sigh of relief.

"So what's our next checkpoint, commander?" she asked, hoping to ease them along.

"A homestead outside of Ciradyl," he answered. "The owner is a widow who is a friend to Linnaeans. We can finish our preparations to enter the city there."

***

The cottage was nestled between two hills, with a little plot of farmland in the front and a faded barn in the rear. It looked warm and welcoming, constructed of stacked logs with a sloped roof that reminded Ember of her childhood home in Maple Valley, and it promised a little bit of respite for her aching body and upset stomach, where the stew she'd eaten at the pub was still sloshing ominously.

Ever diligent, Blackstone stopped them two hundred meters from the property for reconnaissance. "Lilith, send your rat to check inside the house," he ordered. "Kairo, secure the perimeter and make sure we're not being watched."

Reluctantly, but without being able to stop herself, Ember turned her horse to the northeast as she waited for the scouts to reappear. There, Ciradyl sat some ten miles hence in a haze of smog, framed by the first mountains of the Hecatomb Mountain Range.

Looking at it filled Ember with cold dread so potent it made her fingertips tingle. It was the backdrop of seven long and miserable years, in which she and her father had struggled, friendless, until she had been taken away. Yet it commanded attention like the blight that sometimes found Mendel's oaks, cursing bright green things to wither and brown along the edges.

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When she finally looked away, Orthus was watching her with something strained on his face. It was a relief when Kairo finally returned, reporting that no one was nearby. Lilith's rat returned just after, scurrying up its handler's arm and squeaking into her ear.

The concerned expression on Lilith's face rapidly depleted Ember's hope of a restful night in the cabin. "No one's home, that much is clear," she reported.

Blackstone frowned. "That's unusual, but since we didn't send word of our arrival, it's possible she's traveling. We have her permission to use the property, so let's proceed with caution."

They kept the horses on short leads as they approached the house. The walkway was overgrown, and there were no animals in the pen like Ember might have expected. What had once been a garden in the front was in such a state of disrepair that it had almost completely returned to its natural state, reminding Ember of Mr. Ernold's house when she had first discovered him. She suddenly felt much less like napping.

"Look," Orthus said, his voice carrying something dangerous. She joined him and the rest of the party at the front door, where someone had painted a pair of wings—the symbol of Ciradyl's Holy Order—in red.

Ember shuddered. She had no doubt that they would only find death, now stale, inside.

"Damn it," Blackstone cursed, his hand just grazing the door. "They got her." He lowered his head, saying a quick prayer.

Ember stepped a little off the path to the entrance, looking through one of the windows where there was a gap in the curtains. The interior was ransacked: cabinets hung off the hinges, floorboards were upturned, and furniture was hacked to bits. She turned away, afraid of what she might find should she look further.

The group huddled together, shooting furtive glances in the direction of the city. "As far as I know, it's rare for one spy to be caught," Orthus pointed out. "And this makes two…"

"The Holy Order is cracking down," Blackstone added gravely. "We'll have to adjust our plans to enter the city. But first, this place might be being watched. We must leave immediately."

***

It was early when Ember, Blackstone, and Lilith joined the line of travelers waiting outside of Ciradyl's walls. All manner of people were gathered, most dressed in the wide-brimmed hats and tans of Draycott, but some sweating in the heavier fabrics of the northern city-states. Ahead, the great iron gates, twisted in the shape of the goddess's wings, were open and guarded on both sides.

On a Monday, Ember knew the city was already well into its relentless cycle of industry that would only stop for the goddesses' day of rest. The smokestacks churned out a thick black smog, making the air even more clogged and sweltering than it had been the previous summer, and great booms from the mines in the mountains often overshadowed the murmurs of the travelers. The reason was obvious— the originating end of the railroad emerged from a gap in the wall to the west, a half-mile from where Ember stood, although the train itself was hidden from view.

Ember knew that the dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed her exhaustion, just as the lines in Blackstone's face and Lilith's nervous fidgeting betrayed theirs. With the homestead out of the picture, the party had spent the night at the base of the mountains, this time with no comforts: no cache of tents, and no fire so close to the city. In the last light of the day, they had struggled to make the necessary changes to their appearances; for Ember's part, Callia had cut Ember's hair short, so that it barely touched her shoulders, and buried the evidence in the hillside. She had not had the emotional bandwidth to spare more than a passing thought at the loss.

No one had spoken much—the memory of death was still strong in the direction of the widow's homestead—until Blackstone had called a meeting. They had planned to enter Ciradyl together, through the main gate, where the guards had been known to perform only a cursory check. But with the increased scrutiny on Linnaeans, they had decided to send Callia, Orthus, and Kairo to the merchant's gate instead, where they would be able to sneak in more easily.

Leaving the horses at the homestead had also become impossible now that it was compromised, so they had left them to graze where they'd spent the night, with instructions not to wander. No one was comfortable with what felt like abandoning such loyal companions, but traversing the city with them would make the party too traceable. Ember was surprised by how exposed she felt now, without the animals' now-familiar bulk nearby, though of course Orthus's absence was worse. I'll have to trust he'll find our way to us. The alternative was unthinkable.

Three-quarters of an hour had passed when it was their turn to pass through the checkpoint. Ember's heart beat against her ribcage like a captured bird as they came under scrutiny. The guards were dressed in black leathers, with batons at their belts and wings sewn above their hearts (another change, since they had worn the royals' seal only the year before). They wore black face coverings over the bottom half of their faces to protect from the smog, so it was impossible to discern their expressions.

Keeping calm, Blackstone repeated the story about their marriage, though this time Lilith was his cousin accompanying them back home. Ember did her best to nod convincingly. Under her long skirt, the fang knife rested firmly against her thigh, and she knew the others were similarly equipped. A body search would prove disastrous.

"Where do you work?" the guard asked gruffly.

"The garment factory in Midtown," she answered without hesitation. It was near Whitmore, and she had often watched the ladies come and go from a classroom window.

"I'm a housewife," Lilith said simply.

"And I'm a miner," Blackstone answered, and he looked it, with his soot-colored hair and weathered hands. He produced a little metal token from his bag, stamped with an identification number, and presented it to the guard. Ember for a rush of gratefulness for his foresight.

The guard nodded, and Blackstone handed over the small passage fee. "Goddess be with you," he said, and then they were stepping through the gates, Ember's eyes burning from the smoke.

They were on a cobblestone street lined with residences. The city center was still miles away, marked by the spires of the great cathedral and the gothic castle where the royal family had once resided. They were not far from Ember's old house, but she ignored the force that pulled her in its direction—now was not the time. The chances that her father was still being kept there were slim anyway.

Blackstone rifled through this bag, handing them each a piece of cloth, which they tied over their noses and mouths. If there's one benefit to this gods-forsaken fog, it's the excuse to keep our faces covered. "Well," he said, his voice muffled by the cloth, "let's go."