Page 44 of A City of Smoke and Demons
A breeze that smelled of factory smoke ran its fingers through Analise’s damp hair. From the roof of the Canem Club, the tops of buildings rose from the blanket of permanent grey smog. She could have been on top of the world.
Being up here reminded her of the bell tower at the top of the convent. To a passerby, the convent was little more than four thick, grey stone walls, three storeys high, the bell tower perched above them like a roosting bird. Analise always enjoyed the tower. As a child, she wasn’t physically strong enough to ring the bell on her own, so it was the view from the tower that had her hurrying up the two flights of stairs. From there, she could see all of London, or what she’d thought was London: a panorama of smoke stacks and chimneys, the roofs of town houses, the church in the distance and beyond, the palace, spires glittering in the sunlight.
She’d thought it was beautiful, and wondered about the people of the city. Who were they? What were their names? What did they all do?
It wasn’t until she left the convent that Analise discovered the violence and despair, poverty, hunger, a segregated societywhere the poor stayed poor and the rich didn’t care. She learnt quickly that those without a tough shell were ripped open and left to the mercy of the street.
And now, she was left wondering how she’d ever been so naive to believe a glorious world awaited her outside the convent walls. Analise sighed, rubbing the kinks from her neck. Her bath did absolutely nothing to relax her.
She turned her gaze to the north, in the direction of the palace. What use was a king if he didn’t give a shit about his subjects? She’d never laid eyes on him, and wasn’t sure if she ever would. He could have landed on her slab and she wouldn’t have known him.
She mentally corrected herself with a curse.
It wasn’t her slab anymore.
She thought about the houses of the rich, the ones that hovered within the protective shelter of the palace. Did they have fancy walled gardens filled with flowers and peacocks that strutted across rich, emerald grass? Did the fog that covered the rest of the city knock on their doors and want to come in, or did even fog know to keep its dirty fingers away from those sparkling window panes? The mansions Analise heard about supposedly had squares of gleaming black and white decorating the floors. They had shining walls and grand rooms with chandeliers dangling from the ceiling. Hand-painted tiles that came to London on ships from faraway places, packed securely in crates, filled those homes, while the men who carried them from ship to shore could never dream of owning such lavish things.
Once, Analise considered dressing in her best clothes and taking a walk up to those mansions, to stroll along the streets and gaze at the houses. But she didn’t own clothes that would be passable; they’d have seen her as an interloper, a possible thief, and she’d probably have been arrested for looking at something nice.
The roof of the Canem Club was surrounded by a wall of bricks, waist high. There was nothing up there except sunlight; not even a chair, or something Analise could use for one. She should have gone down to the kitchen before coming up here. A cup of tea and even a biscuit would have been the perfect accompaniment to an absolutely shit morning.
She sighed, resting her hands on the wall, the bricks sun-warmed, nearly as warm as—
Growling, Analise ripped her hands away and shoved them in her pockets, balling her fingers into fists, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart and the way her tongue had grown thick. She’d come up here to try and clear her head, and it was now full of a pair of blue-green eyes and a shock of white-blond hair.
The door to the roof creaked open. Analise whirled in fright, unsure of what she’d do if it was Ezra. Throw one of them off the roof, she supposed, but it was Lira, blinking at the light. She held two cups, carrying them over. Analise accepted hers gratefully.
Lira blew on her tea. ‘Did you sleep?’
‘Not really,’ Analise replied. Her tea burnt her throat, but she didn’t care, enjoying the feeling of the liquid scalding a path to her stomach.
Lira nodded off into the distance. ‘I can see my old neighbourhood from here,’ she commented, smiling. ‘I miss it sometimes. The Credges has a certain appeal, but I do miss the streets not being covered in horse shit, piss and drunk men.’
Analise managed a smile. Lira was talking to fill the silence, and for once, Analise didn’t mind. She needed it, especially now. Her encounter with Ezra sat in her stomach, slowly being drowned in tea. She couldn’t handle him saying things like that to her, not now, and possibly not ever. She wanted to forget it ever happened.
Lira laughed suddenly, making Analise jolt and spill her tea over the rim of her cup. ‘This one time, Jem and Ezra—’ She broke off, looking horrified.
‘It’s alright,’ Analise said. ‘If your story ends with him getting trampled by a horse or something, please, keep talking.’
Lira’s lips twitched. ‘No, sorry.’
‘I don’t know how I’m going to do this, Lira,’ Analise admitted. ‘Stay here and see him and pretend everything is alright.’
‘No one is asking you to do that,’ Lira said gently. ‘Least of all Ezra. I’m not going to make excuses for him. He deserves your anger, but we need you both—the Order of the Dawn, that is. I need you, as my friend, so please don’t murder him and make my brother arrest you and send you to gaol.’
‘Fine. Tell me about the Order of the Dawn.’
Lira set her cup down on the bricks. ‘The Order is, as Jem said, hundreds of years old. My family has been involved since the beginnings of the Order in London—longer for my mother’s family in China. Jem and I didn’t have to join though, we were given the choice, but we never questioned it. It’s our duty from God.’
Analise sipped her tea, saying nothing.
‘As soon as I was old enough, I started training, but I’d already been studying the texts for years.’
‘How old were you?’ Analise looked out over the city. A bird soared high above them.
‘Eight when I started studying, twelve when I began training.’
‘Twelve?’ Analise repeated. ‘At twelve I was picking flowers, reading the Book, and flitting about the convent in relative safety while you were learning how to kill demons.’
