Read Online Angel Arias by Marianne de Pierres - Free Book Online

was only a pale hint of light in the western sky as they crossed the cobblestone road and approached the dilapidated buildings which had once served as storage for the incoming trade.
    The Old Harbour had closed when Naif was still small. Joel had talked about it, telling her stories of people visiting from faraway places. That was before the Elders had ceased sea trade.
    Now all the supplies they could not grow themselves came overland and were stockpiled in Grave East, on the outskirts of the city. The Elders no longer wanted Grave people to have contact with outsiders. Joel told Retra that they feared the ideas the foreigners might bring. Merchants left their wares and were paid through a slot in the ramparts. When they left, gatherers went outside the wall to collect the produce.
    ‘Only one person talks to the outsiders now. He’s called the Assessor. He lives in a hut outside the walls and makes sure the merchants leave what they claim,’ Joel had told her.
    ‘Just one man?’ Naif had asked.
    ‘They say he’s worth ten men. That he’s strong and smart and unbeatable with a sword and stick. A giant.’
    ‘But there are no giants in Grave.’
    Joel had gotten annoyed with her then and told her to bite her tongue.
    The memory of that conversation followed her across the cobbles and along the outside of the crumbling warehouses. Had the closing of the Old Harbour and the change in trade been something to do with the Ripers and Ixion, she wondered. How long had Ripers been coming here, talking to the Elders?
    The realisation that she was really home made her lungs constrict, as though returning had robbed her of all breath. She tried to calm herself but her chest would not release the air.
    Markes took her arm, concerned. ‘Rest a moment before we go further.’
    He helped her through one of the broken doorways and waited while she steadied herself. After a moment or two, the gloom revealed the outline of some rickety stairs and a loft.
    Naif pointed upwards. ‘There – in – case.’
    Markes took the lead up the stairs and into the deep shadows at the back of the loft, where they stopped. Naif sank to the dusty floor, gasping.
    ‘What is it?’ he asked as he knelt alongside her. ‘Are you sick? We shouldn’t be in here. This dust . . .’
    ‘It’s not the dust,’ Naif whispered.
    ‘Then what?’
    ‘Being home. I’m just . . .’
    Markes reached for her hand and squeezed it.
    They both sat quietly. In the distance the airship engine rumbled, but closer, sharper, was the clack of boots on cobblestones.
    ‘Wardens,’ he said.
    ‘They must have seen the airship,’ whispered Naif.
    Markes’s hand became moist. Or maybe it was both their hands. ‘We can’t stay here; we have to get to my friend’s place in Grave North.’
    ‘If we move they’ll see us. And I don’t think I can run.’
    ‘Once they check the beach and find nothing they’ll think it’s gone.’ He tried to sound confident.
    ‘What if someone saw the gantry? Or our prints in the sand?’
    ‘Shhh!’
    They both fell silent again as the footsteps came closer. It was hard to tell how many men were outside; maybe half a dozen.
    ‘The airship had a floating gantry. Someone landed here,’ called a voice outside.
    Markes and Naif crawled forward and peered over the edge of the loft. Below, in the open doorway, the warden was illuminated by the lamp he held. He was dressed in knee-boots, a heavy greatcoat, and a three-cornered warden’s hat pulled low on his head.
    ‘Begin the search along the waterline and then these buildings. Put a watch along the paths to the city proper. Bring the hounds.’
    Hounds.
    Naif’s breathing tightened again. She’d seen them before, from a distance, pulling the wardens’ wheeled sleds, saliva flying from their huge mouths.
    Joel had hated them. ‘They’re terrible and hideous,’ he’d said. ‘Trained to crave the taste of blood.’
    She’d thought he was teasing her, until one day