She could almost taste it now; a faint undercurrent of pain, little flares struggling away from their fellows and curling up on themselves, snuffed out like candles in a monsoon wind.

Bad meat.

"Yoshi..." She looked up from the floor and into his eyes.

"What?" He surfaced from his reverie, rose from his crouch. "Did Daken see Jurou?"

"Yoshi, I think someone's poisoning our rats..."

The door slammed inward with a sharp crack, just as the window shattered. Four figures rushed in from the hallway, another tumbling through the broken pane, landing in a crouch amidst a shower of falling gla.s.s. Hana rolled aside as the lead door-crasher swung a tetsubo at her head, smashing onto the cushion where she'd knelt a moment before. The second man through the door raised a plain but functional-looking sword and took aim for Hana's throat.

Yoshi leveled his iron-thrower at the figure crouched amongst the broken gla.s.s. The man stood with a scowl. Hana caught a glimpse of small, piggy eyes, swollen, cauliflower ears.

"Gambler," Yoshi hissed.

The pig-man lashed out with his war club, caught the iron-thrower across its nose and sent it spinning into the wall. A bright flash of light, a hollow boom as the shot in the chamber discharged, crossing the room to introduce itself to the door crasher's right eye. The man spun on the spot and collapsed onto the thug behind him, painting the man's face with a gout of warm, fresh red. Yoshi landed a kick on the pig-man's thigh, tendons popping as the kneecap gave way.

Hana s.n.a.t.c.hed up the fallen man's club as she scrambled onto her feet, taking in the a.s.sailants with a desperate glance. Just another alley fight, just another sc.r.a.p over a crust of bread or a place to sleep, the kind of brawl she'd lived with since she could walk. She shrank back, a short feint, then dropped to her knees and drove her war club's haft into one a.s.sailant's groin. The man squealed like a stuck corpse-rat, and Hana's double-handed haymaker broke his jaw, teeth spilling across the piles of iron coins.

The pig-man lunged forward as his knee gave way, slamming his war club into Yoshi's ribs. Studded iron cracking bone, breath spraying from the boy's lungs. The pair fell into a tangle, flailing like children, all b.l.o.o.d.y knuckles and elbows. Yoshi gasped for breath, eyes full of tears. The pig-man locked his wrist and flipped him onto his belly, leaning into his shoulders with all his weight. The boy cried out, free hand scrabbling for the smoking iron-thrower laying just too far out of reach.

The blood-soaked gangster and his unstained comrade kicked aside their friend's corpse and brought their weapons to bear on Hana-another iron-shod tetsubo and a pair of punching daggers. She smashed one knife aside with her club before a blow sent her flying through the rice-paper wall. Her weapon spun from her grasp as she crashed to the floor, coming to rest in a tangle of bedclothes. She heard cruel laughter as a knee was planted between her shoulder blades, felt heavy weight on her back, a stunning blow to the blind side of her face, her good eye pressed into the pillow.

"Is this your bedroom, little girl?" Someone grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her back. "Nice sheets."

"The b.i.t.c.h broke my wrist!" The call came from the main room, hoa.r.s.e with pain.

"Then come break hers."

"Don't you touch her!" Yoshi roared, struggling against the pig-man's wristlock, spit flying between clenched teeth. "Stay away from her or I'll kill you!"

The pig-man leaned close. Sake and sweat, damp breath on Yoshi's ear.

"Told you I'd see you soon, friend."

Hana cried out as her arm was twisted up higher behind her back. The blood-soaked man was fumbling with her hakama, trying to tear them off. She heard footsteps, heavy breathing of the second man entering the bedroom.

"Help me get her clothes off," the b.l.o.o.d.y man hissed.

"The Gentleman wants them alive."

"She'll be alive." A sharp smile; all teeth, no eyes. "She'll just have trouble sitting for a while."

"Who the h.e.l.ls are you people?" Hana cried.

She received another punch to the face in reply, stars bursting and spinning in her vision.

"Hold her down!"

"You want me to hold her down with a broken wrist?"

"Hurry up in there!" the pig-man roared.

"Get away from her!" Yoshi gasped, stretched toward the iron-thrower. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, I'll kill you all!"

"Going to make you listen, friend," the pig-man purred. "Make you watch everything we do to her. Cut off your eyelids so you can't look away. It's going to make what we did to your sweetheart look like a holy day..."

Hana's screams were m.u.f.fled in her pillow.

"No!" Yoshi roared.

"Listen, boy," the pig-man hissed. "Listen to her sing-"

A shape dropped in through the broken window, a blur of smoke-gray and scars and p.i.s.s-yellow glittering like broken gla.s.s. It landed on the pig-man's shoulder, dug in with claws like katana. The man howled and reared back, flailing at the dervish of razors and dirty teeth. A paw brushed the surface of his eye, quicker than poison, so fast he didn't even feel the blow until something warm and gelatinous spilled down his cheek. He screamed then; a trembling, furious wail, clutching the b.l.o.o.d.y socket as he rolled away, tore the shape off his shoulder in a shower of blood and hurled it across the room.

It thudded into the wall, tumbled down and landed perfectly on its feet.

"Mreowwwwwl," it said.

Pig-man lurched to his feet, blood spilling between his fingers, snarling with pain.

"My f.u.c.king eye-"

The shot popped his skull like a balloon full of red water, rocked what was left of his head back on his shoulders as it rang deafening in the room. Yoshi was already on his way to the bedroom as the man's body hit the floor, shattered skull cracking against polished boards, feet kicking as if he were swimming across the wood. A thin finger of smoke drifted from the hole in the back of his head.

Yoshi shot the broken-wrist man in the face as he rushed from the bedroom, iron-thrower bucking in his hand. The man crumpled like wax tossed into a fire. Stepping into the bedroom, Yoshi leveled the smoking weapon at the last intruder's head. The man stood and backed away, tried to simultaneously cover his face and put his hands into the air. Knees pressed together, hunched over, pleading eyes shining through splayed fingers.

"Don't," he begged. "Don't..."

Hana rose from the ruins of the bed, cheek purpling, hair tangled about her eye, leather patch askew on her face. Half breathing, half sobbing, she limped to her brother's side, holding her wrist, already bruised. Reaching out, she gently covered the barrel, pressed Yoshi's aim to the floor. He frowned at her as she took the 'thrower from his hands.

"Oh, thank you, girl," the man said. "Amaterasu bless you-"

Hana turned and fired into the man's crotch.

He dropped like a stone, screaming, clutching the b.l.o.o.d.y hole between his legs. Falling forward onto his face, he curled into a ball and screamed again; a high-pitched, vibrato wail that tore his throat raw. Hana kicked him onto his back, planted her foot on his chest and aimed the iron-thrower at his forehead. Daken prowled into the room, coiled around her leg. Her voice was a low-pitched growl.

"Who are you?"

"Gendo," the man gasped. "Gendo!"

"I didn't ask your name!" Hana yelled. "I asked who you were!"

"Scorpion Child." The man pulled his uwagi off his shoulder, showed the dueling scorpions in the negative s.p.a.ce between his tattoos. "Scorpion Chiiiiiild..."

"Yakuza?" Hana blinked. "I don't-"

Yoshi pushed past her, knelt beside the man and grabbed a fistful of collar, hauling him up into a clenched fist. Skin mashed against teeth, bright red paint on the gangster's mouth.

"How did you find us, b.a.s.t.a.r.d?" Yoshi spat.

And then Hana understood. Before he took another breath. Before another word escaped his lips. The piles of money, the late-night forays into the city, the wound on Yoshi's ribs ...

"G.o.ds, Yoshi ... You clipped the f.u.c.king yakuza?"

Yoshi punched the man again, grabbed a handful of b.l.o.o.d.y crotch and squeezed.

"How did you find us?" Yoshi roared.

And Gendo told them.

Jurou's corpse was easier to look at than Yoshi's grief.

Tiny, b.l.o.o.d.y footprints and the bodies of poisoned rats on the cobbles all around it, shadows dancing in the light of Docktown flames. The earth trembled beneath them, an explosion lighting southern skies. Hana stared at the body and felt her stomach turn, the urge to look away almost overpowering. The pallor of its skin. The missing toes and fingers and teeth.

"Oh, G.o.ds," she breathed. "Jurou..."

Yoshi fell to his knees, hands over his mouth. Shapeless, gibbering grief spilled between his fingers, rocking back and forth, knees grinding into b.l.o.o.d.y dirt, tearing his hair and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his eyes shut. Spit and snot, gritted teeth and choking sobs, hands clenched into fists.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds." He hugged himself and moaned. "Oh, you motherf.u.c.kers..."

"Yoshi, we have to go."

"Hana, look what they did to him..."

"I know." She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, heart aching. "But there are bushi' everywhere and the yakuza are still after us. We have to go."

... scorpion men ...

"Yoshi, get up!"

... coming ...

Hana hauled him to his feet, turned him away from Jurou's remains. She heard shouts, running feet getting closer. She glimpsed vicious, dark faces at one end of the alley. Sky-ships roaring overhead. She grabbed Yoshi's arm and ran.

Which way?

... down run down crowd noise hide ...

She dragged her brother away, and he stumbled for the tears in his eyes and the weight in his chest. They tumbled from the alleyway into a blur of noise and color and motion. A crowd flooded the street, bright silks and expensive breathers, possessions bundled in their arms; the well-to-do citizenry of Upside fleeing toward the palace like rats from the flames. Smoke thick in the air, sky-ships thundering, loudspeakers demanding all citizens return to their homes.

They lunged into the mob, tried to blend into the rolling sea of grime and color. A motor-rickshaw sat in the middle of the street, blaring its horn. The driver finally broke, planted his foot, running down pedestrians in his hurry to escape.

Hana looked around at the mob, swelling and shifting about her. She could hear fighting down the way; truncheons and tetsubo and breaking gla.s.s. They were swept up in the current of flesh, Yoshi moving along in mute acquiescence, Hana's arms wrapped around him.

Daken's voice sang in her mind, tinged with mild anxiety.

... behind you scorpion men have seen you ...

Which way do we go?

... left best way is left ...

She turned in the crowd and dragged Yoshi away, struggling against the riptide. A glance behind revealed nothing, but she could hear struggles, angry commands.

... they are coming go go . .!

They reached a squeezeway between two lopsided buildings, breaking away from the crush and heat. A shouted curse, a glimpse of tattooed flesh behind. The press of crooked walls all around them, stink of rot and waste, struggling through the shin-high filth. Yoshi's hand was slippery with perspiration and blood, and he stumbled along as if sleepwalking, dried tear tracks cutting through the dirt on his face.

"Come on, Yoshi," she breathed. "Run."

Pounding footsteps, the sc.r.a.pe of inked flesh against the walls behind. The pair belted out onto a narrow street lined with empty merchant stalls, knocking aside a group of gutter-waifs beating on an overturned Guild crier, the machine spinning its tank tracks and clanging its bells in alarm. A backward glance revealed crooked faces, inked flesh, blades flashing in clenched fists. At least a dozen yakuza chasing them now, closing fast.

Yoshi crashed into an abandoned peddler's cart, old pots and children's toys cascading into the street as it upended. He stumbled, Hana grabbing his arm, pulled him upright.

... left go left now ...

Daken bolted across the rooftops, a black shadow against the firelight glow. Corpse-rats squealed in the shadows, fleeing the growing mob, rising flames. Thunder rumbled overhead, mixing with the roar of sky-ship engines, spotlights cutting like lightning through the black.

... turn right alleyway ...

Breath burning in their lungs, sweat in their eyes.

... left left hurry . .!

"Faster!" Hana grabbed her brother's arm, dragging him along.

"I can't!"

... beware ...

Two tattooed lumps of muscle appeared at the alley mouth. Murder lit their eyes, split their lips into greedy grins. Hana tore the iron-thrower from her pants without thinking and aimed at the bigger man's face. She squeezed the trigger.

The weapon spat out a hollow, empty click.

A stout, brutish-looking man collided with her from behind, knocking the breath from her body. Hana screamed, clawing the man's eyes with broken fingernails. Tattooed arms grabbed her in a bear hug as she drove her knee into his crotch. Yoshi was on his feet, clubbing the man with a piece of rusty pipe, roaring at the top of his lungs. Two more men crash-tackled him, brought him down amidst a flurry of profanity. Boots danced on his ribs, his face. He struck back with his feet, connecting with one man's knee and inverting it. Snapping bone and bright, wide-eyed screaming. Blood. Kicks rained down on Yoshi's head.

The siblings were hauled to their feet, Hana still flailing with nails and teeth and fists, Yoshi's head lolling, nose and ears bleeding. She called his name, received no answer. Looking up, she saw a mangled silhouette peering over the ledge above. Stubby ears. Yellow eyes.

Daken, help us!

... Hana ...

Please!

She felt the conflict within him, the desire to help overwhelmed by his fear, the certainty there was nothing he could actually do. One cat against half a dozen hardened thugs?