"Meat!" Lenore shouted and half-threw a greasy chunk out the attic window.
The piece arced, hit a hungry hand, and the street turned feral.
"Lenore, you insane—" Melanie hissed, ducking when a scrap of cloth flew past her ear.
"Good. Let them jostle," Lenore said. Her grin showed the teeth of someone who sold trouble. "Send word to Willem. Lock the crate."
Willem's heavy steps filled the rafters. "Locked. Two bolts, one strap. Nothing moves without me saying so."
Emmett rolled the map under his elbow and kept his voice level. "Clock-Drum's packed. If the gate closes we're cutting through the river lanes."
"Then keep the river lanes open," Lenore snapped. "And watch the children. They grab for anything that smells like meat."
Melanie leaned to the window and shouted, sweet and cruel. "Food for the hungry! No need to kill each other—just a line! Start a line, yes?"
A man in the pack curled forward, looking like he would accept anything. Another shoved him aside. The shout turned to a roar.
"Lenore, this will draw soldiers," Emmett warned.
"That's the point," she said. "Soldiers are meat-sellers too. They like order when it's free, chaos when someone pays."
A soldier's shout answered from the lane below. "You up there! Move along! No throwing things into the street!"
Lenore tossed another piece, closer, studs of fat and gristle sailing like a dare.
The soldier climbed the ladder two at a time
