Frances lifted her chin. “News, it seems, travels fast. I thought the car phones were all gone.”

“Rumors travel fast. That you are here, and desperate, confirms them, no?”

“Can you at least help us leave?”

Another head shake. “I don’t know enough. I’m sorry. Beware of the river; you can be caught at the old dams and locks, and they may be watching at the bridges, too. But if you escape, there is a place you can go.” China Black recited the directions: south, farther south than I’d been since I’d first entered the City.

“You didn’t warn us about Mick,” I said.

“I wasn’t sure until tonight, when I found him gone. Forgive me.”

“Is Sherrea here? Or Theo? I’d like to say goodbye.”

It seemed like a stupid thing to want, but neither of them looked at me oddly. “They’ve both gone,” said China Black. “They, too, are at risk, because they were seen with you. They left not long after you did.”

“Of course.” I had nothing more to say.

Frances stood very straight, with one hand on the trike. “I’m sorry to have turned surly,” she said to China Black, “when I ought to have been thanking you for sheltering me. Someday someone will put Tom out of his and the rest of the world’s misery. He might even manage to do it himself. But I won’t get another chance.”

“Life is full of second chances,” China Black said sternly.

“I don’t deny it. But thank you, anyway.” Frances swung herself back on the trike and closed the shell around us. China Black stepped backward when the engine started. Frances saluted her with a raised hand and pulled out of the drive.

The east was turning milky; it was there to see as we recrossed the bridge, heading for whatever haven we might happen on. Another dawn in Frances’s company. I’d spent more time with Frances than I’d ever spent with Sherrea at a stretch. I didn’t think that, by itself, constituted friendship.

I hoped Sherrea was safe. She’d tried, after all. She’d told me to change my wicked ways long ago — days ago. Forever. To forget myself, and serve whatever came my way, needing it. There was very little now to forget. And something, I supposed, to serve. How many days ago? Five? Six? I’d called her from Del Corazón, and I’d threatened Beano with — that’s right, it had been…

“What day is it?” I asked Frances.

A pause. “Thursday, I think. No, it’s tomorrow now — Friday.”

“Turn right at the next street.”

She glanced back at me. “Is this a decision-making device?”

“I’ve had an idea. No, that way. Now, go straight.”

A short cautious time later, we had stopped in the shadows behind Del Corazón. We might be too late. We couldn’t be — that would be closing the last gate, the ultimate injustice in an unjust world. Fifteen years of life used up, wiped away; if I found out I was fifteen minutes late for the only unselfish thing I’d ever thought of doing, it would be more than even I deserved. I yanked on the cord that rang the back bell, and waited, and yanked again.