They walked down the alley together; Cat hardly limped at all. To her left, in a shadow, Izza noticed two slumped bodies, breathing the shallow, tortured breath of the beaten unconscious. “Sentries,” Cat said, as if that explained anything.

*   *   *

They didn’t talk more until they reached the warehouse. Cat lowered herself gingerly to the quay’s edge, legs dangling over, and leaned back on her elbows to look up at the stars. Izza sat beside her. There was a bloodstain on the cuff of Cat’s shirt, and no wound to go with it.

“You feel better, I guess,” Izza said.

“Out of shape, is all. And my side still hurts like hell.” But Cat smiled, and her teeth were white, tiger’s teeth reflecting moonlight. “Thanks.”

“How long have you been following me?”

“Only the last few days,” Cat said. “I’m sorry, kid. I don’t trust easy. And I’m trying to keep a low profile. I see you stealing enough to outfit a regiment and I want to know what’s up. Penitents get you, that leads back to me.”

“And who are you, anyway? I don’t know anything about you. You promised to take me off this rock—”

“And I’ll do it,” she said. “If I last long enough. Which I won’t if either of us gets caught. You keep stealing this much, and sooner or later you will.”

“I won’t get caught.”

“You did tonight.”

“I could have handled those guys in the alley.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Look, if you’re trying to stock up for the trip, I can take care of you at least until we get to the mainland. Don’t worry about tickets or any of that.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Izza replied. “The kids. The others. I want them to be okay when I leave.”

“But you’re still leaving.”

She nodded.

“If you care that much, why not stay?”

“If you got on so well with your goddess, why’d you leave?”

Cat didn’t answer.

“You weren’t just some worshipper, mouth a prayer every once a while and wave some beads around. You were a saint. You did miracles. You fight like a holy woman.”

“Fighting isn’t holy.”

“Why did you leave?”

“You see a lot for a kid.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Izza said, “to know what god-withdrawal looks like.”

“Not many gods around here.”

“I didn’t grow up here.”

“Where you from, then?”

“The Northern Gleb. Talbeg country.”

“Shit.” Cat looked up at her, eyes wide, and Izza saw behind those eyes the twist of thought she hated, that she’d run from the Old World to escape: the sudden re-evaluation, the swell of pity. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

“No,” Izza said. “Not … It’s fine.” And wasn’t.

“When did you leave?”

“When there was nothing left to leave. When they burned my village out.”

“Which they?”