King was beside Diamond. “Do you know what I was doing, walking on top?”

“I don’t know.”

“Listening for anything alive inside that corpse.”

Diamond felt lighter. “Did you hear anything?” he asked.

“Blood pooling, guts rotting,” said King. “Dead coronas are noisier than living humans, I think.”

Karlan turned and came back again, shoving the saw deeper into the wound. Other slayers were scaling the black body, preparing to cut from above, tearing loose a mass of tissue and scars and swollen cancers.

King claimed a long pole topped with a bright steel saw,

“Let’s help,” he said to Diamond, or maybe to the saw.

Diamond followed. But the slayers noticed as they approached, and it was Karlan who stepped away from his work to face the intruder.

“We’re the damned midwives here,” he said. “Not you.”

Karlan was small next to King.

“Out of my path,” said King.

Karlan cursed.

Diamond’s brother stomped at the floor twice, defending his ground.

And then Karlan smiled, suddenly and brightly. “I can’t kill you, but I can take off those pretty legs before you get your shot at me.”

King spat with his eating mouth. But the other mouth said, “No, I just wanted to bring you this tool.”

The pole and blade struck the floor between them.

Saws quieted, and the other slayers shouted warnings. Then everybody ran away as a mass of hot rotting flesh slid free suddenly, save for two laughing men who rode the carnage all the way to the floor.

Diamond wondered if someone had blessed the corona.

Father would have by now.

The local sirens began to blow. Above them, one fletch and then its neighbors started their engines, getting ready to embark. But a lesser general started yelling at someone, telling them to signal those ships. “Nobody is leaving,” she said, waving a hand in a circle above her head. “Gas protocols are in force.”

In the course of the war, every weapon but one had been used. Just the word “Gas” made everyone move faster or stand stiller, and every soul contemplated a new set of horrors.

Karlan was wading through the gore, cutting still deeper while the other crews brought up timbers and fans.

Mother came close, needing to talk. Diamond assumed that another lecture about decency or shame was about to commence. But no, she tugged on his arm once, just to grab a bigger share of his attentions, and then she quietly told him, “You should be one of the first. Go closer. Go.”

Diamond should be in the front, yes. But it took a startling amount of bravery just to cover the next twenty steps. He stopped beside King. Saying nothing, they watched the slayers set up fans to shove cool air inside, and then they were propping up the long wound, using timbers and sheets of wood to keep the limp body from crushing them. Then just enough had been done, and the men and women vanished inside, no more than one recitation passing before they began dragging out fresh masses of muscle and flower-bright organs that neither boy recognized.

This day had been imagined. A plan was in place, much-practiced and eager.

A dozen soldiers formed one tidy line.

“They search anyone who leaves the corpse,” King said. “They don’t want anyone slipping away with a brother in his pocket.”

Diamond tried to laugh at the image.

King had a bigger laugh, and then he fell silent, suddenly standing taller, the plates on his shoulders beginning to lift.

“What’s wrong?” Diamond asked.

King said nothing.

“You hear something—”

“Meeker,” his brother said. “He’s talking. Wait.”

Karlan emerged from the hole. His white suit was black and shiny with the blood, and he was holding a rope and various hooks, a greasy tongue-shaped mass obediently following after him.

“Spotters in the little Districts,” King said. “They’re calling in. They see skulls riding long bombs and rockets. Papio nerve-killers. One whiff, and we’re the only ones left alive here. And I’m not sure we’ll be upright afterwards.”

Diamond looked back at Elata, at Seldom. He wanted to catch his mother’s gaze, but she was watching the butcher floor, arms crossed as her mouth offered silent words. She was holding an earnest conversation with her dead husband.

Beneath the floor, huge pumps began working.

The air inside the room instantly thickened, vents pumping in extra air to keep any toxic gases outside. The blowing air made the overhead fletches yank against their moorings, and the balloons spun like a flock of fat birds.

Slayers dragged more timbers inside the wound.

List came forward, standing among the soldiers. With his weak loud voice, he told everyone, “Hurry.”

All of the world’s sirens were roaring, but the attacks wouldn’t happen immediately. Even the swiftest wings needed twenty or thirty recitations to cross half of the world.

But the Archon saw no reason for patience. Pushing the officer in charge, he said, “Get your people in there. Let the slayers do their work, but you build a roof. You drag and carry. I want the next children free before the papio arrive.”

“What about security?” the man asked.

“Security we have. Time is scarce.”

The order couldn’t be obeyed without a general’s compliant nod. But having received that, the soldiers marched forwards, glad to be busy.

Again Karlan emerged from the carcass. His clothes were dripping with iron-infused blood, and he was angry enough to glare at every invader. But a few withering curses was enough of a defense, and then he smiled, telling those miserable fools what to bring out next and what not to touch or trust.

List approached the boys, glancing at Diamond. Something like hope was building in the eyes, and the man even tried to smile. Then he looked at King, saying, “A lot of orders are at work here. But I’m giving you one important command.”

The son couldn’t have stood taller, waiting for the next words.

“Don’t hurt them,” List said. “You won’t harm these next children at all. Is that understood?”

King stomped the floor ten times.

His eating mouth made injured noises, but the other mouth remained mute.

The soldiers had vanished. Karlan had vanished. But suddenly the soldiers were emerging. Bent low, the first few of them were sprinting, one stumbling and his companions jumped over his rolling body.

“We found something,” several men cried out.

Generals and soldiers, government people and the resident staff pushed forward. Muttering sounds ended with questioning sounds. Meeker was at the front of the crowd, and with a tentative grin, he said to List, “There’s news.”

“Yes?” asked the Archon.

“The papio don’t have as many wings as we feared. So we may, may be able to win everything today.”

King told Diamond, “I was right.”

Diamond stared into the black hole, saying nothing.

“Just like your mysterious voice predicted,” said King.

Diamond started to shake his head. He intended to say, “No,” before cautioning that the voice, whatever it was, stubbornly refused to speak in easy, obvious terms.

But there wasn’t any time to explain. Karlan emerged from the corona, one rounded object cradled in his arms. Everybody saw him. Every conversation ended. There was a long fine moment when the prize looked like a baby, and the man covered in stomach wastes and rot looked like the proudest father in Creation. Standing at the edge of the wound, boots sinking into the soft old flesh, Karlan used the reflected sunlight to study what he was holding. He almost smiled, but the smile didn’t have any purchase. So he decided to shake his head, and with no ceremony and no warning, he tossed the object onto the butcher floor.

The prize was round and stayed round, and it sang on impact, resembling a bell ringing in the distance. It hit the bone slats and rang each time that it bounced, and then it began to hum while it rolled forwards, dedicated to one straight line.