CH464 · Rewrite
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Chapter 464: The Changes

More people came for the second meal than the first.

The three of them had arrived early and held their position near the front of the line. As Snaketooth shuffled forward, he understood the fence better: it wasn’t just crowd control. Encircling the wooden stage, it forced everyone to move alongside the speaker, who was explaining the new policies to whoever happened to be in earshot. You stood in line; you listened. By the time you reached your oatmeal, you had heard the announcement whether you’d wanted to or not.

Half an hour of slow movement. The cold worked at his neck and ears. He kept his head down and moved when the line moved.

“Right hand,” said the guard at the table.

Snaketooth held it out. A stamp came down on the back of his hand—dark ink, precise.

“Next.”

The wooden fence continued past the table, channeling them into another stretch: take the bowl, receive the oatmeal, step aside to eat, return the bowl. Simple, almost ceremonial. Around him, ordinary citizens and former Rats were performing it in the same orderly sequence, and something about that was deeply strange—not the order itself, but the fact that it was working.

“What’s this stamp for?” Tigerclaw craned past him. “I can’t wipe it off.”

“Prevents you from rejoining the back of the line after you eat.”

Tigerclaw considered this. “Clever.”

At the perimeter of the cleared space, heavy tents sheltered clusters of workers and the outlines of barrels being shifted to the long table. Everything was still steaming. As the ladle descended into his bowl, Snaketooth’s hands began to shake.

He couldn’t have said how long it had been since a hot meal.

The oatmeal was thin—no vegetables, no salt, nothing but the grain and the heat. The color of it was golden in the grey winter light, and it smelled the way warmth smells when you’ve been cold long enough to forget what warmth was. He ate it standing up, quickly, with his face bent over the bowl. He didn’t taste it so much as absorb it. The shaking in his hands didn’t stop until the bowl was half empty.

He licked it clean. He stared at the stamp on his hand. He did not go back for more, though the thought sat in him like an ember.

He put the bowl in the designated pot and walked out.


At the exit, a second speaker held court on another wooden stage, fielding questions from the dispersing crowd. Belly full, the howling wind seemed less vicious than it had half an hour ago. The three of them drifted close without quite deciding to.

“Why is His Highness distributing oatmeal?” The speaker beamed at the question. “Because he intends to dismantle the Rats completely—and the Rats survive by controlling who eats and who doesn’t. Take that away and you take their leverage over every person they’ve ever threatened. At the same time, families without enough stores can survive the Months of Demons. This is His Highness’s generosity.”

“You said distribution runs until the end of the Months of Demons.” A voice from the crowd. “Then what?”

The square went quiet. Everyone waited.

“Then you support yourselves,” the speaker said.

The quiet held for a beat longer.

“I don’t know how to farm.”

“I’ll explain.” He raised a hand. “After the Months of Demons, Longsong Stronghold and Border Town will merge into a new city. The land between them needs to be reclaimed and rebuilt—all of it. That requires hands. Many hands. You will have a wage. What you earn will feed you and your family. And anyone who holds an official position in the new city becomes one of its citizens.”

The crowd stirred at that—a low, collective sound, like something shifting in its sleep.

“Many of you are Rats,” the speaker continued, louder now, carrying the words to the back. “Or citizens who were forced to become Rats. It doesn’t matter. You can work your way into a different life. Out of the underground. Out from under the threat of the gallows. Honest hands, honest wages—food, clothing, shelter.”

“Do we only need to be willing?”

He smiled. “His Highness will need more than ten thousand people. So yes. As long as you’re willing to work.”

Snaketooth stood in the crowd and felt something in him quietly rearrange itself.


The pattern held for the next several days.

They queued at the Central Square every noon. More people joined each day, the crowd thickening until it occupied half the square and still grew. Some came for the food. Others came only to watch what happened at the other end of the square after the distribution was finished, where trials were conducted on the scaffold in full view.

It looked like a festival. It felt like something else—like a city trying to remember what it was supposed to be.

Snaketooth saw Kanas in one of the trials.

He barely recognized him. Kanas knelt on the scaffold with the same pale, diminished look all the others had—the dominance scraped away, leaving just a man who had run out of room to maneuver. When the iron pipe fired, it was over in an instant. The crowd cheered.

Then Bloody hand. Then Ironcrow. Then Ripper. The names rolled out over the days—kings whose authority had seemed permanent, inevitable, like weather. They did not look permanent now. Every death brought the same chant: Long live His Highness.

On the fourth day, walking out of the queue, Snaketooth saw Joe.

He looked entirely recovered.

They collided in the middle of the square—all four of them, arms tangled, no one speaking for a moment.

“Where were you?” Snaketooth managed.

“I don’t know exactly.” Joe shook his head. “Everything was blurry. When I woke up I was in a tent—warm, with a blanket. They kept giving me oatmeal with dried meat. I ate so much the first time I almost swallowed my tongue.” He paused. “There were others in there, too. A lot of people like me.”

Snaketooth held on a moment longer before letting go.

The iron pipe had sounded for Kanas. The oatmeal had been real. The police had come when they said they would and gone where they said they would go.

Every announcement had been true.

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