The Gates of the World #2: The City of Ice by K. M. McKinley

Author:K. M. McKinley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Solaris

SO IT WENT, day after day. Spring wore on. Lavinia’s heart should have been gladdened by the return of the sun, of the warmth—such as it was in Karsa. Spring meant the lines between Karsa and the far east should be open. Spring should have brought her news from Tuvacs. Spring brought only despair. She grew skinnier as her insufficiently nourished body continued its struggle to turn her from girl to adult. She felt herself begin to fade as if she were passing from life into non-existence, so that it would be as if she had never been.

And then, one day, it stopped.

She was working the weaving machine, watching the hypnotic uncurling of the rovings sway and sway, when sudden light intruded into the dark world of the orphans. The large double doors at the far end of the weaving shed opened. A group of men came in. Several wore the tall hats and coats of the constabulary. One of them held up a sheet of paper before him. Other men and women, not police, came with blankets and kind words. One of the constables went to the master lever at the edge of the room and disengaged the gears of the drive shaft. The machines slowed, and stuttered to a stop.

“What are you doing? Explain yourselves!” said Goodwife Anga.

Another man that Lavinia had seen two or three times came forward. He was stooped, and had a hunted look about him. He wrung his hands over and over. “Shhh, Anga, shhh. There’s nothing we can do.”

The man with the paper walked down the aisle. “By the order of the Ministry of Justice, on behalf of Prince Alfra, lord regent of the Isles of Karsa, all production is to cease at the Lemio Clothing and Shoddy Factory immediately!”

“Why? What is happening? This is a charitable institution.”

“This factory is closed upon charges of child exploitation and defiance of labour ordinance number eight hundred and four, signed in the year of 452 by the assembled prime ministers of the three houses.”

“Goodman Grostiman,” said Anga to the hunched man, “your cousin at the ministry, what...”

Grostiman silenced her with a look. “He signed the order himself. I’ve carts outside waiting. Get rid of them.”

The constable watched the children being rounded up.

“You are to be taken from here,” said one of the people. “Freedom awaits you.”

“Why are you doing this?” said Anga. “Do you know how much it costs to keep these wretches? We are performing a public service!”

“I do not know,” said the constable, rolling up his writ. “And I do not care. I put the law into action, I do not write it.” He thrust a piece of paper at her. She looked at it questioningly.

“A warrant. You are not to leave the city. Prepare yourself, you will probably be arrested. Good day, goodwife.”

“How can I be tried for past actions under a new law?” Agna demanded, but the constable ignored her.

Lavinia followed the others tentatively. The weak spring sunshine felt deliciously warm and unbearably bright.

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