I drag Mum’s crippled body across the plaza as fast as I can, one arm around her shoulders, one arm tucked into her armpit. Mumshine keeps insisting she’s okay, but nah. You get pierced with a f*****g arrow, you’re not okay. People get fake temporary strength after they’ve been dealt a massive blow. It’s just adrenaline. I’ve been around enough sudden deaths to know this.
I’m under the entrance awning, picking up a paving stone to hurl through the sliding doors of the Cloudport when Mumshine sticks her fingers in the aperture. We manage to haul a gap in the glass and squeeze through. A puff of warm stale air comes out. I drag Mumshine in as far as my complaining arms allow, up against the reception desk, then turn, shrug Hopey off my back and aim my fists at the glass.
Whoever shot an ar
