Then Gaia turned to the last corner of the room. An elderly woman clad in white lay slumped over in a rocking chair, her chin on her chest, her wrists tied to one armrest. In fascinated fear at what Leon had done, Gaia watched the woman closely to she see her chest rise and fall. Beside her stood a table that was piled with diapers and blankets and a basket half full of little clothes. One of the babies made a soft, sucking noise, and Gaia instinctively patted Maya. Any moment now, one of the babies would wake up, and the cries could wake the others, and then who would take care of them? Gaia didn't dare take the time to undress and clean Maya, but she wrapped two fresh blankets around her securely, then quickly snatched some diapers and blankets. She tossed them into the basket of clothes, and grabbing the handles, she hurried out of the room again as quietly as she could.

She tiptoed rapidly down the stairs.

"Leon?" she whispered.

She peered around another doorway. A cluttered desk stood in the middle of the front office surrounded by cabinets and shelves. A couple of empty cribs stood against the wall as if even here someone might need to set down a baby safely. The rain was a muffled drone, and a small, green-shaded lamp on the desk pushed back the afternoon grayness. Leon was seated at the desk, his fingers clicking over a keyboard, while the glow of the computer screen cast a pale blue light onto his cheeks and the backs of his hands.

"Have you found anything?" she asked.

"Not yet."

Gaia knew she should get formula, but Maya had drifted to sleep again and she couldn't help taking a quick scan around the room. There were notices posted on a corkboard over a cupboard, and in the right corner, a familiar booklet of paper that looked like an invitation, only thicker. She peered closer.

Summer Solstice 2409

Extant Members of

The Advanced Cohort of 2396

Are Hereby Invited to Request

Unadvancement

Gaia flipped back the first page and saw columns of names. I' ve seen one of these before, she thought, trying to remember when. The print was small, and there were several pages. She calculated quickly and realized there were more than a hundred names.

"Leon," she said, plucking it from the board. "What is this?"

He typed a few more keystrokes and then stopped, his fingers poised above the keys. He glanced up and squinted at her, then at the paper in her hand.

"It's an unadvancement notice," he said. "The Enclave puts one out every summer for the thirteen-year-olds. It's a formality. For appearances."

"But isn't it a list? Of all the babies from a certain year?" A light dawned. "Didn't you find one of these in my father's sewing kit? Back when you first arrested my parents?"

He reached out a hand and she gave it to him. "We did," he said, considering. "It is a list. But it doesn't have any birth dates."

"What year was it from, the one my father had?"

"It was a notice from one of your brother's years. The younger brother, as I recall."

"So it wasn't just a paper for pins," she said. "My father had a list with my brother's name on it?"

"That's right. Maybe he hoped he could eventually figure out which name was the right one," Leon said, and then he turned his face, alert. Gaia held still, too, listening. A sleepy but distinct baby's cry came from upstairs, just once, and then fell silent. Leon's gaze riveted on Gaia.

"Oh, no," Gaia breathed. It would be only a matter of seconds before the baby let out a louder, more peremptory call, and then the other babies would start waking. "I have to find formula," she said.

"I'll be right there."

Gaia was already running toward the kitchen as another, louder wail came from up above. As soon as Gaia stepped back into the kitchen, she saw that Rosa had moved closer to the gray stone fireplace. She had her legs curled for leverage and was trying to roll over so that she'd be able to rise. The red material of her dress was bunched awkwardly around her knees.

"Don't move," Gaia said.

Rosa turned her face in Gaia's direction. Her black hair fell half across her face, and a strand of it stuck in the corner of her mouth. "You have to let me go," she said, her voice still a clear soprano. "I have to take care of the babies."

The infant in the crib on the counter was waving one hand and making a gurgling, playful noise. Another cry came from above and was joined by a second baby voice.

"Where's the formula?" Gaia demanded, scanning the kitchen for likely containers. One wall was lined with cupboards and closets. She set the basket and Maya on the center table and began opening doors as fast as she could. The first cupboard held adult food, the second dishes, and the third was stacked with lidded clay canisters. Gaia pulled one out and lifted the lid with a sucking sound: cream-colored powder.

"Don't take that," Rosa said. "We need it."

Gaia dipped her pinky finger into the powder and tasted it, then grabbed one of the canisters and put it in the basket. Taking three of the bottles from by the sink, she filled them with water and twisted on the nipple tops as more cries came from upstairs.

"Leon!" she yelled, tucking the bottles into the basket with the baby blankets. She picked up her sister again and gripped the handles of the bulging basket. "Is there a list of the babies' birth dates?" she asked. "A record anywhere?"

Rosa let out a laugh. "You think I'd give it to you? You know they're going to catch you," she said, shifting again, inching her body toward the fireplace. "And they'll hang you right in the Bastion Square while I watch."

"Leon!" Gaia called again. She couldn't tell what distressed her more, the increasingly urgent wails of the babies upstairs or the sinister predictions in this girl's clear, high pitched voice.

He appeared in the doorway. "I can't find anything," he said. "It must all be restricted." He reached into one of the closets and pulled out a couple of red cloaks. "Take this."

"She knows where there's a list," Gaia said. "She won't tell me."

For a moment Leon looked into Gaia's eyes, as if weighing something important. Do it, Gaia thought. Do whatever you need to.

"You'll never get outside the wall," Rosa piped from the floor. "They'll have people watching out every window and guards everywhere."

Leon slipped a cloak around Gaia's shoulders, and she hunched into the warm, soft material. Then he dropped the other cloak on the table and reached for the handle of a knife that pretruded from a block of wood. Its sharp, short, serrated blade gleamed blue in the light from the rainy window. As the cries from upstairs grew desperate, he took a step nearer to Rosa, still bound on the floor. He aimed the knife in Rosa's direction.

"You wouldn't," she said. Her eyes rounded with fear.

Leon flipped the knife once in his hand catching it deftly. "Where's the list?" he said.

Gaia sucked in her breath, biting her lip. Rosa was pushing back from him as much as she possibly could. Her voice lifted even higher in alarm.

"I don't know!" she said. "I really don't!"

The baby on the counter began to cry, adding a grating, discordant counterpoint to Rosa's pleading.

Leon took another step toward her and stooped to touch the point of the blade to the middle of her throat.

Gaia clutched her sister, terrified of how far Leon might go.

"Tell me," he said, his voice low and unflinching. "And I don't mean in the computer. A written record. I know Masister Khol would have a backup."

The blade stroked downward along the skin.

Rosa let out a gasp of fear. "Don't hurt me! Check the bottom drawer of the big cabinet. By the far wall," Rosa said. "I swear there are some ledgers. The bottom right drawer. Go look! Please!"

Leon glanced up at Gaia and nodded.

Gaia set her sister and the basket back on the table again and flew into the office. She wrenched open the lowest drawer of the biggest cabinet and there was a pile of thin ledgers. She flipped rapidly through the covers, seeing each book spanned five years, and a quick glance showed her there were names and birth dates inside in precise, small script. She swept the entire pile into her arms.

By the time she returned to the kitchen, Rosa had tears in her eyes. Leon hadn't moved a millimeter.

"They're here," Gaia said. "Leon. I've got them. Let her go."

Chapter 26 White Boots

H IS COLD, steely eyes yielded nothing, but he turned the cusp of the blade away from Rosa's throat. She burst out a sob as Leon straightened to his full height. From the crib on the counter, the baby's cries subsided into a hiccupping, lonely noise, while the other babies upstairs continued to cry.

"You're a monster," Rosa said, half choking on her words. "A freak. Just like they've always said."

He tossed the knife on the floor. It landed just behind Rosa's tied wrists, where she would be able to reach it and work herself free.

"Come on," he said to Gaia, grabbing the handles of the basket and tossing the other red cape over his shoulders. He opened the back door, and she teetered with him for a moment on the doorsill, facing the cold rain. She shivered once, hard, all through her body and gazed up at Leon's unrecognisable face. How completely he'd changed, how ruthless he'd become during those moments he'd held Rosa at knife point. How much of that had been genuinely him, and how much of that had been him acting as Gaia's tool? She had to accept that some of the responsibility was hers, and she didn't like it.

"You ready?" he asked, and she was relieved to hear his voice had lost its merciless edge.

She nodded. He took the ledgers from her and pushed them into the basket. With a twitch, he settled the hood of his cloak around his face, and the contrasting red made his cheeks seem even paler.

"You'll never look like a girl," she said.

He gave the faintest hint of a smile. "This way," he said, and led her around the building.

The rain was lessening, and with the dry red cloak around her, she no longer felt every raindrop pounding along her head and shoulders. She tucked Maya under the fabric, and hugged her close to her side.

"Where are we heading?" she said.

"To Mace Jackson s. Do you have a better idea?"

She didn't. But when they reached the turn for the street with the bakery, a group of soldiers stood at the corner, and Gaia stopped in alarm.

"Hey!" a soldier called.

"Quick! This way," Leon said, pulling her back with him. They ran down an alley, and then he pushed her through a narrow door into a garden. She flew past the sodden vegetables and into another little yard and out another gate. A staircase curved up the side of a building, and Leon took her hand to lead her up. At the top, a flat roof was covered with laundry lines, all bare now, and they ran to the other side. A cistern was full and overflowing with rainwater, and behind it a plank utility bridge accompanied a water main that crossed to an' other roof.

"Can you make this?" he asked.

Compared to the run over the top of the solarium, this was nothing, and Gaia held out her hand. They were across to the next roof in a flash.

Gaia caught a glimpse of the obelisk and the Bastion towers, but then she and Leon turned down another staircase, and Gaia was back at street level, in another alley. They paused, looking for soldiers, and then they dashed across the road and up a lane. Leon stopped against a familiar metalwork gate.

He thrust his arm inside, and at that moment, Gaia recognized the walled garden where she and Leon had stopped once before.

"We can t," she said. "It's a dead end. A death trap."

"We have no other choice. We have to hide somewhere while we come up with a plan."

He shoved the gate opened, and she flew in behind him. The wet gate closed with a click, and she looked fearfully toward the house. Gray, blank windows merged with the rain-soaked stucco, and she looked to Leon, surprised. "They're gone?"