by Gin Hollan
“I should have sent the spanner back, but until this morning I was using it. I really need to get back to work,” she hinted.
“All right, girl. I can tell,” he shrugged.
Her manners kicked in.
“Thank you for stopping in, though. Your day must also be busy.” Mentally she let out a sigh of relief. He was still her elder by ten years, but within the grander scheme, she out-ranked him. Politely she nodded toward Graham. “You have your spanner. Would you mind letting yourself out?”
“Not a problem,” he said. There was likely something else on his mind, but she wanted to stay focused on her own project. He was a grown man. He could take care of himself.
Nate walked him out and, Arabeth hoped, locked the door behind them both.
As peace settled into her home, she went back to work. A thumb-sized ball of the cobalt blue metal hovered over a pot of steaming water when she heard movement on the other side of the workshop door, in the kitchen area.
‘Hadn't Nate locked the door?’ Frustrated at the thought of a new or returning intruder, she pushed the workshop door open and stormed out.
“Sorry, I'm not accepting callers right now.” She stopped in her tracks when her eyes met Sam's. She blinked a couple times, wondering if she was imagining him. His face softened and he smiled warmly at her.
“Sam!” Arabeth felt her heart jump and hurried over.
“Hi Abby,” he smiled back. Looking him over, she saw a few changes, not the least of which was how he'd seemed to have aged a few years instead of only months.
“Yes, I've gained a bit of weight. If I reach for any sort of pastry, stop me. I am not kidding.”
She laughed, pleased with how good it felt to see him again.
“I'm guessing you're not officially back.” She didn't dare hope he was done his work in Vensay, but despite all the foot traffic in her home, she was lonely. She knew it. Even Marble was with her kits or asleep most of the time lately.
“I'll know after I talk with Harbertrope.” He let her hands go and walked to the sink to fill a clean glass with water. “How have things been?” he asked. “Are you getting floods of people wanting to hear about our adventures?”
“Not in the least. I made the mistake of telling a few people the truth about Blastborn … about this being a glorified exile colony.” Arabeth laughed lightly. “You they missed, but no one missed me. They were happy when thought I'd locked myself away in a workshop somewhere, not considering the idea that I might be missing. A logical conclusion after the whole 'radio waves' fiasco.” She shrugged. “Now, when I'm actually locked away in a lab, they worry in case I bring trouble back. Also, Harbertrope came asking for a favour, so if he brings my name up, change the topic.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well …” Arabeth heaved a sigh. “He's blaming me for local unrest. I told my parents about our time in Vensay - they needed to know about Maralise. For a house full of trained, loyal spies, they sure know how to exaggerate. My mother’s doing, no doubt.”
“So, business as usual,” Sam suddenly looked distracted. A sudden clattering from her workshop told her the water temperature from the pot had cooled and stopped lifting the metal ball.
“Come see what I've been working on,” she hid a smile. He'd be stunned when he saw this.
He followed her in and, as expected, stopped to stare at the hover table. He rubbed his eyes and looked closer.
“How is it doing that?” he asked. “Is that something you learnt from the book Gregor gave you?”
Her eyes darted to where the Sage's book should have been hidden and shook her head.
“The book is gone. But there is more news you'll find interesting. I found a lyar in a grove on this side of the mountain.” That didn't explain the table, but it was a suitable distraction. She wasn't ready to talk to anyone about her new metal.
“Really? How did we not know about it?” Sam froze in place, a little too still for Arabeth's comfort. “I'm not sure that's good news
“Don't worry. I'm never going back there.”
“Why? Would you show me where it is?”
“On a map, sure.” She was doing everything she could to forget the people that lyar held in stasis. They'd be fine until someone better qualified came to get them out. She'd be risking their necks with her amateur status.
He turned abruptly. “I'd better go,” he said.
The shift in attitude threw Arabeth off balance. “How are things going in Vensay? Let me get you a cup of coffee. It's been a while since we talked.”
He paused and faced her a moment. “No, it's fine. I can see myself wearing out. With all they're having me do, it's not a one-person job. I need to go talk to Harbertrope about a work exchange program. We'd send some of our guys there and a few of theirs would come here. They can learn our system faster, and their guys would see what works first hand.”
Arabeth nodded. “You'll be back later?”
“If you like,” he said, with a shrug.
“Don’t put yourself out. If you have business to attend to, you should focus on that. I’d rather have undistracted time together.” She tried to keep her tone neutral, but was certain he’d catch her disappointment. Still, he was back, if only for a while. That had to be something.
// Chapter 7 //
ARABETH HAD WORKED into the evening, encouraged by the progress she made stabilizing the heating and cooling cycle of her new metal. A sudden rapping on her workroom door startled her.
“Arabeth Barnes,” she recognized the voice of Blastborn's police chief, Chester Harbertrope. “Hicks told me I'd find you here. I have an urgent matter to discuss, of a sensitive nature.”
Sighing, Arabeth opened a metal-lined wooden box half-filled with dry ice and snapped it closed around her globe before stowing it under her work table. Odd things were better hidden. “No dread gazebo's in here,” she muttered, smiling at her reference to a classic case of misunderstanding.
Sliding the workshop door open, she noted from his expression that the visit must be both serious, and urgent. Of course it is, she sighed. If he was here, the situation was grave. She slid the door shut behind her and indicated he should take a seat at the kitchen table.
“Can I get you a glass of water?” she asked when the silence went a moment too long.
He shook his head. “Miss Barnes, is there an inverse band to the radio waves that caused the previous violence? I mean, can you pacify large groups like that?”
A knot formed in her stomach as she considered his words. “Are there more protests?”
“There are rumours that Blastborn is a glorified prison, and that has caused considerable unrest.” He pounded the table with his fist. “I worry that they will let their passion get the better of reason. An envoy from the capital says they will send their militia to handle it if we don't have a concrete plan, immediately. In fact, he's staying at the Swinging Moon hotel until we can give a satisfactory answer, or three days are up, whichever happens first. I just need to convince him we have a solid plan, not that it's reasonable.”
“There must be an amicable solution that doesn't involve violating the will of Blastborn's citizens.”
“We've tried everything short of curfews.”
“Why not organize a series of over-night or week-long excursions to Vensay? People could see what it's like in small bites and bring that information back.”
Harbertrope paused.
“That would be a good long-term plan, but I think it's too late. Is the name Tamden familiar to you?”
Startled, Arabeth stood, knocking her chair over. “Where is he?”
Harbertrope raised his hands.
“Sit, Miss Barnes. Tell me what you know.”
She stayed standing, weighing her options. She could help, exchanging her information for something of his, but not that information. If Tamden was causing trouble, the other man was nearby. Howard. The name burned into her mind the moment Tamden's rock hit her head. What wer
e they up to?
“This sounds like nothing to others, but he stole a book from me - an irreplaceable book.”
She could send Bernie to find out why he was causing mischief, anyway. Or visit her parents. Surely her mother's spy network knew all about it. If she didn't help, or agree to try, Harbertrope would put her back on the pariah list. The decision was easy, she smiled.
Harbertrope gave a sudden laugh, startling her. “A book!” He barked, laughing again. “You had me worried there was something dire going on.”
“If you can get that book back for me, I will put my every effort into stopping him and his influence on Blastborn. The mental interference technology came from Vensay, which we both know to be a major scientific advance. To say the book is a bigger deal than the interference is understating its significance.”
“I see,” he said, his smile fading. “What was in this book? Was it more of a ledger, or journal, perhaps?”
“No, it contains information and potentially dangerous formulas. In the wrong hands … in their hands, there's no telling what trouble is coming.”
“Someone is inciting locals to protest, and it's escalated to criminal activity. The supply train sent here was hijacked on its return trip and used it to take about 100 protesters to the capital.”
Arabeth sat down again, perplexed. “What's the point of protesting the past?”
“You are not the only one who wants the truth, and now that they all know this city is a glorified prison, they want out. They want to travel past the mountain, without reprisal,” he shrugged.
“But we're welcome in Vensay, now, as long as we register our entry at the border,” she said, frowning. “They can just go.”
“It's a sticky mess, Miss Barnes. We're looking into these questions and more. Thank you for staying hidden these past few months. It's best you don't get involved beyond what I've just asked. Best if you send messages and wait for answers. Stay here until you find a solution, or until people settle back down.”
“Politics and I don't often align, but the capital sending an envoy to sabre rattle seems flat out irrational.”
“We provide valuable raw resources, because of our immense crop fields and the rare trees to the east. They don't want to lose control of that. A little fear can go a long way,” Harbertrope shrugged and stood. “I'll leave you to the science of controlling your mess and make my way back to the murky political waters of my office.”
“My mess? I hardly think I can be blamed for civil unrest. Still, Sir - can I ask … How much do you know about the origin of Blastborn?”
“More than I'm allowed to repeat but I suspect you've learnt more than I ever knew.”
“To be honest, there isn't much I can say that's in favour of our own country right now. They've got us locked away tighter than a prison colony,” she insisted. “I'm hoping you can help me understand why.”
“Again, words that shouldn't be repeated out loud. If they heard you, they might think you're in favour of separating and joining Vensay. If you can think of an alternative to the radio waves, I'm happy to hear it.”
“It's not treason to say change needs to happen.”
“You'll do well to keep that observation quiet, my dear,” he said, picking up his hat. “You don't want your influence to cause any more harm than it already has.”
She wasn't sure how bringing the truth home with her caused harm, but then again, he hated any disruption of the status quo. He must have known it was a false sense of security, but Blastborn had seen enough trouble recently and Arabeth was usually in the thick of it.
Maybe that was the real purpose behind his visit - to ensure she wasn't helping the protesters. It was bad enough she spoke up at a town hall meeting and told everyone Blastborn was a most agreeable prison, but a prison non-the-less. Arabeth sighed as another rap came on the door.
“Who, now?” she muttered.
The door opened and her father stepped up into the entry way, followed closely by her mother. Both looked worried. Her heart skipped a nervous beat, and she felt her hands and feet go cold.
“Let's sit in the kitchen,” she suggested.
They took their seats in silence. The oddness of it brought up Arabeth's guard.
“We've been negotiating via that grimshaw you set up to have your sister released from prison” her mother, Carol, started. “They have agreed, on one condition - you are the one to go for her,” her mother's words ran hastily together, counter to her usual well-measured manner of speaking. “It has to be a family member, and we're occupied with matters here.”
Arabeth couldn't believe her ears and sat staring at them. “Who sent the message?” There really needed to be a way to get paper copies of messages, like with the telegraph, she sighed.
“Patrick Entorel, the Prison Warden,” Carol said.
“Does King Andun know?” she wondered
“That would be the logical conclusion,” Carol snapped. “We're not here to ask you to go. This is your duty.”
Arabeth shook her head before her thoughts on the matter had even crystalized. “Maralise got what she deserved, what she'd earned. I will not free a rightfully convicted criminal, just because it's a hard life. I do not owe her, and I do not owe you this.”
She looked at her father, puzzled as to why he was here if his only intent was to do nothing more than sit and watch. At the very least, he ought to step in and tell Carol to drop the subject, now that Arabeth had given her decision.
“You can't leave her locked away with the worst of thugs and criminals …” Carol shook her head, her eyes challenging her, daring her to see what would happen if she turned her down. “You're the only one who can save her.”
Arabeth stood up, not intimidated. “These are difficult times,” Arabeth turned, intending to go back to her lab and lock the door behind her. Having vented her opinion, her mind cleared to one thought. “Wait, why am I the condition of her release?”
Her parents exchanged a look and Arabeth's gut knotted.
“There is a legal loophole where one family member can volunteer to serve the sentence of another for up to six months. You could take her place. Your relationship with King Andun will get you released within days or a week at most,” Eldon said. “To release you, he'd have to commute her sentence, and you'd both be free.”
The meaning of his words pierced her heart in a way she didn't know possible. Her father never took sides between his daughters, but this felt like a betrayal. Arabeth fought to bring her heart rate down to a normal rhythm so she could think clearly. As she did, her emotions began to shut down, protecting her the same way they had years ago when she learnt the truth about Matthew.
“She earned her prison sentence, and should pay her debt to society. Politically, Andun can't show favouritism to outsiders this early in his reign and I think you know that. I'll thank you to lock the door behind you when you leave.” She gave them a parting nod and walked to her workshop, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her.
She stood on the other side of the door, waiting for the shock to pass. It had to be her mother's idea, but why would her father go along with it? There had to be more to it, but nevertheless, it stung in a way she wasn't sure she'd get over.
A shiver ran down her spine and she shook her arms out. Were they gone? She turned and put her ear on the door, listening. It seemed quiet out there now.
Maybe she should put a listening device in different spots in her house so she could hear what was going on out there while she was in here, working. Changing her locks didn't seem to slow down how often she had visitors, but at least they couldn't just walk in.
That night she tossed and turned. Too many people were making demands. Too many were simply 'dropping by'. She'd lock the entire house down if it kept up much longer. Being away from Blastborn had given her insight she'd not had before - too many people were interfering with her life. That had to change.
// Chapter 8 //
A COLD BLAST of air hit her
from the side, startling her. A hole had suddenly appeared in her outside wall, about the size of a grapefruit.
“Stay back,” Sam said, taking hold of one of her wrists and pulling her away from it. He was calm - calmer than Arabeth.
“What’s causing that? I didn’t do that.” Arabeth rubbed down the goosebumps on her arms. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone. “None of my current projects can do that.”
Suddenly a larger version snapped open in the same spot. It looked like one of the portals generated by crystals and a lyar. Orange and green gateway crystals were said to be rare, so….
“Wait… I think I see someone in there.”
Curiosity itched at her as she thought it over. She may have been the first identified Sage in nearly two centuries, but that wouldn’t mean she was the only one. If Howard was a sage, why did he need her?
Tamden tricked her into pulling someone out of stasis in the mountain - could that man use lyars? A chill ran down Arabeth’s spine. “It’s him… it must be,” she muttered to herself.
“Wait, it’s who?” Sam asked.
“What are they up to now?” she said softly, not hearing Sam. “Howard must need something else from me. He can’t actually want to take the mountain down.”
“That’s impossible,” Sam said, touching her arm to get her attention.
“Nothing seems impossible to a sufficiently deranged mind.”
“Who are we talking about?”
Arabeth looked at Sam, hesitant to share her recent encounter. She might as well admit her failure up front.
“A man came out of our lyar when I was learning more about how to use them. He seemed mentally unhinged. I think decades of being trapped in stasis may have messed up his thinking.”
Sam froze in place a moment, but his expression stayed neutral.
“And he thinks the mountain range is something he can get rid of? Who would attempt that level of destruction so close to a city?” he said.
