“’S funny,” Mosca said. “All this time I’ve been scared of standin’ up in court, but that bit of my brain’s gone numb now. Now it feels like the worst of it will be walkin’ through the streets, an’ feelin’ like everybody knows I’m going there to blow the gab on someone, an’ wonderin’ if they’ll throw stones at me again. I’m turnin’ stag, and nobody likes that.”

“All right,” Kohlrabi said quietly. “I know a time when the streets will be empty.” He left Mosca alone for a few minutes, then returned with two long scarves draped over his arm. “We can wrap these around our heads. And these”—he held out a handful of what seemed to be fragments of waxed cloth—“we can put in our ears.”

“You mean . . . Clamoring Hour?”

“Yes. It starts in ten minutes.”

When they left Mistress Nokes’s shop, fifteen minutes later, the scarves swaddling their heads like turbans, Mandelion had pulled itself indoors and shuttered itself against the war of the bells. Even with her ears plugged, Mosca could feel the sound drumming against her skin like rain. The turmoil of the city had made the ringers more zealous and aggressive in their clanging competition.

Mosca felt filled with panic. She was an arsonist, runaway, thief, spy, and murderer’s accomplice, and here she was of her own free will taking step after weak-kneed step toward the prison. She turned a final corner, and now she could see the prison waiting to pounce on her, crouched behind the watch house like a panther behind a mound. The prison—the “louse house,” the “tribulation,” the “stone jug,” the “naskin.” It would put out a great paw to pin her, and she would never escape it again.

Perhaps Kohlrabi shared her thoughts because he suddenly halted. But he was staring toward the prison gate, where a dozen scrolls of paper were rolling over lazily like cats so that the wind could stroke them. Spread-eagled on the ground lay three men in the Duke’s colors.

Kohlrabi signaled to Mosca to stay where she was, and he sprinted to the watch house. He beat on the door, but there was no response. He had started running back toward Mosca when the prison gates swung wide and three men ran out into the street. Their faces were muffled and they carried muskets.

Kohlrabi reached Mosca, grabbed her wrist, and spun her around. The next moment the pair of them were running away from the prison at full pelt, with the heavens clamoring above them.

Q Is for Questioning

Q
IS FOR QUESTIONING

They returned to the wigmaker’s shop at the tail end of Clamoring Hour and had to wait for Mistress Nokes to unfasten the door. Gently but firmly Kohlrabi guided Mosca inside, then ran off down the street again without explanation.