Mitchell Smith - Moonrise

Dolphus-Shrike, down the way, had heard them. "And time," he said, "- past time for these ice-den fuckers to feel fear."

"Still," Richard said, "the Guard will only be demonstrating at South Gate. It's shallower than the North -"

"Much shallower," Patience said. "With double-staircases, and broader passage."

"- And the more easily reinforced by the city, because of that." Richard hummed a moment, thinking. "The Guard will come hard enough to draw them south – but then, three and a half thousand of these city soldiers, defending, will be too many for them. Sylvia Wolf-General will be fortunate to be able to retreat her companies."

"The attempt," Baj said, "should be enough for us."

… They waited against the ice gallery's wall, the tide of cold seeming to muffle further talk, so they became silent watchers, silent listeners in a glittering palace of crystal reflections, the precincts of Boston-town.

Beneath them, on the boulevard, New Englanders in rich-colored furs or few clothes at all hurried past on worry's business, sounding uneasy voices. A few towed little white dogs on cords, dogs small as rabbits but very lively.

Then, through and over everything – vibrating in Baj's bones – there was a grand note struck… then struck again, that sang and rang up the boulevard. A great bell's tolling.

"That," Patience said, "that is the bell of alarm. – I've never heard it struck, except in Constable-drill. No one now alive has heard it seriously struck." Still crouching, she drew her scimitar. "- There are two dreadful great bells, and it is the first. The Guard is attacking at South Gate."

The great instrument tolled again, its voice deep, resonant, and rich as Lord Winter's voice might be… Then again.

"Not too soon," Marcus-Shrike said, and Dolphus gestured the other tribesmen ready.

"The Wolf-General," Nancy said, "has keep her word."

"Yes," Baj said, loosening rapier and dagger in their sheaths, "- and expects us to do the same." It seemed to him now a sad, inevitable tragedy. The Guard, Boston's Made-Person sword and shield, had come home to their gate at last, come concerned no longer for their suffering mothers' lives. Those, already decided lost – and with them, the city's dark and ancient leverage.

… The bell's continuing slow-measured notes rang in Baj's ears. There had been bells hung at Island, bells in chapel to sing songs to Floating-Jesus. But no bells as great as this – and hung, no doubt, in a tower of ice that trembled, shining, as the bronze spoke. – Baj found he feared now only for Nancy, and the killing to come. All other concerns, as for himself, were winnowed away. It was an odd sort of freedom to feel.

He crouched with the others, his fur hood up, his breath frosting in the air, and imagined – as if from a great distance – the life he and Nancy might have had together, but for this. He saw them somehow at Island… welcomed at Island. Nancy wearing the paneled dress, the gleaming jewels of a Lady Extraordinary, so her narrow lovely face was framed in fisher-cat fur, her slender throat banded in sapphires and silver… They would have had chambers in East tower, and he would have handed her down stairways and along tapestried hallways – their harsh stone so much warmer than Boston's ice. Would have handed her down and along, her far-southern cottons and silks rustling beside him.

King Howell Voss, one-eyed and ferocious as Warm-time's God-Odin, would have made her a favorite. She might have sung her high, harsh notes in quick counterpoint to his strumming banjar… With the years, all at Island would have come to love her, and found her golden fox's eyes a pleasure…

There were shouts of command below – then a crash of many little bells.

Those sounds became a swift, rhythmic, pounding jangle over the continuing ponderous, paced thunder of the alarm… Baj, Richard, and several Shrikes, keeping low, went to the gallery's balustrade and peered down at the boulevard now filling with grim men, rank on rank in bronze half-armor, chest and back – many lightly clothed beneath it, others colorfully furred, some naked but for the metal. All carried halberds slanted over their right shoulders.

Bell staffs – Baj had read of them, but never seen one – rose at the front of every long column… then were struck down together in a great ringing chorus, and the hundreds of Constables stepped off together, left feet first – booted or bare. They swung away down the boulevard to the rhythm of shaken bells, so their gleaming halberds' heads – each ax, hook, and point – swayed all together, a sparkling awning of bright steel above them as they marched.

"Soldiers," Richard said, "whatever they're called."

Dolphus-Shrike nodded. "Yes, soldiers… Patience, do they go to South Gate?"

"Wait." She stood up to watch. "If they turn on the Street of Flowers…"

Baj, Richard, and Dolphus-Shrike also stood to watch the wide formations march away through shimmering light, frosting breaths streaming behind them, their columns cleaving the people to either side as they went.

"A halberd," Richard said, "is a difficult weapon to deal with. A slight soldier – Sunriser or Moonriser – strikes with its weight as if strong. A strong soldier is made even stronger."

"… They're turning," Patience said. "Turning down Flowers – toward South Gate." The great bell still tolled, steady as a giant's heartbeat.

Dolphus gestured his tribesmen to their feet. "And that's how far?"

"From here, more than a WT mile." She stood in her colored coat, still watching. The bell staffs rang in the distance, a song crystalline as their city.

"You must have heard those little bells as a child," Nancy said to her. "Wakened to them in the night."

"Yes," Patience said, and turned away. "Heard it and loved it and our Constables, before it became the music of betrayal… and these people took my son."

The jangle of marching-bells was muffled to quiet as the last ranks, far down the way, turned out of sight… so only townspeople and their children were left hurrying along the frozen boulevard, past its great gleaming columns.

"Now," Patience said, "- and we must go fast, or lose our chance. Pass or kill any who interfere… but remember what we came to do." She trotted down the gallery with Baj and the others catching up, and the Shrikes after them – some skidding on slick ice as the regular ponderous notes of the great bell rang shivering.

Down the long gallery… to wide flights of frost-dusted stairs – Patience, then all of them running, jumping two steps at a time to reach the boulevard.

… Hurrying Boston people saw them, saw them but seemed to pay only temporary mind – as if on a day of surprising threat from the south, a certainly-township lady might reasonably lead a party of oddities and ice-tribe hunters. Leading them somewhere… perhaps necessary in the emergency.

Still, Baj noticed one or two paying more attention.

"This leaving us alone won't last," he said.

Nancy laughed beside him, breathless. "That's why… we're running."

Down the boulevard – even wider than it had looked from the gallery, its pavement-ice scored with deep cross-hatching for better footing – Baj saw several of the brown-furred Carvers chipping at its curbs as Patience ran and more-than-ran before them. She sailed sometimes just above the ice, white hair streaming, with Baj and Nancy running just behind and to her left, Richard lumbering swiftly by her right side… Errol, very lively, skipped behind with the Shrikes.

The great bell still rang its deep, slow measured notes, that seemed to jar the icy air around them… Under its sound, Baj heard the swift whispers of their boots on frost.

They ran and outran people's occasional shouts, starts, commencements of some sort of action – ran past and were gone. Though at last, just past where the Street of Flowers crossed, ran not quite fast enough.