Mitchell Smith - Moonrise

"Home," Patience said. "And my son."

"The Constables…" Dolphus-Shrike stood beside them. "We'll do what we come to do – but not be butchered before."

"The Watcher-constables station along Third Tier and lower, now," Patience said, and spit a blown snowflake from her lip. "And only a few. We New Englanders have grown soft with cleverness… They used to stand Watch-sentry up here in Lady Weather's apron, and those without Warming-talent died of it sometimes."

More driven snow came stinging, as if to demonstrate.

"- Start your people down the Steps-forever, Dolphus. The Watchers will not think to guard themselves against a Boston-Talent." She drew her scimitar. "None on. Third Tier will live to meet you, or toss warning whistle-balls below."

"So you promise -" Dolphus said, but didn't trouble to finish, since Patience had side-stepped away… side-stepped again, and swept up into the air. She sailed out in a flutter of striped wool greatcoat, to soon be seen tiny in snow-blown emptiness over Boston's great, dark, deep-droning mouth, her sword-blade a last wink of light.

Then she fell away.

… It took a time for the Shrikes, seeking around the gate's rim, to find the first wide step – deep chipped from ancient ice in the gateway's wall, and gritty with wind-blown snow.

Then the Shrikes led, with Richard, Errol, Nancy and Baj following behind. The ice steps gradually… gradually spiraled down to the left – ice steps hacked into a wall of ice, with Lord Winter above, and darkness below.

One slow… slow great-circling down, then another – the humming vacancy to their right, the gate's rough-finished ice wall harsh against their left. The grit of filtering powder snow made stepping down without slipping just possible, though it seemed to Baj that each step he took, each step Nancy took, was dangerous. He'd thought he was done with steep places…

Errol capered easily – stepped up, stepped down – but Richard went ponderous, and cautiously.

… After what seemed a very long time, Baj, looking up, saw they had descended deep. High above them, the gate mouth formed a perfect great circle of morning light. He saw – as if he were Patience, and drifting out in empty air – their small party seeming even smaller, tiny figures along the narrow edge of an immense well of darkness.

It struck him that for the last many weeks of flight, he had always found himself in grand landscapes, gigantic features diminishing him to insignificance, so that his true self – so minor, though adamant – was revealed at last, formed on those huge anvils of perception.

… Near the end of the second great circling down, Dolphus-Shrike stood waiting, pressed against the gate's ice wall, then stepped out to follow Baj just behind.

His bright javelin-head swept out to the right in demonstration. "This is death before dying," he said, apparently uneasy at being so far beneath the snow plain.

" 'After the first death," Baj said, "- there is no other.'"

It was the perfect ancient quote. So fine, so apt, that Dolphus-Shrike was left with no reply, and they stepped down silent behind the others, as all were silent but for the thump and scrape of muk-boot leather, and weapons' soft dink and rattle. Sounds barely heard under North Gate's deep thrumming breath.

… The great circle of gray morning above them had been diminished by their third slow, descending spiral, when the Shrikes stopped and stood still on the steps below. Dolphus eased past and went carefully down to see. A pause, then… before the Shrikes moved on.

When they reached the place, Errol stood and stared, tongue-clicking, A man in furs and bronze half-armor lay on frosting scarlet steps beneath a smoking oil-lamp. His head lay beside him, separate, its eyes a little open, its bearded face remote, dreaming.

"Patience," Nancy said.

A weapon leaned against the niche wall – a tall staff halberd, topped with ax, hook, and point. The Watcher-constable, greeting a Boston-Talent come Walking-in-air down the dawn's first light, had not reached for it.

… As had hiking the Smoking-mountains, as had climbing the Wall… so the endless stepping down became Baj's world, all their worlds. This was what was done, carefully, and nothing else. The shrinking circle of the brightening winter day above, the column of breathing darkness to their right – darkness now relieved a little by filtering beams of sunlight – were of little interest compared to steps of ice, with hundreds and hundreds left behind… hundreds and hundreds waiting.

Baj's knees ached, his leg muscles burned as if a fire stood beside them. He looked down, and saw that Richard limped a little. Nancy and Errol, so slim and slight, still went sprightly, untroubled – as Baj was slightly troubled – by the yearning tug of that gigantic cyhnder of emptiness beside them, as if falling might fill it for a little while.

"Careful," Baj called. "Nancy, careful…"

The Shrikes hadn't paused as they came to each of the next four Watchers. One of those – naked but for his armor – had died still smiling a greeting as Patience came sailing down to him. Another, stricken, had huddled in his sentry niche, been struck again, and disemboweled… Which made for careful stepping past.

The fourth constable had fought. Freezing blood twinkled on his halberd's point. He'd then apparently received a cut that hacked his knee. A second to his face.

This last, like the first to die, had lost his head… Patience had given none the time to toss a warning whistle-ball into the Gate's gulf.

… The Shrikes, Baj and the others following, went down the Fourth Tier, and Fifth, circling… circling always to the right. Then, the Shrikes stood still on the steps.

"Light," Nancy said, her voice hard to hear in the vibrating drone of upwelling air, air now even richer with odors of life and life's doings.

"light," Patience agreed, from emptiness just above them. "Lamplight below, and Boston-town." She came to settle – the morning's sun a distant brightening disk over her shoulder – came down, stumbled on a step, and recovered in Richard's swift grip. "It is, despite everything foolish, everything cruel, the wonder of the world."

"How bad?" Richard said to her, considering blood on a halberd's point.

"Caught a little skin along my ribs." Patience slid her hand beneath her open coat, brought the hand out stained dark. "I think he knew me, knew I had no business here any longer."

"What of that light?" Dolphus-Shrike, climbing back to them.

A soft rich red-gold glow lit the last tier of steps far below, so the steps' chipped ice glistened.

"Last tier," Patience said, raising her voice a little for the other Shrikes to hear. "Another turn and we will be on North Gallery… And below that gallery is a boulevard-thoroughfare – Adams – and a muster yard."

"Constables…"

"Yes, Dolphus. Their Formations, the headquarters for North Gate is held there."

"How many?" Baj said.

"Three Formations. Over seven hundred men, with officers and band."

"… Then we certainly wait," Baj said, "until the Wolf-General moves against the city, and those people march south."

"Or we're discovered here," Dolphus-Shrike tapped his javelin's butt on an ice step, "and someone throws a fucking whistle-ball down. Then 'those people' will come up and cut us into bait."

"Have a busy time," Richard said, "coming up against us on these steps."

"Not as busy," Baj said, "as we would have, trying to go down against them."

"The Watchers are dead," Patience said, "and no relief till after-noon. No one will climb the steps to meet us… Take your people down, Dolphus, but carefully."

"On your head, lady." Dolphus-Shrike started down to his people. "On all our heads…"