“This isn’t right,” said someone at Anji’s back, but she didn’t see who it was.

Escadora clasped his hands together, his face a swirl of sorrow and pride and pleasure. He blinked at the crowd and bowed his head, then stepped aside and, at a wave of his hand, the five on the platform dropped through gaps in the stage.

Five cracks, like knuckles popping.

The sound resounded off the walls. Gasps issued from the crowd; some were shocked to silence—others, who must have been to one of these executions before, cheered and rushed toward the man in the yellow robes, who was now taking paper pamphlets from a wooden box and distributing them to outstretched hands.

“Come on,” said the Hawk, grabbing Anji’s arm.

Chapter 37

37

Kit ushered them into an alley and slumped against the wall, chest heaving. She gripped the blue satchel’s strap strung over her chest like the rigging of a ship in storm.

“He sounded like the Bear,” said Anji, her back to the opposite wall. “How could they—what was—” She rubbed at her eyes. “That wasn’t a trial—it wasn’t anything! It was just—just—”

“Murder,” said Kit, sliding to squat against the brick. “No need for a trial when the One On High has already decreed who is damned and who isn’t.” She ripped her mask off, tearing a chunk of gray hair away with it. Her lips were bulbous and pale, the tips of her elongated teeth just showing behind them.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Anji, averting her eyes. “Everything I’ve heard from them is just a jumble of meaningless words. That man—Escadora—he said people had to choose…”

“It’s not supposed to make sense,” said Kit. She wiped a run of black snot from her lip. “It’s supposed to make you feel what they want you to feel. You want people under your control? Divide them. Fill them with fear. Then point that fear at something to hate and they’ll do whatever you say.”

A man pushing a wooden cart ambled past the alley mouth, and Kit motioned for Anji to move farther into the dim corridor. The tiled rooftops above framed a sliver of darkening sky, its light reflected dully off the scattered puddles of water underfoot. Iron pipes crossed the gap at haphazard intervals, dripping and hissing thin streams of steam. They passed a vacant alcove littered with piled, rotted wood and a tangle of metal that looked like it had once been a baby’s carriage. Kit tottered to a stop and slammed against the wall once more. She let out a sharp gasp and finally sat on the muddy ground.

“Come on,” said Anji. “Can’t be much farther, right?”

Kit held a gloved palm up. She retched and planted one hand on the cobbles. Anji took a tentative step forward, then rushed ahead as Kit sagged to her side.