Barclay straightened and looked up. Orla stood at the top of the spiral staircase. Her shawl was wrapped tightly around her bony shoulders. She looked exceptionally tired.

Beside him, Shazi snored loudly, and he elbowed her to wake up just as Orla called, “Quiet, all of you! I have a few words I’d like to say.”

The commotion in the room died down as everyone stared up at the High Keeper.

“First, I want to thank you all for your show of strength and bravery tonight. It’s thanks to you that there were no fatalities. A special thanks goes to Tadg Murdock and Yasha Robinovich, whose combined effort extinguished the fires that had spread across Herring Street.”

A patter of applause swept through the Guild House. Barclay caught a glimpse of Tadg and Yasha, who grinned at each other near the foot of the stairs. Their clothes and faces were smeared with soot, but neither of them looked hurt.

“Next, I have some grave news,” Orla continued. “As you can tell, there was a great deal of destruction tonight. Much of it was caused by the Brutopods, and some of it was from other sources….”

Orla’s gaze roamed over the countless heads in the room until it rested firmly on Barclay. Barclay sucked in a breath. He remembered the fence he’d broken, the shed that had collapsed. Did the High Keeper believe he’d made the destruction worse?

A moment later, she looked away. Maybe he’d only imagined it.

“But now, thanks to Cyril Harlow’s clever deduction, we have reason to believe it was the weeping tide that was responsible for the violent state of the Brutopods and some of our own Beasts. And so this is my decree. Until we have determined why the weeping tide is flourishing, I’m afraid we cannot put our lives at risks. Beasts will only be permitted to leave their Marks when in your personal living quarters, except for a case of extreme circumstances.” Orla cast a sad glance to Murph’s usual spot by the fireplace, now empty. “We’ll have to rely on ourselves to put a stop to all this madness.”

THIRTEEN

Without the chirping, squawking, growling, chittering, and roaring of Beasts, the Guild House had been unusually somber in the two weeks since Orla’s decree. The bread served for breakfast always tasted a little stale, and the milk seemed extra sour.

In the hall’s corner, one Guardian sang a mournful shanty while another accompanied him on the fiddle.