Habbot stood on the edge of the roof, chewing a lit cigar between his few remaining teeth.
“Ay, gents, drop the load!” he shouted with a fierce wave of his hand.
From every roof they could, townsfolk of Augustate slums carried great big blankets, aprons, and shirts full of baking flour.
“What are they planning?” Ike asked, watching the townspeople swing their bundles of flour into the air. Soon, the huge amounts of flour hung in the air like dust. The running guards paused, coughing and hacking and swatting at the air as flour filled their lungs and blocked their sights.
Clove handed over a traveling bag to Ike, and the both of them followed Ronan and Maritza as they ran for the gate at the edge of town. The group of four Nightblades pumped their hands back and forth as each of them sprinted beside the other.
In the distance and back on the rooftops, Habbot called out to the once shoeless girl and said, “Alright lass, give it here!”