Panic jumped through Rolan. He scrambled to his feet. “I could be wrong. I ain’t great with numbers. I might be twelve. Or eleven!”
“No.” Hoff scratched his patchy beard, his blue eyes glinting as he studied Rolan. “No, I think you’re right on the target, boy. Thirteen. Yes. I should go make arrangements.”
“Arrangements? What arrangements?” Rolan rushed to the barsjust as Hoff turned away. Wrapping his hands around the cold iron, he shouted, “Hoff! What arrangements?”
Hoff left the station, letting the door slam behind him. One of the other guards, a man Rolan vaguely knew as Aden, settled into a chair against the wall, lifting a flagon to his mouth. He looked ancient, even older than Hoff, and deeply tired.
“Thirteen,” he said gruffly. “You’re old enough for the duke’s prison now, boy.”
For the second time that hour, the blood drained from Rolan’s face. “Prison? But that place is forrealcriminals. Murderers and the like. I—I’m a kid.”
“Oh, sure,” Aden added. “You’re young. The law isn’theartless.It gives your people three days to claim you and take responsibility for your criminal activities.” He snorted into his flask. “Not that I reckonRabb Striderwill come crawling out his hole for the likes ofyou. There’s a cell waiting for him if he does.”
With a hoarse laugh, Rolan stepped back from the bars. “Oh, my pa will come for me. He’ll bust me out of here in no time. Then you’ll never see either of us again.”
Aden exchanged a look with his partner, a guard whose name Rolan didn’t know. He was young, likely new, and nervous looking.
“Sure, maybe,” Aden said at last. “But if he don’t, or if he tries and Hoff catches him… I believe the sentence for tampering with a lamp and endangering the city is, what? Ten years in prison? Twelve?”
Rolan tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.
“My pa will hear about this,” he said urgently. “Hewillcome for me.”
With a shrug, Aden lifted his flagon again, settling deeper into his chair.
Feeling sick, Rolan curled up on the bench. He’d lied. Nothing short of a feather-stuffed mattress could have made that slab of wood any softer. He still had a splinter under his thumbnail from his last night in a cell like this. Why had he been picked up that time? Oh, yes. Stealing a basket of pastries at the market on Verity Square.
He had been annoyed when Hoff arrested him.
But now he was afraid. This time was different. More serious.
Pretend,he told himself.Just pretend.
It was an old game he and Anaya had played. He couldn’t even remember which one of them had thought of it first. But when they found themselves cornered by guards, or when they heard Cryptics skittering in a murky alley and they felt the cold jaws of fear on their hearts, they’d grasp hands andpretendto be brave. They would pretend and pretend until it felt true.
He pretended now, or tried to. But for once, it didn’t work. Maybe it only would when Anaya’s hand was in his. But those days were gone.Shewas gone. He didn’t feel brave at all, only alone and scared.
Rolan restlessly rose to his feet and stared out the barred window. Across the street was a Confessory, its windows lit by lamps, the doors wide open regardless of the hour. A carving of Alethine, the goddess of truth, decorated the outer wall. The goddess had a childlike face, her hands spread in welcome, inviting all who passed by to enter. In their dour robes and clay masks, the Listeners who waited inside were sworn to silence, and anyone could go in and whisper secrets to them.
Where humans keep secrets, Cryptics grow legs,the saying went.
But once told, a secret would not turn into a Cryptic Not that Rolan trusted the Listeners to actually keep people’s secrets to themselves. They looked like snitches, is what they looked like. Their creepy masks always made him shiver. At any rate, the Confessory was silent at this late hour, with even the Listeners probably all asleep.
“Pa will come for me,” he whispered. “He will.”
- CHAPTER 3 -A SKITTER IN THE DARK
Two nights later, Rolan was still staring at the same stupid wooden ceiling when the station’s lamp went out.
He bolted upright, blinking into the sudden darkness. Excitement tingled on his skin. He raised a hand but couldn’t see it in the gloom.
Had his father finally come for him? Was he breaking him out?
Rolan’s heart ached with hope. This was it. Pa would free him, compliment him on his cleverness, and finally,finallyhe would let Rolan be a part of his world. He’d look at him with pride. Rolan would prove where he belonged.
“Pa?” he whispered. But only silence answered back.
The younger guard was on duty tonight. Rolan had learned hisname was Newt, which was apt because he was as nervous as one, and his nose always seemed to run. Even his snores soundedwet. He’d pose no threat to the great Rabb Strider, criminal mastermind, that was sure.
