They were watched from two small towers, on either side of the gate, by a handful of guardsmen. Grade supposed they were guardsmen, but beneath their broad hoods and patchwork raiment of plastic sheeting, they could just as easily be guardswomen.
“Do you ever get used to it?” the boy asked. Grade understood the question, and raised his gaze to meet that of the nearest guard. The man’s hands were wrapped tight around a spear, his fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm. The guardsman held his gaze for a moment, before shifting his weight to spit over the edge of the watchtower.