We go our separate paths. Them to the west an me northeast. Deepwell Tower lies a half league from here.

She was meeting Jack. She’d gone with the hurry of a secret lover.

He only just stopped himself from going after her. His hands twitched the reins. His horse responded. He had to pretend the mare had missed her footing.

He’d follow no longer. Now he would lead. With the help of the scroll in his pocket, he’d lead Jack straight to DeMalo.

He rode on. And he thought. And he planned.

Jack an me ain’t never met here before. Deepwell Tower rises lone an lonely from a rubblefield. A crumbled brick finger that points to the sky. As I draw near, my stummick twists in disquiet as I draw near. We parted so badly last night. With so much unsaid. Was it really only last night? Every day seems a lifetime right now.

Nero calls to warn of our approach. Jack’s pony, stands patiently by the wreck of a doorway. I leave Hermes with Kell an duck through the shattered arch into a round room. It’s twelve foot by twelve, no more. Mossy brick walls circle high to meet the night. To gape open-mouthed at the sky. To let the moon softly wash them with its light.

Mind yer step, says Jack.

There’s a well hole in the middle of the room. Lit by the shaft of moonbeam, it yawns widely, darkly deep. He leans on the wall the other side. Lookin like hisself fer a change. His own worn-out clothes on his back, his battered old hat on his head, his down-at-heel boots on his feet.

Yer message said urgent, I says.

There’s a certain stillness in a person’s body. A tightness, unmistakeable, that comes from once more knowin how all our stories end. When you see that, you know somebody’s dead. An Jack ain’t so much as glanced at me. He stares into the blackness of the well.

Who is it? I says. My voice barely comes out.

Skeet, he says.

A brief spark of thanks. I was braced fer him to tell me it was Mercy. Skeet, I says. How?

He looked a Tonton straight in the eye, says Jack. Man to man. Standin tall an proud.

Like I told him to, I says.

They shot him, he says.

I slump aginst the wall behind me. Skeet. Dead. I git a flash of him at the mill that day. As he clasped hands with Mercy an the fearsome mask of his scarified face softened to a smile while he told her of his life that used to be. The cart with yellow wheels an a horse called Otis. Another life—his—added to my scorecard. How many is that now? I’m losin count.

It’s my fault, I says.

Now, at last, Jack does look at me. His moonlight eyes caught in the moonlight. Stop blamin yerself, you do it every time, he says. Give us some credit. We all know the risks an we choose to take ’em. Skeet lived on the edge fer a long while. It’s sad. He’ll be missed. He was a good man an we need good people. But he eether made a mistake or jest ran outta luck. That’s how it goes. We all accept it.

I shake my head.

Yes, says Jack, an if he could, I know he’d tell you it was worth it. Listen, I managed to slip him in an outta two slave gangs. He started the whisper that change is comin. That the Angel of Death is back an they should be ready to move when you send word. An about the baby thing … a couple of ’em was jest too weak, they didn’t make it. But the rest though, we bin real careful an, so far, that’s gone okay.

It has, I says. How many?

Seven, he says. We’ve took every one they left out.

It ain’t enough, I says. Did you git Mercy back into the babyhouse she was at? What’s happenin there?

That plan her an Cassie cooked up, says Jack. Smugglin out babies they report as stillborn? Mercy did two. That’s all we figgered was safe to do in such a short time without drawin notice.

We need more, I says. We gotta roll this out fast to the other babyhouses. You gotta move her on to another one.

He starts to speak, but hesitates. Like he don’t wanna say what’s gotta be said.

I straighten up, the skin of my hands pricklin trouble. What? I says. What is it? I hurry around the well an take hold of his sleeve. C’mon, Jack, tell me.

My urgency wakes the old echo in the stones. Jack waits fer it to settle before he speaks.

Mercy took Skeet’s place, he says.

You should of stopped her, I says.

Why? Becuz she’s yer friend?

She’s lame, Jack. She’s weak.

She wanted to, he says. She insisted. Said now that Skeet’s gone, she’s the only one who can do it an she’s right.

We need her fer the babyhouses, I says.

That’s all in hand, he says. The midwife Mercy worked with, I’ve moved her to Sector Seven now. It’s rollin out, like you wanted.

I lean aginst the wall. Tip my head back aginst the cold stone. I’m blind to the night sky above. All I can see is Mercy’s poor back. With its shiny white shawl of whip scars. I don’t want her in the slave gangs, I says.

Too bad, she’s there an there she stays, he says. We’re all committed to yer plan. This is what it looks like. Losses an wins an riskin our lives fer what we believe.

I know, I says. Well, I cain’t say I’m surprised. I’d be more surprised if she didn’t. Good thing she kept that raggy old tunic.

Speakin of raggy, what happened to you? He feels the salt-heavy wet of my coat. Yer soaked.

Oh yeah, I says. A saltsleet caught us out on the Slabway. Guess it didn’t make it this far.

A shiver runs through me. I’m suddenly chilled.

C’mon, take that off. Here, have mine, he says. He shrugs from his coat an wraps it around me. It’s warm from his body. It smells of him. There, that’s better, he says.

Earlier … I says, at Edenhome, I—I’m sorry, it was my fault the boys was there. I was tired, not thinkin straight. It could of bin bad.

No harm done, he says.

I need yer help. I cain’t think how to git in there or even if we should. If you got any ideas, I could sure use ’em.

Later, he says. You do look tired.

It’s this place, New Eden, I says. It’s closin in on me. I feel it. Circlin me, tighter an tighter. All these trees an roots an neat patches of land an tidy parcels of sky. There ain’t no long views. That’s the worst of it, I think.

There’s some of us set our course by the horizon, he says.

Lugh likes it here, I says. I’m quiet fer a moment. Then I says, If you could go anywhere, Jack, right now, where would you go?

Somewhere I ain’t never bin, he says. I’ve had too much of land, I’ll tell you that. Did you notice at the top of that map in the seedstore? Nuthin but a big stretch of open water. Ran right off the edges. There was a river marked. Flowed north into it. I’d find that river an follow it along till I reached that big stretch of water. Once I hit it, I’d find me a boat an jest keep on goin.

He pulls the coat collar around my neck. His reluctant hand lingers. Then it strays up my throat to wander my face. I watch him watch me as he touches me. As we stand in the pale light of moongrace. As I drown myself deep in his silver-lake eyes.

Don’t look at me like that, he says.

Don’t touch me like that, I says.

I told you how it stands, he says.

You did, I says. I remember.

I press him to the wall, gently. I undo his shirt an smooth it away. An I bless my lips to his heart. To the red risin sun crudely inked on his flesh. His Tonton blood tattoo, that he earned servin justice on two wicked men. My lips crawl the scar road on his chest, hard won in the service of friendship. He was safely away but turned back to save Ike. Got flayed near to death by a hellwurm’s claws. The tattoo, the scars, they’re beautiful to me. They confess the man that he is. I cain’t see the wounds inside of him. So I honour the ones I can see.