Free Crystal Rain by Tobias S. Buckell

And everyone has to stay in town,” Jerome finished.
    “Yeah,” Schmitti said. “We staying here tonight with me cousin.”
    They compared notes about how many Azteca might be around. It seemed weird. Unreal. But the adults didn’t seem to think it was too much of a threat. They said scouting parties were all that could come over the Wicked Highs, and if everyone stayed in town, the mongoose-men and ragamuffin around town and in the bush would protect them. Carnival went on. In the distance the raucous clash of four or five different steel-pan bands playing different tunes floated up. Most of the parade had already turned around and was making the final leg down the waterfront to pass in front of the wooden stands the judges sat in.
    Schmitti held up a leather bag. “You want go play some marble?” Schmitti had taken Jerome’s best marble last week. “I be easy on you.”
    Daseki snorted. “Don’t fall for it, he too good.”
    Jerome noticed a pillar of smoke rising from the forest outside Brungstun. Someone burning space for a new farm, he thought. That time of year. Had to be. He sat down to lose his next favorite marble.
    “Swagga, you go play?” Daseki asked.
    Jerome pulled the pebble from his pocket. He winged it, hard, and it struck the wall along the edge. Swagga jumped into the air and everyone laughed. “That’s for the patty you throw down on me shirt,” Jerome said. “And you lucky I didn’t aim at you. You coming to play?”
    Swagga shook his head. “No. Come over and look at this here, man.”
    Daseki sighed elaborately and they all went over to the edge.
    “What you see?” Schmitti asked.
    Swagga pointed. Jerome looked down. The man Swagga pointed out walked down Hilty Street into Brungstun from the south. He wore a long coat. Shoulder-length dreadlocks straggled out of a black top hat.
    “You ever see him before?” Daseki asked. “He look real serious.”
    “No. He look Frenchi, though.”
    The man had light brown skin. Not as light as a Frenchi, but definitely not like that of anyone in Brungstun. It reminded Jerome of his dad.
    “I bet you he from up near Capitol City,” Schmitti said.
    “Then why he coming in from the south on Hilty road, uh?” Swagga asked.
    Schmitti sucked his teeth loudly.
    “Man, don’t schoops me like that,” Swagga said. “He ain’t from here: he looking all around them building like he new.”
    The man looked up at Happer’s, and they all dropped down to the ground as one. Daseki’s eyes were wide. “You think he see us?” They weren’t supposed to be up here. Their mothers would get real angry.
    “I dunno,” Jerome said. “I hope not.” The man in the top hat and coat made him nervous. He looked around. The heavy wooden trapdoor down into Happer’s was bolted shut from the inside so thieves couldn’t get in. And neither could they. The only way down was by the fire ladder.
    “Someone look over,” Swagga ordered. Jerome bristled. Swagga was a friend, but sometimes …
    Swagga sighed. “You all yellow-belly.” He pulled himself up over the wall and glanced over, real quick, and crouched back down. “He coming up the ladder!”
    “We in trouble! He got tell we parent we was up here and we all go get in trouble!” Schmitti started shivering. His dad was famous for a good hiding. Swagga grabbed the bag of marbles and gave them to Jerome.
    “You have the best throw,” Swagga said. “Maybe if you hit he hard, he go leave to look and tell someone we up here instead of coming up and seeing who we is. Then we can run.”
    “Yeah.” Jerome swallowed.
    Daseki nodded and whispered, “Bust he in he head good, Jerome.”
    Jerome took a deep breath, then leapt up. He leaned over
the edge. The brim of the man’s hat wasn’t even ten feet below him. Jerome leaned in and threw the leather bag as hard as he could.
    The man’s head snapped up and he caught the bag in his left hand. Jerome looked down at gray eyes as the marbles made a scrunching