“These weigh almost nothing,” Seldom said, always happy to sound smart. “If you held one of them, it would feel like paper, except it’s very strong, very tough. We use the scales to build machinery and armor and other important, expensive stuff.”

Elata was watching for Nissim. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself, but she was scared. Where did the Master go? When would they see him again? And what if they couldn’t find him and he couldn’t find them before the wrong men appeared again?

“Corona bones are stronger than ours,” Seldom said. “We use their teeth to carve their skeletons into fancy shapes, and pieces of their bones end up inside whatever needs to be as tough as possible.”

“Enough,” Elata interrupted.

“I was just explaining,” he said.

She hit him with her stare.

Seldom felt a little ashamed, if not certain why. Then he stood and started to watch faces, and right away he smiled and pointed. “Over there. Isn’t that Master Nissim?”

Cowardice wore many faces, and none of those faces were shy.

The urge to flee kept shouting at Master Nissim, again and again and again. It warned him that nothing here was what it seemed to be, and he was nothing but a clumsy, foolish imbecile, lacking any good clues about what was true. The day wasn’t halfway done, and it was already jammed full of impossibilities. Aiding a strange young boy seemed good and noble, but that illusion had vanished. Who was he helping? Nobody, obviously. The temptation was to leave now, take his next breath with him and walk away. He could be standing beside the familiar butcher’s block before the day was finished. That’s what the cowardice promised him. Nissim had a comfortable room where he slept well enough and waking habits that weren’t unpleasant. Maybe his life was a touch dreary, even lowly, but that life didn’t injure anybody. Nobody thought about him in any important, dangerous way. Yet that peace was finished, at least for the time being, and he ached in his guts and his heart beat like growler drum, and his remaining thoughts were consumed by one furious moment that shouldn’t have happened.

There. That was the heart of the trouble.

Again and again, Nissim imagined a bloody leg on the block and the favorite cleaver in his hand, aimed and falling.

A man screamed in his mind, and then the man screamed once more, louder.

Nissim had to get out of this mess. He decided to hunt for the first person in authority, he didn’t care who, and he would confess about the lost boy, explaining just enough while confessing to nothing. Then he would board the next blimp for home. That was the right plan—the only sane plan—and so sure was he that he took his first deep breath in what seemed like too long, enjoying the illusion of being certain about things that would never make sense.

But fear had endless faces, and a compelling new visage emerged.

Run away, even for the best reasons, and the guilt would easily chase him down. The butcher was sure about that much. And if anything ugly happened to one of those children, remorse would define every awful day until death finally claimed him.

The man was near shock, but despite his worst nature, he saw exactly what was at stake.

“Go find those kids,” Nissim whispered to himself.

Then he told every fear but one, “Leave me alone.”

Ugly shame was what pushed him up the stairs, up onto the busy broad plaza.

Diamond rose and saw the Master.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked.

The man was moving slowly, painfully. Once in the open, Nissim paused, eyes sweeping the plaza until he saw three children watching him. He tried to smile but managed only a painful grimace, and he took one enormous breath before walking again.

Elata ran toward him.

The boys followed, and then Elata stopped and they fell in beside her. The Master was pale and sad, but he managed to smile. The voice wasn’t the same, too soft and too gray. But the words sounded optimistic, saying, “This worked out well enough. Everyone is all right, I see.”

“Are you hurt?” Elata asked.

He didn’t answer.

She stopped in front of him. “What happened to that man?”

Nissim sucked on his teeth, narrowing his eyes for a thoughtful moment. Then he said, “No. No, I’m not hurt.”

She didn’t believe him.

“What about the man?” asked Seldom. “Is he following us?”

“No.” Nissim started toward the government buildings, telling no one in particular, “He won’t be our problem anymore.”

That sounded like good news, except Elata wasn’t happy. She was still full of scared thoughts, and now she felt sick to her stomach, and her throat hurt.

Seldom looked sick too.

“Is that man dead now?” he asked.

Nissim took one step and another before he stopped and looked back at them. Then with a careful firm voice, he said, “Nobody has killed anybody. And nobody wants anybody dead.”

Diamond stopped under the big doorway, trying to read the banner.

“That word is ‘Slayer,’ ” Seldom explained. “And the word below is ‘Agency.’”

“Boys, hurry,” Nissim said.

Heavy curtains had been pulled away, revealing a bright room built for giants. One giant stood in the middle of the space, dressed in the slayer’s uniform, heavy goggles dangling around his neck. One carved hand held a long rifle, some kind of spear fitted inside the rifle barrel, and the spear’s tip was triangular and sharp to the eye, even though it was cut from blackwood. Diamond gazed at the wide strong face of the statue, and Seldom asked, “Is that your father?”

He shook his head.

Nissim stopped walking, reaching under his shirt to adjust the butcher’s knife. Then he knelt and looked at Diamond’s face. “Before we go on, I want to ask you again. Do you know who would want to grab you up?”

“Did those men really want him?” Seldom asked.

Nissim’s eyes didn’t leave Diamond. “They were following orders, I think. Somebody else is in charge.”

Diamond looked down. “There was a man.”

“A man.”

“When I was coming here, he was sitting on a bench.”

“Tell me.”

Diamond rubbed his eyes. “He knew my name. He said he was waiting for me.”

“You’re certain?”

“He said my father was his friend. He said that Merit was waiting for me at the Ivory Station.”

“And I suppose this gentleman wanted to take you to your father.”

“But I didn’t believe him.”

Nissim nodded. “Those two who left the blimp at Rail . . . I bet they called their employer with the sorry news that they’d lost track of you. Other people were dispatched, and one of them happened to spot you.”

“List,” said Diamond.

“What?” asked Nissim.

“That was his name.”

“A lot of people are named List,” said Seldom.

“And there was a woman who walked by,” Diamond said. “She knew the man, but she called him ‘Archon.’ ”

The Master took a moment, the dry tongue licking dry lips.

Elata said, “Shit.”

Nissim waved a finger, begging her to stay quiet. Then he got low and said, “Every District has its leader, Diamond. There is a boss, an elected civilian authority. Each one of them is known as the Archon.”

“Ours is a woman,” Elata said.

“She’s nice,” Seldom said, with great confidence.

“But what we’re talking about here . . . this is very, very unlikely.” And with that the Master leaned close, asking, “What did this man look like?”

With words, the boy drew what he saw perfectly—the thin face and its cold odd smile.

“Was his voice low and deep?”

“No.” Diamond shook his head. “It was high, like a bird’s voice.”

Nissim said nothing, and for a little while he did nothing.

“What’s wrong?” asked Elata.

“What Archon looks like that?” Seldom asked.

“How would I know?” she said.

The Master didn’t answer. But he had to take some serious breaths, one after another. Then he stood tall again and wiped his mouth and stared at his feet, shaking his head slowly as he told the floor, “Let’s not talk about Archons again. And we have to find your father. As soon as we can.”