“One tile,” Brug said, and he sounded as horrified as Tarlak felt. “How many throughout the city are there?”
“As of last count?” asked Tarlak as all around people flooded out of their homes to see what was the matter. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as he thought of all their planning, their little map detailing the tiles’ locations. Not a single street unmarked. Not a man or woman safe. He put a hand on Brug’s shoulder and slowly stood as dust and stone fell.
“Over three hundred and twenty-seven.”
For once, Brug was speechless. Tarlak watched the strange purple flames dwindle down to nothing in the crater, and he let out a sigh.
“Brug,” he said. “We’re fucked.”