Twelve-year-old Carmen has a secret: she can talk to her cat Grim. But the powerful Brotherhood has banned pets, and the penalty is death.
Ward is the most wanted boy in the world. The only thing standing between him and the hangman's noose is maste...
Sam Sung's Chandlery was over a thousand years old. Who the original Sam Sung was, nobody knew: the origins of the business were shrouded in mystery. It operated out of a single wharfside store, but its influence reached across Bareheep. The significnt bribes it paid State officials – in both money and the banned goods they coveted – kept it on good terms with the Government and its Ministry of Commerce. Inquiries that referenced Sam Sung's were carefully edited, or found their way into fireplaces. The State-owned Bareheep Observer never mentioned the chandler in its stories, and there was no independent newspaper. Sam Sung's enjoyed a comfortable monopoly over Bareheep's black market.
Officially, Sam Sung's operated as a ship's chandler, providing supplies for ocean voyages. It was the first stop for ships coming in to dock, preceding even the customs house: goods could be quietly offloaded at Sam Sung's, avoiding a bevy of customs duties. Sailors bringing in exotic items from faraway lands, or banned books and art, would steal over there in the night after docking (Sam Sung's never closed).
One could spend an entire day wandering through the chandlery. Some of the items had been there for centuries. High shelves teetered with bric-a-brac. Narrow ladders climbed to mezzanines where strange furs hung from rafters. The complete skellington of some extinct sea creature of ancient times hung on a wall; its head consisted almost entirely of rows of teeth, and it was as long as a coach-and-four.
The staff were grim, silent men who moved about the shop like ghosts. They wore shabby suits with vests, had pale spidery hands, and a faintly exotic appearance. Nobody seemed to know anything about them. Any who dared ask would receive only a blank stare in reply.
This was where Ward found himself the day after the street battle. He had never owned more than a few cups; now he couldn't stop looking at the handful of silver args he had received for his role in the Lurk. He kept taking them out of his pocket to remind himself that they existed.
When Mildew handed the silver to him he'd said, "What'm I going to do with it?"
"Spend it ya numpty."
After the chink had been distributed among the Okies the day before, the more unusual and valuable items still remained in the suitcase. When the Spectaculum saw Ward looking he'd quickly shut the suitcase and left the dorm with it.
"What's that for?" Ward said.
"Kidsman," Mildew said. "Who do you think pays for everythink?"
"Oh. And how... I mean, what's to stop...?"
"Nobody'd try to cheat Saint Nick, Ward."
"Even the Spectaculum?"
Mildew laughed. "Nar, not even him. Trust me."
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