“When the job’s done return directly to the quay,” said Ata.

“I’m concerned about Cyan. I hope none of this dishonor rubs off on her.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I find that daughters look after themselves.”

“And we have no backup plot,” he said. “None of us knows enough to predict the Capharnai.”

“We have our talents. Gio must be frightened of you, Archer. When his followers show their true colors, his lies will become manifest. The Senate will realize we’re doing the best for Tris.”

Lightning and Ata fell silent as we came up to the beacon. Its uneven light did not illuminate the whole wide harbor mouth-the farthest point of the marina wall was in shadow. Ata rowed close to it, as quietly as possible. Slimy basalt blocks dwarfed us; thick kelp fronds stirred deep beneath us. I had been straining at the rope for thirty minutes, preoccupied with images of drowning, but I saw the rafts of empty Trisian canoes tied to their floating pontoons, undulating on the waves. In the distance they looked like needles on pine branches. Pavonine, Cuculine and Stramash were monstrous in comparison. At the waterfront, their unembellished sterns faced us, sails furled on skeletal spars, no flags flying. Lights flickered on Pavonine’s living deck. Their three tall masts, thinned by the darkness, were only occasionally visible against the night sky. Still, I sensed their bulk and heard the wavelets that slipped in and splashed back between the carracks and the harbor wall. They were rising on their moorings on an incoming tide.

Behind the harbor, Capharnaum’s streets interlaced up the dark mountainside. Tris seemed far from fragile but, now we had touched it, it was starting to destruct. What if across the immense sea is an even stronger Empire, more pervasive still, that will do the same to us? San would be furious if he knew that thought. God has not left anything other than us on this world and, since it nominated San to protect the world, San and his orders are right. I will one day announce contests for Capharnai to join the Circle. I will fly over the town carrying their pennant, letting it stream out behind me, and Ata will ride her white horse up the boulevard. Trisian travelers would eventually visit the Fourlands; I could hardly wait to show them the sights.

The harbor lamps reflected in the water. The end of the wall was in shadow, with some canoes upside down outside a small square building. Ata maneuvered us toward it past the last pontoon. Lightning whispered, “I see no guards, but have a care. The wall’s very near.”

She braked the oars. Lightning reached both arms over the side and fended us off. He pulled the boat around, long side to the wall. We all looked up to the top, two meters above. “I don’t see anyone.” He stood on the gunwale, palms on the flagstones, and pulled himself up. The boat bobbed and scraped the wall. His face appeared over the edge. “Pass me my bow.”

“Sh! You should let me go first,” I said, nettled.

“Stop hanging on to the painter, please.” Ata took the rope from me, and gave me a leg up. I scrabbled to the promenade, lay flat on my stomach and peered over. Ata picked the rope from the water, running it the boat’s length, then unwound it from the bow post. She threw it up to Lightning, who coiled it on the ground.

I gaped. “Oh. It wasn’t attached to anything?”

She sniggered. “No. I just needed some way of shutting you up.”

“You-”

“Hush!” said Lightning.

Ata arranged knotted-cord fenders around the boat’s hull, then she raised her hands to us. I turned my back, but Lightning took her hands and heaved her up, with a rasp of metal on stone. Her hair showed in a white flash under the hood of her black shawl-so different from the dazzling armor she wore in battle. She whispered, “I’ll hide by this depot. Lightning, follow Jant; he’s done this kind of thing before. Jant, for god’s sake stop sulking. Remember; return at five A.M., Starglass time. Good luck.”

I set off a few paces, found myself alone, turned to see Ata and Lightning still looking at each other. She gazed at him straight, and a whole spectrum of unsaid things passed between them. Then Lightning gave a little shake of his head, and stepped away to join me.

The façade of houses along the harbor was dangerously exposed because lamps on posts every fifty or so meters cast light on the paving. They were so bright I couldn’t see the stars. We had to dash across the yellow pools and pause in the very narrow slices of shadow.

I reached one of the puzzling black and white posts that had a wooden cross-arm and dangling wires. I crouched behind it. “Saker, we must keep silence from now on. I know you don’t like this and I don’t blame you. But, just once, please follow my lead.”

The Archer nodded. He carried his strung bow over his right shoulder, leaving his arms free. His mantle covered the quiver on his back, giving his shoulders a spiky crest, and was pleated into his belt. Nocks and fletchings of fifty arrows projected from the quiver on his left hip, crammed in so tightly they hardly rustled. He hunched awkwardly, trying to hide his broad frame. With an Eszai’s determination, he was trying to be a sneak. I said, “Let’s go.”

Oil lamps on the shopfronts lit the entire boulevard. But the grid-streets of Capharnaum were perfect for us assassins; we stole down the adjacent parallel street. I kept near the wall and walked rapidly, ducked into a doorway, waited for Lightning to catch up. The main street glowed on our left every side alley we passed. A statue on a plinth. Sculpin’s wine shop; Opah’s seafood; Ling and Zingel, grocers, the shutters closed. I ran across the road and continued up on the other side. Lightning piled into the shop doorway behind me. He was favoring his wound. I waved him back into shadow while I took a look around.

Time to change streets. I sped right across an intersection, away from the boulevard and left uphill again. The junctions were sharp right angles, since Trisians don’t have coaches. We heard a bell chime, the Senate’s patrol calling for the next watch. This street was darker-the buildings were all homes. We dashed past open colonnades and hugged house corners.

If Capharnaum was scruffier and a lot more disorganized, then slinking through it in the early hours would be just like Hacilith: hiding at a corner, giving the constables the slip. Doubling back to be rid of the rival Bowyers gang.

I beckoned the Archer close as we approached a lighted house and together we strode confidently past their front door. When people are at rest in their homes, a furtive movement can alert them, but they don’t look twice if they think you’re a watchman.

The houses were all of equal size and gave no cover; we walked swiftly. The boulevard’s light shone out of the side streets; we sneaked along close to the muraled walls. Behind me, Lightning trailed my movements soundlessly. I value faithfulness among friends. If you have not honored every childhood oath of allegiance to the gangs that changed every minute; adventuring among the rambling rose, the margins of ponds and darkened streets, you have not been true to yourself. I still have the Wheel scar on my shoulder. I have honored those intense oaths of friendship, and as a result I am still a child.

The streets came to an end in darkness at the foot of the Amarot crag. Only the lit boulevard continued, climbing it in a zigzag path. A group of Trisians was descending the ten-meter-wide pavement from the Amarot into town. They wore cloaks over loose white shirts and wide trousers; they carried lamps and weapons. If they saw us they would recognize our outlandish Fourlands clothes immediately. We would have to pretend to be two of Gio’s brigands, which would be the worst way to meet him. I urged Lightning back with a wave, and we lurked behind the corner of the last house.