Shadowmaster. Susan Krinard

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      Chapter 6

      Brita took Phoenix’s arm, and then they were outside in the damp coolness of early morning, the smell of the bay carried on a chill predawn breeze from the east. Phoenix took particular care to note and memorize the various small changes in scent along their path, the many turns and double-backs, everything that might help her find this way again.

      After a very short while, Phoenix realized they were heading south, toward the Wall. Her heart jumped in her chest. Was Brita going to let Phoenix out of the city without Sammael’s knowledge?

      Soon enough, Phoenix realized her guess was wrong. Brita removed her blindfold and Phoenix saw that they were near the corner of one of the countless decrepit buildings that provided such unreliable shelter for the “citizens” of the Fringe. Brita gestured for Phoenix to stay where she was.

      From her position, Phoenix could see the Wall rising up above the shorter buildings, separated from them by an empty lot. The barrier was studded with thick shards of glass and every other conceivable sharp surface, capable of stopping a would-be human escapee or slowing a Nightsider invader. The top of the Wall was crowned by coil after coil of razor and barbed wire, extending the barrier’s height by another good twenty feet.

      But there were clearly weaker spots in the Wall—small cracks deepened by time and changes in weather, crumbling concrete here and there, evidence of efforts to file down the sharp points that made even touching the Wall so deadly. And along the base, stretching to either side as far as Phoenix could see, were mountains of boxes and metal scraps and every kind of abandoned appliance and machine, arranged in such a way as to appear like garbage thrown against the Wall. It was exactly the deceptive kind of barrier used to block the entrances to Sammael’s Hold.

      A concentrated effort by Aegis or the Enforcers could clear it away in a matter of days, exposing the hidden passages the Bosses kept finding...or creating. But there were never enough Enforcers to waste on patrolling the south Wall and preventing a handful of lawbreakers from escaping every few weeks.

      Phoenix was about to ask what she should be looking for when the faint beam of a headlamp pierced the darkness and a small group of people—men, women and children—crept out of the shadows. Two of Sammael’s crew seemed to be leading them, while several others, armed with stolen Enforcer rifles, followed behind, walking backward to watch for any pursuers.

      Sammael came last. His headlamp was barely bright enough to extend a few inches beyond his face, but he moved easily, as if this place was very familiar to him. He spoke to his crew in a voice too low for Phoenix to hear, and then joined the emigrants.

      There were about a dozen of them, huddled together with their meager belongings. Meager, in some cases, because their owners could only carry so much out of the city. It was evident that one family was from the Mids, another couple almost certainly from the Nobs. But the mingled fear and hope was the same on every face.

      These were people condemned for deportation for minor crimes such as shoplifting or running a red light—foolish little infractions that showed how desperate the government was becoming in its search for convicts to send to Erebus as blood serfs. Some were accompanied by family members who would give up everything to remain with their loved ones, even brave the dangers of the southern Zone and risk their own very possible deaths.

      Phoenix leaned against the wall of the building, taking deep breaths to ease her distress. She had never been so close to one of these unfortunate people. Aegis had kept her protected from such sights, from such thoughts.

      Now there was no escape from reality. She had always disliked the practice of deportation, but the situation was complicated and very volatile. That was why the two main political factions, Patterson’s and Shepherd’s, were so hostile to each other. No one wanted deportation, but those who supported Patterson believed an end to it would lead to another devastating war, while Shepherd’s supporters claimed that there had to be another way to negotiate a new, permanent kind of peace.

      She turned her troubled attention back to the waiting emigrants. A wealthy-looking couple was clinging to each other, the fiftyish woman with a tearstained face and the man staring about him in apparent confusion, as if he couldn’t guess how he’d come to be in such a place. Their money obviously hadn’t been enough to buy their way out of punishment.

      The Mids family, consisting of two young children and a single man, sat together in a small circle of misery. The girl, perhaps ten, simply looked blank. The boy, a few years younger, was crying. The father’s face was wretched with misery.

      Was he leaving a wife behind, a wife already condemned? Did he hate this city, one of the last refuges for humanity on the West Coast of the former United States?

      “There will be additional supplies waiting for you outside the walls,” Sammael was saying, cutting into her thoughts. “You’ll be in the Zone for the most of the next hundred miles south of the city. Avoid the agricultural Enclaves. There are said to be several unauthorized human settlements between here and the Los Angeles Enclave. I can’t vouch for their safety, but you’ll be better off with other people around you.”

      The man with the two children pushed his hand inside his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of A-bills. “I’m sorry I don’t have more,” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. “If I did...”

      “Keep it,” Sammael said, stepping back. “You may eventually find them useful, and I don’t need your money.”

      “But I understood...”

      “I don’t need your money,” Sammael repeated. He knelt to face the little boy, stroking СКАЧАТЬ