Page 44 of A Slipper in the Smoke
They both turned back towards the stage. Grandma was still cowering beneath the guard.
But she didn’t do anything!Elena wanted to yell.She just ran for shelter. She didn’t even throw the apple. You must know she’s only an old storyteller—
The reality hit her like a brick. Of course they knew. They hadn’t been able to catch the boy. They needed someone—anyone—to make an example of.
“The traitor has nothing to say,” the guard continued. “The punishment for rebellion is death.”
Elena’s body iced. She knew that was the sentence for treason, but she’d foolishly, dimly been hoping that they would make an exception.
Please, no, please, they’re just stories!
“Any final words?”
Grandma stared at the guard, and for a moment, her shaking subsided. Her voice carried over the crowd, strong and dark.
“May Mira rot in Hell.”
Bang.
The noise of the pistol sent a silence rippling through the crowd. Elena never heard the sound of Grandma’s body hitting the floor. It was like an explosion had ripped through the square, like she’d been knocked down, eardrums obliterated. A hard, painful ringing blasted through her ears.
Grandma was dead. And Elena had just stood there and watched her murder.
Something was happening. People were moving around her, a slow, surging tide, like she was pitching through the waves. She thought people might be screaming. Or shouting.
A hand clutched her arm, but the sensation didn’t fully reach her.
Something crashed. A van had been upended.
“Come on!” said Snowdrop. “We need to get out of here.”
Shots rang out. Three people had sprung from the crowd and were trying to wrestle a rifle out of the grip of one of the dread doctors. Another group had swamped the guard that held the pistol and were yanking it free—
Glass shattered. Someone had smashed the window of a nearby shop.
Snowdrop tugged harder.
“Elena! Come on!”
She dragged her down the cobblestone streets, limping hard on her crutch. More people mobilised, running out of their homes and shops, grabbing makeshift weapons, joining the fray. Some banged on garage doors, searching for entrances, pulling out fuel, rags, lighters.
No, oh no—
Elena could hear everything now, the screaming, the shouting, the smashing and grating, the gunfire blazing through the air, things—people—falling to the floor.
They reached her workshop. Elena’s fingers went for the lock, hands numb as she turned the code. They ducked in, shutting it tightly behind them. Elena stared at her grease-filled sanctuary, wondering if she should grab a weapon to defend it, or hide and let people take whatever they wanted.
I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.
“Why would they do that?” she whispered in the dark.
Snowdrop breathed, long and hard. “She was one of us,” she replied. “Grandma. Well, an ally, at least. They must have found out. Didn’t have any evidence other than her stories… But they needed someone. To execute. To send a message.”
“I’m not sure people heard it.” She swallowed. “Why did we run?”
“I can’t fight right now,” Snowdrop continued. “And you don’t want to.”
Elena wasn’t sure that was true. Shedidwant to fight—to make someone pay for Grandma’s death. But she also didn’t want to get hurt.
