Sothe’s information indicated that the Patriot Guard were assembling at the foot of the Grand Span, in the crossroads where the Green Road met the River Road. Buildings lined the north side of the road, their fronts to the street and their backs to the edge of the river, whose bank was steep and rocky. They were mostly two- or three-story structures, upscale shops and cafés—by Docks’ standards—where the best of the Southsiders could mingle with Islanders who wanted to do a bit of slumming or search for bargains.

South of the River Road, the Docks proper began, shipping company offices and vast warehouses for every kind of good. The streets were reasonably regular, unlike the confused warrens of Oldtown, but they jinked and twisted to make their way between the uneven buildings. Marcus’ small group had used this to good advantage, staying well clear of the fighting at the south end of Newtown and approaching the crossroads from the southeast, under cover of a four-story brick building that bore the sign of the Silver Eagle Import/Export Company.

The Silver Eagle building was not one of those the Patriot Guard had mined, and the Leatherbacks had found it abandoned. Walnut forced the back door open with casual ease, and they padded cautiously through ranks of scriveners’ desks that showed signs of being abandoned in haste. Paper was everywhere, toppled piles scattering and shifting underfoot. Marcus left Walnut in command at ground level and followed Sothe up the back stairs, where a trapdoor let them onto a narrow walk overlooking the shingled roof.

From there, they had a good view. To the south, Marcus could see smoke rising. The Patriot Guard had constructed small barricades at regular intervals, but judging by the volume of musketry he could hear in the distance they weren’t making a strong effort to defend them. It’s all part of the trap. They were falling back slowly, luring Janus and his commanders into pushing into the bomb-lined street. If we can’t stop the Penitent, she’ll burn them all to ashes.

Just ahead, in the crossroads, a small squad of Patriot Guards was gathered around a bonfire of stacked logs. It was just starting to catch, fire licking up from the straw beneath it, a column of white smoke rising into the sky to match the pink-gray powder smoke at the other end of the Green Road. Marcus counted twenty guards—not a strong force, considering the importance of the operation. Unless Sothe has her information wrong.

As though reading his thoughts, Sothe said, “I think Maurisk is keeping the involvement of the Penitent Damned as quiet as he can. He won’t want more eyes here than he needs.”

“So where is she?” Marcus said.

“Coming.”

“You’re sure?”

Sothe’s lip quirked, but without humor. “People don’t lie to me. At least not for very long.”