Page 43 of A Slipper in the Smoke
“Stars, no! We haven’t had the time—”
“It really doesn’t take very long…”
Elena squeaked. “I’m not very… that is to say…”
Snowdrop smiled. “Ah, yet to experience your sexual debut, have you?”
“I’ve had other priorities…”
“Want me to stop talking about it? We could turn the conversation back to tea and cake, if you like? The precise colour of his eyes? The way his smile makes you just melt?”
Elena couldn’t help but grin, and she didn’t want Snowdrop to stop. It was oddly nice, being teased, and she hadn’t had anyone to talk to about anything like this in so long—
A loud bang sounded from outside, followed by the loud cacophony of voices, dozens, hundreds, layered on top of each other. Elena turned sharply to Snowdrop. “Your people?”
Snowdrop’s face went white as ash. “No.” She climbed to her feet, double-checking her pistol and grabbed her makeshift crutch.
“You can’t go investigate, you can barely walk—”
“Then come with me.”
Elena hurried after her, locking her garage and moving towards the sound of the commotion. In the square nearby, something was happening. A crowd had gathered around the empty market, near the stage and the centre. Half a dozen guards stood on it, flanked by dread doctors, their black beaks casting sharp shadows on the deck below.
In the middle was a cowering, white-haired figure, skin pruned and wrinkled.
Grandma.
“No.”
Snowdrop stopped shortly behind Elena, sucking in a sudden breath. Elena wheeled around to face her, searching her eyes for instruction. Snowdrop only stared back.
“Citizens of Petragrad,” boomed one of the soldiers, “Eva Babanin stands accused of inciting rebellion, through acts of public preaching.”
Public preaching?Elena wanted to scream.She told us stories.
But her voice wouldn’t come, and her legs had turned to stone.
“How do you plead, Ms Babanin?”
Elena expected her to retort, or plead, or say something—anything. She had never known Grandma to take anything lying down. Yet her sharp tongue stayed silent, and even at a distance, Elena could see she was shaking.
She was afraid.
Old and ancient as she was—she did not want to die like this.
No one would.
Elena’s eyes darted about the square, looking for something to do, some distraction to cause, some construction to topple. At this stage, if she could, she’d explode something. She’d smash open a barrel of chaos if it got Grandma out of this.
She saw nothing.
“Do something,” she said weakly, turning back to Snowdrop.
Snowdrop’s face slowly cycled back to hers, and Elena realised she’d been doing the exact same thing—searching for a way out.
And Snowdrop, who was a hardened rebel, who’d probably been captured before, and shot at, and seen all manner of chaos and violence, had nothing.
“I can’t,” she said.
