by Evan Fuller
***
Emery felt a thrill of excitement as the headlights of the palace approached. It was just as he recalled, yet no less spectacular than it had appeared the first time he had laid eyes on it. It was more massive than any automobile in Rittenhouse, taller than a train engine, and the light emanating from its windows bathed the road on either side in a cascade of dancing colors. The gateman reached into the wool coat to retrieve his identifying light and directed the beam at himself. The brakes squealed as the palace came to a stop before them, and Green led Emery and Timothy aboard.
Inside the cabin, Emery squinted and tried to identify a face he knew from his previous visit to New Providence. He saw several people he was almost sure he recognized, but those wolfish eyes, that fierce blend of Chukwu and native features, was nowhere to be found. Emery peered at every stranger he passed; a few glanced back at him in wonder, stunned to see a pureblood here. Emery remembered the resentment and shock that had greeted him when he had first arrived in the palace almost three years ago. Today, the people around him didn't exude the same hostility, but perhaps that was simply because this time he was merely passing through.
He was still glancing over his shoulder at one of the strangers he had passed, so he almost tripped over the cot that had been laid out in the rear corner of the bus. Catching himself, Emery turned to see a girl laying on it, two, maybe three years younger than he. Her face was white with pain, and Emery could see lesions on her arms that looked like Timothy's. The girl's illness appeared more advanced; her body was eating itself, and below her swollen cheeks, her face was sunken. Then she turned her head to meet his gaze, and Emery saw her eyes: he could only think that these must be someone else's eyes. This was an enchantment the likes of which he had never encountered; the palace seemed to peel back from his perception until he could no longer feel his feet securing him to the floor. Emery had only ever seen the ocean in pictures, but he was certain he knew in this moment precisely how it must feel to be immersed in that infinite blue. The sick girl opened her mouth as if to speak; Emery stood paralyzed.
In an exercise of masterful timing, Green chose that moment to give Emery a rough shove toward the stairs. “Move it,” he barked. Emery felt himself snapped abruptly back into the present, and the girl on the cot swallowed whatever word she had been about to speak. Damn you, Emery caught himself wanting to say to the gateman.
At the top of the stairs, Emery's eyes were greeted by the familiar golden light of the king's chamber. He was speaking to another of his gatemen, and Green held up a hand to halt Emery and Timothy's approach. But when the king noticed their arrival, he said, “That is all for now. Thank you, Violet.”
“Thank you, your majesty.” The woman bowed and backed towards the staircase, turning and nodding to Green as she passed. Beyond her long, dark hair, Emery could discern little about her; she appeared out of focus, as if she might dissolve into air at any moment. When she had gone, Emery turned back to the familiar man seated on the throne at the far end of the chamber. “Emery Scott,” said the king, his smile permeating his voice. “It has been too long, my child.”
“Your majesty.” Emery approached and took a knee, but the king motioned for him to stand. “Surely you do not bow to every royal man in your own city.”
Emery rose and smiled. “Royalty has nothing to do with it, your majesty,” he said. “There aren't many people in Rittenhouse worth bowing to.”
“I say there be only one,” said the king, “and he stand before me. I would bow to you, Emery, but my old knees might give way.” He turned to Timothy. “And you, child. I see you did not drown on your way to my friend.”
Emery couldn't help asking, “How often does that happen?”
“I think you have burdens enough, Emery Scott, without that knowledge.” The king turned to Timothy again, then back to Emery. “Did you find this one what he need?”
“Well,” Emery said, “that's actually why we're here, your majesty. Timothy managed to find me, but I'm having trouble getting him what he needs. Specifically, the doctor I've relied on in the past wants another favor this time, and it involves finding someone out here.”
“I see,” said the king. “Most men seek only their own gain. And if a man in Rittenhouse seek a man in New Providence for his own gain, the man he seek be a dangerous one, I think. What is his name?”
“Three Dogs,” Emery said. “Arvid Hanssen, the doctor, wants me to find Three Dogs and deliver a package to him. I don't…” Emery trailed off: at his mention of the name, the king's expression was instantly devoid of his usual joviality.
“Three Dogs,” the king said, “is not a good man. Leon Zakarova, he do many things in New Providence, but like all men, he like to be known only for his good deeds. Three Dogs be the devil at Zakarova's right hand, he do all the things too filthy for Zakarova to do himself. Use caution, Emery, if you must find this man.”
“I will,” Emery replied, “but right now I don't even know where to look. That's why I came to you.”
The king smiled, a bit less convincingly than he had before Three Dogs' name had met his ears. “I thought you broke out of your city just to come say hello.”
Emery laughed. “It's good to see you, and I wish things were ever that simple.”
The king said nothing for a long while; his thoughts turned inward, and Emery wondered if this errand would end in disappointment. “I think I can help you,” the king said at last, “but it take time to prepare. Zakarova, he has tried for years to put an end to me, he be the reason I am trapped in this moving cell. But he and his soldiers do not know all my servants, or even all my gatemen. We will find a way. It may be days, but you are welcome to stay with us if you like.”
“I'd be honored,” Emery said, “but Hanssen wouldn't give me the package until I had a plan in place. I'll have to go back into Rittenhouse to retrieve it.”
The king stroked his knotted beard with one hand; Emery noticed the silver ring, an old Esposti heirloom, on one of the man's fingers. “This is a problem. How will you know when we have our way to Three Dogs?”
“I can just enter to retrieve the package and comes out as soon as I have it. We'll meet back up and wait until you've found a way in.”
“Your majesty,” the gateman said, “If I may.” He turned to Emery. “Finding a way could take days, even weeks, and I'm sure your pureblood pals will notice your absence if you're gone that long. Besides, once you get out here, we can't use the same methods to find you this time. The charmed ring is bloody great and all, but if I have to spend hours trying to figure out where the hell you are, we might miss our shot. We need a bit more, how do you say, specificity.” To the king he said, “I can make a charm that allows us to reach them inside the city. The moment we have a way to Three Dogs, we signal them to meet up, and with the charms we'll find them in a wink.”
“I'm sorry,” Emery said, “but no. I don't like talking about this out here because it's not my place, but I don't let anything enchanted into my own house.”
“Well, that's real nice.” Green tapped his ear. “Now let's hear your idea.”
Confronted with the argument (which he himself had employed several times in recent memory) that any idea was better than none at all, Emery fumed but said nothing.
“Then it's settled,” Green said. He produced a vicious-looking implement: a shank made from part of an ages-old steel signpost, beaten flat and sharpened at one end, with a wrapping of discolored cloth forming a rough hilt at the other. Before Emery had time to react, the gateman claimed a lock of his hair, then repeated the process on Timothy a bit more slowly, as the boy's shorter hair was harder to get a hold of. “I'll be right back with these,” he said merrily, and with that he disappeared down the staircase.
“Emery Scott,” the king said, “I must ask one more thing of you. There be a child in my palace, I am sure you saw her downstairs. She suffer from the same illness as this one. When you return, I want you to take her with you. She
will survive only another month without medicine. I know my charges strain you already, but I ask you to take this one too.”
Emery knew that the king was talking about the girl he'd seen on the cot on his way up. He was torn: an overwhelming guilt at the thought of leaving her here clashed with the certainty that there was no way he could transport her into Rittenhouse in her present condition, much less care for her when they got there. “I…” Emery swallowed. “I don't think I can.”
“Can you find no more medicine?” asked the king, and his piercing eyes asked, Can you truly refuse?
“Th—that's not it,” Emery stammered. “I mean, that won't be easy, but I think I can demand it for the job I'm already doing. It's that I don't know how much longer I can keep this up before someone realizes. I buy more food than I can eat but don't entertain company; I almost never leave the estate. Rittenhouse is a small place, and people ask about these things.” The fears and uncertainties he had repressed since beginning this endeavor more than two years ago had at long last grown too numerous for him to contain, and Emery knew no way to stop them as they poured forth from his mouth. “I don't have time or energy to do the things people my age do, to even pretend to be normal. And I know how important this work is and I'm not complaining about that, but sooner or later, I'm going to screw up and someone will notice and then I'll just be another hungry mouth trying to survive out here.” His hands were trembling. “I'm sorry, I'm not trying to back out of our deal, it's…it's just a lot.”
To his astonishment, the king responded not with a reprimand but with a smile. “There be many boys in this world,” the king said gently, “and few real men. I know this is hard for you. Take this one girl, Emery, and then I wait before I send another. When the ones I send already are healthy, ready to help you in this work, I send more, and then only if you wish it. But she is here and she will die soon, so I ask you for this one last favor.”
Emery's agreement was a foregone conclusion, and the king knew him well enough to know this. “Can she even walk?” Emery asked wearily.
The king nodded. “I have one of my servants make her a drink. It will give her strength enough for the journey back. I would let her stay here until you have the medicine, but Emery, she die soon unless you feed her. We give her what we can, but when we have nothing, we have nothing to give.”
“I don't envy you your kingdom,” Emery said. Already he felt horrible for his outburst; the abundance of hardship here made a mockery of his own troubles. “Alright, I'll take her, but only if you're sure she'll make it back. We're going through the sewers, and it'll feel like a waste if all of us drown because we have to carry her.”
They were interrupted by Green's voice as he reentered the chamber: “Well, that's taken care of.”
Each lock of hair had been affixed to a small stone, joined, apparently, by some foul-smelling liquid whose origin Emery had no intention of discerning. The gateman snapped them in two one after the other, putting half of each of in his pocket. He tied the other halves to pieces of twine and handed them to their respective owners. “Wear them around your necks,” he said. “Don't ever take them off. Sleep with them on, and don't bathe because for all I know they could stop your heart if they get wet.” When Emery produced the expression Green had been hoping to see, the latter added, “That was a joke. I'm almost positive they won't stop your heart.”
Emery reluctantly put the amulet around his neck. The stone rested uncomfortably against the rings of his Unity necklace; he had forgotten until now that he was even wearing the latter beneath his shirt. “How will we know when you send the signal?”
“They'll get warm,” Green said. “Or vibrate, or something—hell, I don't know. I guess I could have spent more time on them, but I thought you'd prefer the suspense.”
Emery felt a fleeting disappointment at the realization that he could not strike the gateman dead with a glance. He turned back to the king. “Your majesty,” he said, ignoring the strong feeling that he didn't want to hear the answer, “How is Manuel these days? Timothy is the first arrival from outside who didn't bring a letter from him, so I was wondering if he was okay.”
Timothy stirred at his side; he didn't ask for details, but Emery was sure the younger boy was curious.
The king paused, and that moment of silence confirmed his suspicion. “He perish,” the king said. “Just a month ago.” Emery slumped. “Until the day he die,” the king continued, “he always spoke highly of you. Always told everyone he was the one who found you, who led you to me. He took great pride in you.”
“Actually,” the gateman said, “he never shut up about it. You were Blue's pride and joy. We were all just damn grateful he never had kids of his own, the way he went on about you after only a month.”
“Thanks, Emery said. Do…do you know how it happened?”
“Stabbed to death,” the king said, and his face darkened. He paused again, looking conflicted.
“Stabbed?” Emery asked, knowing the king would hear: stabbed by whom?
The lines in the old man's face seemed to grow deeper. “By Three Dogs.”
Emery closed his eyes, wishing he could undo his having heard the name. The mission before him had appeared hard enough without this complication. He inhaled deeply and forced himself to look at the king again. “I'm sorry,” he said.
“As am I.” The king bowed his head slightly. “But do not forget the living for the dead, Emery Scott. Were Manuel still here, he not ask for vengeance but for you to keep saving lives.”
Emery nodded. “I won't do anything rash. Your majesty, do you ever fight back against these people?”
“Outside your city,” the king replied, “my sons and daughters lose their lives to dogs every day. There is in Rittenhouse an animal called the dog, but he is small and timid, and your rich keep him as a pet. You yourself told me this.”
Emery nodded.
“Why do you think this dog is so kind to his master?”
“I'm not sure, your majesty.”
The king smiled, more darkly than before. “Because he lack the strength to be cruel.”
Emery nodded again, unsure of what to say.
“We will see each other soon,” the king said. “Take care, Emery. When we find you a way to Three Dogs, we let you know. Be ready.”
“I will.” Emery bowed again. “It's always a pleasure, your majesty.”
“Well,” Green said, “Come on. Time to meet your travel buddy.”
