“The Ninth Ward!” Salick said. Garet’s gaze followed her pointing finger. One of the Ward gates in the barrier separating the plaza from the city proper was closing. It was the gate nearest the river wall and not far from where Garet and Salick sat in the gardens. Salick leaped over the low hedge in front of her and set off at a run for the gate. Garet hesitated for only a moment, then followed at the same speed. The gate, its carved symbols proclaiming it to be the entrance to the Ninth Ward, was almost closed when he slipped through, just behind Salick. She turned when he bumped into her and frowned. They were standing in a tiny plaza just inside the gate. Beside them a small stone gatehouse, an overturned stool in the entrance, stood unoccupied. A wheel creaked above them, moving a toothed pole that pushed the gate closed. The weighted rope that turned the wheel by its falling was slack. By craning his neck, Garet could see the catch that had held the weight.
