Chapter 6 · Hounds in the Conduits

"Move," Samuel shouted.

The muzzle punched straight through the service door. Steel shrieked. Nora held the photograph up to the lamp and watched wet silver letters crawl across the back.

THE HOUNDS REMEMBER THE HAND THAT MADE THEM.

The lamp died.

Tarin grabbed her coat and hauled her into the dark. Samuel spun, pistol up, and fired twice.

Blue-white muzzle flare lit the whole passage.

For one sharp second, Nora saw the thing on the other side of the ruined door. Low body. Six jointed legs. Brass ribs wrapped around a spinning furnace. Its head looked like a dog's skull, except the jaw split open four ways.

Both shots hit it square in the face.

It didn't even flinch.

The jaws snapped shut on the door and ripped the whole thing off its track.

"Those aren't market guards," Tarin said.

Samuel backed up fast. "I know what they are."

"Then perhaps you'd like to explain why the Inspectorate brought royal hunting machines into my basement."

"Your basement sells stolen memories."

"Sold. Past tense. Important distinction."

The hound squeezed through the gap.

Samuel fired again. The shot hit the furnace behind its ribs. Sparks showered the wet floor.