18 #4

“The crane is losing tension!”

The cable rubbed against a pulley warped by heat. It could carry one more load.

Iven put the two adolescents and the woman on the platform.

“Go down.”

“There’s still room,” one said.

“The cable will hold three.”

Isolde looked at the distance to the yard. Four floors from the hidden roof space. The river lay beyond a wall.

“Jalen, is there a way out over the beams?”

“A maintenance passage reaches the outer crane.”

“Go with Iven. I’ll hold the cable.”

“Your fire draws the plate.”

“The plate is under a desk, and the office is burning.”

Jalen shook his head.

“I’ve seen a pulley break under that heat. Find a way all three of us can cross.”

Isolde looked at the hand the guard held beside hers, waiting. She pointed him toward the maintenance door.

“Hold me if my leg gives.”

The platform began descending with the three prisoners.

Iven opened the maintenance passage. A narrow catwalk crossed the beams to an outer door. Fire had reached halfway across.

“We can jump onto the wool sacks in the yard,” he said.

“There are families below,” Jalen replied.

Isolde touched the beam. She measured the heat and the weight. She could create a corridor for a few seconds if she carried the flames toward the roof. The movement would be visible from the whole street.

The nameless warrior was already traveling through the city.

“I’ll open the way for a few breaths,” she said.

Iven put Isolde’s arm over his shoulders.

“Lean here. Jalen goes on the other side.”

She tested her weight before kindling the fire.

Jalen took her left. Iven, her right.

Isolde opened her core.

The fire rose from the catwalk. She gathered it over the upper beams and left a corridor of smoke, blackened wood, and embers. The blue plate woke below. Cold pierced the floor.

“Now.”

They advanced.

Her left leg gave on the third step. Iven held her waist. Jalen pushed from behind. Isolde kept the flames overhead. Every heartbeat increased the pain beneath her ribs.

The outer door was six paces away.

A plate exploded inside the office.

The pulse released the fire Isolde held. The catwalk burned beneath them.

Jalen opened the door. Iven crossed. Isolde came next. The old guard got out as a section of floor fell toward the second story.

The outer crane had a ladder to the yard.

The families met them with water, blankets, and questions. Isolde covered her face before climbing down. Smoke hid her hair. Jalen went ahead. Iven held her as though she were an injured worker.

The witnesses saw three people come out of the fire.

Each told a different version afterward.

* * *

Depot Twenty-Two lost its office, part of the second floor, and eleven auction items. All twenty-six prisoners came out alive. Nara had a fever. Two workers suffered burns. Kaoran treated both beside the river.

Veren escaped through a passage ending beneath the wall. He took a seal and a partial list. The regency would know the network had entered the depot.

The families saved three complete books and dozens of tokens. Cori arrived with two copyists before the fire was fully extinguished. She had moved her journey forward after receiving the bakery’s signal.

“I thought you were coming in discreetly,” she said at the sight of the smoke.

“We came in discreetly,” Kaoran replied. “The way out had different opinions.”

They copied the records at five tables on River Street. Each sheet took a route. One went toward Arkhe. Another toward Aelyn through the laundries. Two stayed with the districts. The fifth would accompany Iven when he recovered his strength.

Jalen handed over the black armband.

“With this, I can enter two posts,” he said. “Then Veren will change the codes.”

“Use it to get the families out of the red census,” Iven suggested.

“How many?”

“A hundred and twelve, according to the baker.”

Sela approached with her house token.

“First those ordered to transfer tonight. The others need copies and places to sleep.”

The street decided priorities as Bren had decided funds. Isolde took part without revealing her authority. Her knowledge of the codes helped organize claims, though each family chose among reclaiming goods, preserving a hidden route, and getting people out before dawn.

Door fourteen stayed sealed. Sela gave another family the space offered to her in the bakery cellar. She would reclaim her house when she could open it with witnesses.

“I waited twelve days for Iven,” she said. “I can wait one more for a bed.”

The words taught Isolde another measure of return.

At nightfall, Maive arrived with a dirty-laundry wagon. Her apron was inside out, and three cords wound around her wrist.

“Veren has reached the central office,” she reported. “They’re looking for an inspector named Mara Venn, a handle carver, and a family from Halar.”

“The contract didn’t last long,” Kaoran said.

“I have another job for you. Washhouse Six needs hands during the palace shift.”

Isolde looked at the sacks in the wagon. They bore marks from the kitchens, the Council rooms, and the medical wing.

“Does it go into the Citadel?”

“The laundry goes in. The people stay beneath the kitchens, except those with an inner token.”

Maive showed two tokens.

“Aelyn maintains a route there. It’s been closed to new people for months. Lenda’s page has the signal they’ve been waiting for.”

Kaoran studied Isolde.

“The palace is up that street.”

“I know.”

“This entrance exists now.”

“I’ll need you to remind me of the way out if I start counting windows again.”

“I can carry the tokens. Then you’ll have to wait for me.”

Isolde gave him one and closed the other in her hand.

Its wooden edge marked her palm.

From River Street, she could see the watchtower. A light came on in the private wing. For years, Ardan had worked by a window until Aelyn or she made him eat dinner. Darian might now occupy that desk. Varek might read his reports in the next room.

The distance was less than a league.

“We enter through House Six,” Isolde said. “First we follow Lenda’s page and find Aelyn’s network. The palace will still be there when we know who opens its doors.”

Kaoran put away the second token.

“Happy birthday.”

“Your gift improves very little.”

“You’ve had bread, a fire, and laundry work. At twenty-five, I’ll have to make an effort.”

Maive covered them both with empty sacks. The wagon rolled toward the service districts.

Behind them, the families wrote their names on forty-six white doors.

Ahead, the Citadel kitchens lit their ovens for the night.