dangerously close. She hissed, “The whole city is coming down.”
“Careful,” Rachel said. “I don’t need a feather trinket hanging from my ankle.”
Carnival grunted.
The falling debris grew thicker. A stone tower roared by, lights blazing in its windows as if the occupants were still busy within. Gas lamps and girders shot past like spears. A rusted bridge, dragging chains, tumbled into the depths, spinning end over end like a huge discarded toy. Pillars, arches, and chunks of wall, some with windows or chimneystacks intact. A horse, still harnessed to a merchant’s cart, whinnied and kicked the air as it plummeted.
Against this onslaught, they beat harder up towards the light, through clouds of dust and rainbow-laced curtains of water. Grit peppered Dill’s head and shoulders, brought tears to his eyes. While Rachel buried her face in his shoulder, he kept his gaze fixed above, alert for anything that might strike them.
The smaller objects were almost impossible to avoid. Shards of glass, falling in glittering showers, tore their clothes and their skin. Broken tiles and fragments of wood pummelled them. Dill spun and twisted, dropped back and weaved through this deluge, endlessly trying to avoid the worst of it. Carnival followed their progress, the chain dancing between herself and the assassin.
Deepgate? Dill’s memories surfaced with the name. The foundation chains; the League; the Warrens. He saw himself on a high balcony ringing a turret, remembered his cell beneath the belfry. A chipped tile floor. Sunlight glimmering through a glass angel .
His home? He was going home.
“This dust.” Rachel coughed into his shoulder. “I can’t see anything through it until it’s almost upon us. Is there anything left of the city above?”
Dill squinted through the dust clouds. Chains hung like torn webs from at least a quarter of the city, leaving a gap through which he could discern blue sky. Flames flickered around the damaged edges and, even as he watched, another mass of buildings sagged toward them and broke free.
He shouted back to Carnival, “Head there, over there! Less dangerous. The districts there have already come down.” Then he whispered into Rachel’s ear, “Some of the foundation chains have gone. From the edge to the hub, everything around them has been lost.”
“The temple?”
“I can see it.” Right there in the centre, a burning halo surrounded the Church of Ulcis.
“We would have heard it drop,” Carnival growled. “That many wailing priests.”
Gradually the city grew nearer. Fresh showers of water occasionally drenched them, momentarily clearing the dust and smoke until it felt like they were flying through thunderheads. The air seemed to crackle and course with violent energy. Hairs rose on Dill’s arms and on the back of his neck.
A roar and, a hundred yards away, an entire street ripped past, its houses ablaze, disintegrating into plumes of rubble. An old stonewood tree tumbled after it, its gnarled branches reaching out amid flailing chains. Carnival watched its descent. In the fleeting firelight, Dill saw a look of grim detachment on her face.
“We have to move faster,” she said. “Ulcis’s archons are free.”
“How many?” Rachel whispered.
“Fifty or more,” Dill said, after gazing into the depths. “They’re gaining fast.” He beat his wings with all of his strength. Carnival groaned in protest and lashed after them in pursuit.
Rachel drew the bamboo tube from her belt and popped open its lid. A musty odour emerged from inside; accompanied by a strange scratching sound. She closed it again quickly. “Tell me when they get near,” she shouted. “I can’t see well enough.”
Now there were people visible among the debris: ragged men, women, and children, tumbling head over foot, garments rippling. Screams and cries filled the abyss. One woman clutched an infant in her arms; its wail tapered away to nothing.
Beneath them the archons had drawn their swords. They circled as they rose, sweeping like great grey hawks through the falling debris.
“How close now?” Rachel asked.
“Close enough,” Dill replied.
“Take this, then.” She handed the tube to Dill. “Open it and throw it in the face of the first one that gets near us.” Then, gripping Dill’s waist between her legs, she leaned outwards and pulled her sword free.
Dill examined the tube. “What’s in here?”
“Hookfleas.”
A battle cry went up from the archons, as the closest moved to attack.
“Above!” Carnival shouted suddenly.
Dill glanced up just in time. He dived aside to avoid an iron spike as large as a temple spire.
“The Scythe!” Rachel cried. “The shipyards are coming down.”
Massive iron skeletons thundered past. Mooring spines, gantries and cranes, huge winches and pulleys