Free Bone Season 01: The Bone Season: A Novel by Samantha Shannon Page B

Broad. Take the first right out of Magdalen, then the first left. You’ll see it.” She turned to a new page in her ledger. “Remember, you mustn’t sit down in public areas without permission, or enter any of the residences. Don’t wear anything apart from your uniform, either. Oh, and you absolutely must be back here by dawn.”
    “Why?”
    “Well, the Rephs sleep by day. I assume you know that spirits are easier to see when the sun goes down.”
    “And that makes training easier.”
    “Exactly.”
    I really didn’t like this girl. “Do you have a keeper?”
    “Yes, I do. He’s away at the moment, you know.”
    “Away where?”
    “I don’t know. But I’m sure it’s for something important.”
    “I see. Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome. Have a nice night! And remember,” she added, “don’t go beyond the bridge.”
    Well, someone was brainwashed. I smiled and took my leave.
    As I left the residence, my breath already clouding, I began to wonder what I’d got myself into. The Warden . His name was whispered like a prayer, like a promise. Why was this one different from the others? What did blood-consort mean? I promised myself I would look into it later. For now I would eat. Then I would find Seb. At least I had somewhere to sleep when I returned. He might not have been so lucky.
    A thin fog had descended. There seemed to be no electricity in the city. To my left was a stone bridge, set on both sides with gas lamps. This must be the bridge I couldn’t cross. A line of red-clad guards blocked the route between the city and the outside world. When I didn’t move, all ten of them pointed their guns at me. Scion weapons. Military grade. With all ten sights trained on my back, I set off to find the little town.
    The street ran alongside Magdalen’s grounds, separated from the residence by a high wall. I passed three heavy wooden doors, each guarded by a human in a red tunic. The wall was topped with iron spikes. I kept my head down and followed 33’s directions. The next street was just as deserted as the first, with no gas lamps to light my way. When I emerged from the darkness, my hands raw with cold, I found myself in something like a city center. Two large buildings towered on the left. The nearest had pillars and a decorated pediment, like the Grand Museum in I Cohort. I walked past it, onto the Broad. Tealights shone on every step and ledge. The sound of human life strained through the night.
    Rickety stalls and food booths had been constructed down the center of the street, lit by dirty lanterns. They were skeletal and gloomy. On either side of them were rows of rudimentary huts, shacks, and tents made of corrugated metal and plywood and plastic—a shantytown in the center of a city.
    And the siren. An old mechanical model with a single, gaping horn. Not like the hive-like electrical clusters on NVD outposts, designed for use in a national emergency. I hoped I never heard the sound that swelled up from its rotors. The last thing I needed was some flesh-eating killing machine on my tail.
    The smell of roasting meat drew me toward the shantytown. My stomach was tight with hunger. I walked into a dark, close tunnel, following my nose. The shacks seemed to be linked by a series of plywood tunnels, patched up with bits of scrap metal and cloth. They had few windows; instead they were lit by candles and paraffin lamps. I was the only person in a white tunic. These people all wore filthy clothes. The colors did little for their sallow complexions, their lifeless bloodshot eyes. None of them looked healthy. These must be the performers: humans who had failed their tests and been condemned to amuse the Rephaim for the rest of their lives, and probably their afterlives. Most were soothsayers or augurs, the most common kinds of voyant. A few people glanced at me, but they soon moved on. It was like they didn’t want to look for too long.
    The source of the smell was a large square room with a hole cut into