And Uncle Ho would make a deal with him; he was sure of it.

  Singh's eye was drawn to a market square not far from the Rekki Maru. It looked like there was a riot in the city. No, not a riot, he thought, as the Thunderbird's eyes picked out the details so far below. Standards. Flags. Men in both crude formations and panicked mass.

  It's a battle.

  He looked closer and saw the mark of Ho's Red Hand on high-flying flags and the backs of men below. They faced the Dragons. There was no mistaking the four-clawed, serpentine sign of Ho's rivals painted on the men who crashed in waves against the Red Hand's line.

  Fin Singh circled above to better take in the spectacle, but what he saw confused him. The Red Hand's line held against the Dragon's attacks, but Ho's men made no attempt to push back. They seemed content to hold the Dragons in place and let them reform to attack again. If you're not going to try and kill your enemy, Singh wondered, then why bother to battle?

  The answer to his question showed itself on the Dragons' flanks.

  At first he thought the blur was a trick of the light, but mirages don't let blood in fountains. Mirages don't fell five men in a heartbeat and burrow into the battle like a whirling devil dervish.

  Singh wondered if a witch-sped noble had come to the city for bloodsport.

  The terrible whirlwind danced through the crowded Dragons, and wherever it passed, men fell to earth, spilling their lives in its wake. In scant seconds, the Dragons were decimated, and their flanks were nothing but dead and dying men.

  Pressed against the Red Hand's line, the Dragons had nowhere to flee, and finally Singh understood. The Red Hand was only there to hold the Dragons in place so the reaping blood-wind could harvest them. It's not a battle, he thought. It's a massacre.

  Then, for the briefest moment, the Thunderbird's witch-writ eyes managed to catch a clear glimpse of the death-dancer among the Dragons. It was a little girl, red from head to toe. She was as fast as a noble. Faster. And she wore a wreath.

  Fin Singh spoke her name, and the Thunderbird's screeching cry filled Wrecks' Landing.

  *****

  The tears wouldn't stop even though Molly didn't feel any sadness. She didn't feel anything except the cold calm, but somehow the tears still came. They washed the sticky-hot color from her eyes.

  The first fifty she cut down never saw her coming; they just heard the screams of the men behind and beside them before they felt her blade part their flesh. By the time she moved to the meat of the Dragons' formation, awareness of something terrible among them had spread. Their faces filled with helplessness and terror.

  When Molly approached the front of the Dragons' panicked formation, they rushed reckless into the Red Hand's line to escape her. The Dragons charged for breakthrough, and many impaled themselves trying to flee the certain death behind them. Molly thought those men died looking less helpless than the ones she cut open.

  As the last of the Dragons fell to the bone-bladed whirlwind, Molly stopped her dance and stood still with two hundred bodies at her feet. The tears made pale streaks on her face where they thinned the Dragon's color. She felt nothing, but it didn't stop her from falling to her hands and knees and vomiting in the sticky, purple mud.

  There was no cheering from the Red Hand; Ho's men were quiet. Molly felt their eyes on her, and when she finally looked up to meet their gaze, she saw herself reflected in all their eyes – a horror, a demon, a monster.

  *****

  At Ho's orders, his men rode her to the ocean at the city's East edge in a jerkline-pulled wagon. The fishermen in the little boats all lowered their spears and bobbed up and down in their boats, slack-jawed at the sight of her, caked and crusted with the Dragons' color. Only the gentle surf paid no attention to the horror. It lapped at her unafraid.

  She stood in the water and washed the blood from herself for hours. It didn't stick to the dress Vora's wasps had spun. It washed from her hair, too. But when she used the sandy soil from under the waves to scrub her skin, she scoured her flesh a vulgar red. That made her think she was stained with the Dragons' blood, and she scrubbed harder and harder until her skin was raw.

  Ho's captain sent two of his frightened men to pull Molly from the water. They carried her back to the mule cart, and Molly lay on it like a corpse and watched the sky while they rode her back across the city.

  In the haze Molly's eyes saw a raptor above. It was too high for her to see its eyes, but Molly was certain it stared back at her.

  *****

  When Ho's men brought weeping Molly in front of his throne, the gangster warlord beamed at her. “Two hundred men,” Ho said. “Fierce, fighting Dragons. They fled onto the swords of my Red Hand just to escape your blur-bladed death-dance. Ha! If I ever had a daughter,” he said, “I'd want one just like you, Molly.”

  Ho told his captain to lock her up with the witch and to bring her food and water. “We must keep Molly's strength up,” Uncle Ho said. “Because soon our Molly will fight again.”

  As they led Molly towards the tower's door, she felt a cold wind in her bones. She turned and looked across the top-deck to see a man approaching, escorted by four of Ho's guards.

  The sight of him chilled Molly even in her shock-numb state.

  She was used to seeing him as a ghost, but this man who smiled a devil's grin and waved to her from a hundred feet away was solid and corporeal and terrifying. Molly knew his name: Fin Singh.

  *****

  Singh thought about what he'd seen through the copper-blood raptor's eyes and the deal Molly must have made with Uncle Ho: Pietra Fona for the blood of his enemies. The blood that witch-sped Molly spilled for Ho and the power she gave him meant the gangster warlord wouldn't give her up easily. At least not until she'd killed all who stood between him and ruling Wrecks' Landing.

  As Fin Singh stepped under Ho's red canopy and was bathed in its angry light, he showed open hands and smiled widely at the gangster warlord on the throne. “Uncle Ho,” he said. “I bring you greetings from the noble Hales.” Ho didn't smile back. “I'm their envoy, Fin Singh.”

  “And to what,” Ho snarled, “do we owe the honor of noble attentions? The Hales have shown no interest in Wrecks' Landing for as long as I can remember.”

  “You never had anything they wanted until now.” Singh smiled without mirth. “The witch-sped girl, Molly,” he said, “I want her.”

  “Oh, no, no, no.” Ho laughed at the thought. “You can't have her. She's doing great things for me.”

  “Yes, I watched the Dragons fall today. Very impressive. But even with the girl fighting for you, the Red Hand couldn't stand against the merry Hales. Each and every one of them is witch-sped like the girl.”

  “If the merry Hales could say 'noblesse' and simply take her from me, then you wouldn't bother to ask for her.”

  “My intent isn't to threaten, only to point out that the favor of the Hales is worth more to you than this girl.”

  “Will the Hales kill my enemies for me? Will the Hales turn them from men to meat by the hundreds?”

  “Have you considered,” Singh asked, “what will happen after Molly has killed all your enemies? Once she has what she wants, then the girl will be nothing but a threat to you – a threat I can eliminate. Consider it a favor. And all I want in return for the favor that secures your power is the girl, her stolen wreath, and the worthless old witch Fona.”

  Uncle Ho laughed and said, “What a silver-tongued serpent the noble Hales have sent to me.” He turned to his aide beside the throne and said, “Have quarters made ready in the tower and send for girls from the bath houses. I think the envoy Singh will be staying with us for a few days.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blood Dowsers and Sons of Samson

  Pietra Fona spread a stinking green salve on Molly's skin where she'd scrubbed it raw. It stank like the 'Fills, but the witch said she was already healing. “Fin Singh is here,” Molly said, “Not his mind-ghost – the real one.”

  “There's no doubt about what will happen when your deal with Ho is concluded. He'll trade you and the wreath and Sugar Music for the Hales' favor.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Eat,” the crone said, pointing to the roast pig Ho's men had left there. “Whatever you do, you'll need your strength for it.”

  Molly's mind couldn't imagine hunger, but her hands moved by themselves. For some reason, watching them slice chunks of flesh off the pig made her weep again.

  *****

  While Molly slept, the Stitchlife Fona played her fingers over the oyster-shaped shell of a vine-fed syn-womb. It opened for her, and inside was a seed no larger than a pea. She picked it up with tweezers and turned it over in the dim light while she contemplated it and the promise of the mighty city it would grow.

  Fona set it down to rest in the open shell's flesh and crept quietly towards Molly. The Stitchlife took the blade from the girl's pocket with stealthy fingers and unsheathed it. Fine-grown witch-bone, she thought as she admired its lines and sheen. Vora always did good work.

  With her back to sleeping Molly, Fona unbuttoned her ragged, white coat. She pulled the fabric of her dress out away from her body, carefully touched the cutting edge of the little blade to it, and drew a long slit over her stomach.

  “Never too old for motherhood,” she said with a soft chuckle. Then, she used the tip of the blade to cut her belly-flesh and pushed the pea-sized seed inside her. After she sewed the wound closed, she placed her hands over where she'd planted the seed, rocked herself from side to side, and grinned with expectation.

  *****

  Uncle Ho stood before Molly in the bright sun of the Rekki Maru's top-deck. Fin Singh was a few yards behind her, wearing a white helm made of the same witch-bone as Vora's wreath and her knife.

  “The Blood Dowsers saw what happened to the Dragons, little monster,” Ho said. “They refused my challenge to meet on the field of battle, but they haven't sent an envoy and ceded their territory. That won't do. It's against all the rules we play by. My men have surrounded their ship, the Zena Maria,” he said. “It's only half a mile from the Rekki Maru. There.” Ho pointed across the low, brick buildings to a ship smaller than his. The deck was thick with men. “The Blood Dowsers are all holed up on the deck of their ship. They've withdrawn their ladders and nets and elevators. Now, it's a siege,” Ho said, “Or they think it is.” Molly heard flapping wings, but she kept her eyes on Ho as he spoke. “Anyone can see it's an idiot's plan. How long do they expect to stay up there? My patience wears thin, Molly. Lucky for me, my new friend, Fin Singh has a way to bring the battle to them.”

  The wing-flaps grew louder, and Molly looked up to see a raptor soaring above her. She turned to watch it fly lower and lower, and as it did, she realized how high up it must have been and how big it really was. As its descent continued, it grew larger and larger until it reached impossible size. It swooped low across the deck of the Rekki Maru, banked sharply on its massive wings and turned to land amidst Ho's scattering men. It made the whole world look toy-sized and out of scale.

  It stood on cruel-clawed feet, and its talons were the size of harvest scythes. Its leathery legs were as thicker than a man's, and after it folded its great wings, it walked forward and looked down at Molly with cold, copper-blood eyes.

  Ho erupted with nervous laughter.

  “Lord Hale's bird,” Fin Singh said, suddenly standing next to her like his ghost usually did. Molly had been so fixated on the bird that she hadn't noticed Fin Singh creeping up. “A Thunderbird,” he said. “A stitch.” He smiled thinly at Molly. “Like you.”

  Fin Singh backed away from her while his eyes looked straight ahead and focused out to nowhere. “Hold your arms out from your sides, Molly,” he said. Then his mouth moved again, but the sound came from the bird. It was a rasping noise, unnatural for its tongue and throat to make, and it could barely be said to be speech, but in the hissing, malformed sound that Fin Singh compelled the bird to make, Molly heard the words, “Hoooold stiiiiill.”

  Then the bird took to the air, and the gusts from its wings threatened to knock her down. Fin Singh continued to back away from her, still looking forward into nowhere, seeing, she guessed, through the eyes of the Thunderbird.

  Molly did as Singh said and held still with her arms out from her sides.

  The gusting wind grew stronger until it came from right above her like a summer storm's downdraft. The talons closed around and under her arms, and the winds blew the deck of the Rekki Maru down and away from her. Wide Ho shrank as the bird flew her higher. Then, the Rekki Maru was gone, and she looked down through her feet at the rooftops of Wrecks' Landing passing fast and far below.

  The Blood Dowsers and their ship came up fast, and they pointed and shouted in surprise and alarm at the terrible spectacle that flew towards them.

  When the Thunderbird reached the Zena Maria, it swooped so low over the deck of the Blood Dowsers' ship that Molly thought her feet would touch the heads of the scattering, panicked men below. The Blood Dowsers ran in all directions as the bird set her down on the Zena Maria's bow as gently as it had lifted her from the Rekki Maru.

  Then it snatched a screaming man in its talons and lifted him high before dropping him. He screamed all the way down, and his cry grew louder and louder until he bounced off the deck and fell over the side.

  Molly swore she heard the bird laughing.

  As Molly sped and the panicking world slowed, she saw the faces of the men she was about to kill. The General said the same thing he said before she killed the Dragons: “For every life you take today, Sugar Music will save a thousand.” Molly unsheathed the little bone blade, stepped forward into the garden of fear-faced men that filled the deck, and began her terrible, blood-letting dance.

  *****

  Pietra Fona looked weak – as if the effort of making Sugar Music was taking the life from her body. She told Molly not to worry, that all was as it should be, and that soon enough, her work would be done.

  “But how will we escape?” Molly asked. “They lock the tower's outer doors, and if I kill the men inside the tower, then they won't let us out. If I kill the men outside the tower then they won't ever open the door to let me in. And they said that they'd kill you, too. Even if I killed Ho.”

  “You let me worry about that, Molly,” the crone said in her thin voice. Then she put her hands over her belly and smiled in a way that made Molly wonder what the old witch wasn't telling her. “You just rest and keep your mind focused on the battle at hand.”

  “That's what the General says.”

  “Well, he's right.”

  “Is he right about everything he says? About sacrifice?” Molly asked. “He talks about that a lot.”

  “What does the Hero of Harpers Ferry say?”

  “He says that sometimes you have to do horrible things if you want to make good things happen. He calls that sacrifice. Is he right?”

  “What do you think, Molly?”

  “What I do to people is terrible. Nobody should do those things. I don't want to be the person who does them. But I am.”

  “When the General says 'sacrifice' do you think he means yours or theirs? The people you kill, I mean.”

  “I don't know. Is what he says right?”

  “If you ask me,” the Stitchlife said, “sacrifice is something you might do yourself, but shouldn't do to other people.”

  “But the General says doing it to other people when I don't want to is my sacrifice.”

  “I don't know if the General is right, Molly. Maybe he is, but I hope not.”

  “I don't want to do the things I do, Pietra. I'm not a monster.”

  “I know, Molly. Go to sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, you must kill the Sons of Samson.”

  *****

  Ho smiled. “Like the Blood Dowsers, the Sons of Samson have seen what you can do, Molly. It seems you have destroyed their will to fight. Once my challenge to them was issued, they sent an envoy with a message. The Sons of Samson wish to surrender, but they asked for the honor of having you receive it. You, Molly.” Ho glowered at Molly from his throne. “So,” he said, “we will go to them now.”

  They rode in Fin Singh's carriage. There were no horses or jerklines to pull it. It was horse and carriage both, and it walked down the streets of Wrecks' Landing on four thickly muscled, horse's legs set under its witch-bone cab. Fin Singh told Molly that Vora made it, but she'd already decided not to believe anything he said.

  Ho's men marched in front, behind, and around them. When Molly looked out the windows and met their eyes, she saw fear before they averted their gaze. Fin Singh saw it and laughed. Ho didn't.

  Before they arrived in the market square where the Sons of Samson waited for Molly and Uncle Ho, at least half of Ho's men veered off at cross-streets to take another path.

  The carriage walked to the edge of the market square where the Sons of Samson were assembled for their formal surrender and pledge of allegiance to Uncle Ho's Red Hand. Ho sat and waited, looking bored, and Molly didn't know what he waited for. The Sons of Samson were there as they said they would be. They stood lined up in formation and watched the witch-grown carriage shift its hooves beneath it.

  When Molly saw Ho's men appear on all sides of the market and block every alley and street that led to and from it, Molly understood – there would be no surrender today. Ho grinned when he saw them block all paths the Sons of Samson might use to escape. “Go, little monster,” he said as the living carriage knelt, “fulfill our bargain. Kill them all for me.”