Harper rounded the corner of Butcher Street and sprinted toward the slumping, three-story tenement where Belimai lived. Harper took the stairs up to Belimai's rented rooms in quick leaps. At the top of the staircase, all of his driving energy slammed to a halt. Belimai's door hung crookedly off its hinges. The doorjamb had been reduced to a shattered mass of splinters.

Past the broken door, Harper glimpsed the wreckage of Belimai's home. The walls were stripped bare. All of the books lay in heaps among pieces of smashed furniture and slashed upholstery. A wide spill of ink bled out from the cracked body of Belimai's desk. Sheaves of Belimai's drawings were strewn everywhere. A delicate sketch of a grasshopper lay on the floor near Harper. The paper was crumpled and marked with the muddy impression of a boot heel.

Suddenly Harper was aware of the rawness of his throat. Sharp, biting pain lanced through his chest. His legs trembled, and for a moment he didn't know if he could remain standing. He closed his eyes and leaned against the hard support of the doorframe.

Then, from inside the room, he heard a softly whispered obscenity.

Harper shoved the door open in time to catch Belimai climbing back in through one of the shattered windows. For an instant Harper felt the overwhelming urge to rush forward and pull Belimai to him. Belimai's expression stopped him. Belimai's pale yellow eyes were slitted with fury, his thin lips drawn back in a hiss of rage. Harper froze, giving Belimai a moment to recognize him. Belimai didn't quite smile, but the fear and anger drained from his expression.

The kinky branches of Belimai's black hair hung dripping around his bare shoulders. He wore only a pair of wet, black pants and a single sock. He folded his thin arms over his chest, surveying the ruins of his home.

"You just missed your friends." Belimai went to his desk and began searching through its broken hull.

"They're likely to come back." Harper wanted to offer some comfort, but he knew that Belimai wouldn't accept it. There was some deep perversity about Belimai that made him despise kindness. He avoided compliments as if they were collection notices. Sympathy simply made him furious.

"I thought you were supposed to be at some country estate this week." Belimai jerked at the crumpled desk drawers. The jammed pieces of wood resisted him.

"I missed my carriage," Harper replied.

"I guess it's been a bad day all around then." Belimai continued prying at the drawer. He finally clawed off the drawer face with his long black nails.

"Those fucking bastards." Belimai lifted out the cracked bodies of several glass syringes as if they had been cherished pets.

"Bastards." Belimai glared at the shattered needles before he hurled them aside.

"We need to go," Harper reminded Belimai. "They probably only left to ask your neighbors if they know where you are. They'll be back. It's standard procedure."

"Standard procedure for what?" Belimai looked up at Harper. "Did I break some arcane law by putting pictures on the walls? Why the hell did they do this?" Belimai swept his pale arms out over the wreckage littering his floor.

"A lord's niece was murdered this evening. You're one of the suspects." At first Harper wasn't sure if Belimai understood him. Belimai said nothing. He simply sat staring at the huge spill of ink in front of him. Then Belimai stood and walked to the bed-room. Harper heard him rifling through his broken belongings and cursing very softly.

Harper watched the stairs. Now that he wasn't running, he felt the cold sinking through his wet uniform. He wondered if Belimai was ever going to come out of the bedroom.

If it were Edward in there, Harper would have simply followed him into the room and seen what he was doing. If he were packing, Harper would have helped him. If he were crying and cursing his luck, then Harper would have told him to do it later.

But Belimai was not at all like Edward. Belimai was deeply private. Even when Harper held Belimai's naked body against his own, touching and exploring every inch of him, he wasn't sure of his right to ask if it pleased Belimai. Physically, he knew Belimai well. But beyond the flesh, Harper knew less of Belimai's feelings than did the fleas in Belimai's bed.

Harper was scratching his shoulder involuntarily at the thought of fleas when Belimai emerged from his bedroom. He had dressed and held a satchel of belongings. His wet hair was tucked under a black cap that Harper was almost positive had once been his. Belimai offered Harper an ugly green coat and a pair of gloves.

The coat didn't do much to warm Harper's wet body, but it kept the wind from chilling him further.

"You left those gloves last time you were here," Belimai said. Harper removed his wet gloves and stuffed them into his pocket before pulling on the dry pair.

"I thought you said that you couldn't find them." Harper flexed his fingers against the tight leather.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Belimai shrugged. "Shall we go?"

"Do you have everything you need?" Harper didn't want to delay, but more than that, he didn't want to have to come back.

"I've got what I can carry. That will have to be enough, won't it?" Belimai's pale yellow eyes flickered over the ruined belongings that he was leaving behind.

"Let's go, then." Harper held the door for Belimai and felt absurd doing it. Belimai seemed too depressed to even offer a snide comment.

Harper followed Belimai through narrow alleys of tenements and workhouses. Eruptions of low thunder rolled through the noise of heavy machinery. Steam spewed out of chimneys only to be beaten down by the pelting rain. Most of the gas lamps had gone out, but distant flickers of lightning lit the sky from time to time.

As they walked steadily onward, the smell of the river began to drift through the rain and wind. They passed the cannery row and threaded their way between the lines of massive water pumps and sewage pipes.

At last, Belimai stopped beside the abandoned remains of a beached trawler. He pushed aside a sheet of corroded metal and started into the darkness of the ship's decrepit hull. The smell of urine and rotting kelp wafted out of the opening. Harper noticed the shadows of people watching them from inside the trawler's hull. Most of them had yellow eyes, like Belimai.

Harper caught Belimai's arm.

"This is where you're planning to stay?" Harper asked.

"It's out of the rain," Belimai replied.

"It's a shit hole." At the best of times, Harper found Belimai's living conditions a little too run down, but this was actually revolting.

"I'm not planning to move in," Belimai replied. "The Crone does her recruiting here."

"The Butcher Street Crone?" Harper lowered his voice as several of the Prodigals inside the boat stared at him. All of them were likely to be fugitives like Belimai, who were willing to work as whores and cutthroats in exchange for the Crone's protection from the Inquisition.

"Are you seriously thinking of working for the Crone?" Harper tightened his grip on Belimai's thin arm. "At best she'll make a whore of you. More likely she'll have you murdering honest men for ophorium."

"It might save me the trouble of buying the drug myself," Belimai responded.

A burning pain flared up through Harper's chest at the thought of Belimai ending up gutted on an Inquisition table or screaming from an execution fire. Even the Butcher Boys who weren't executed might as well have died. They were vacant bodies, living only to feed their addictions.