Soleil

by Jacqueline Garlick

  “Well, isn’t that brilliant,” I say. Urlick frowns. “Well, it is.”

  He inspects the upper side of the wings.

  “I added purifiers to the struts,” Martin explains, seeing Urlick’s curious expression. “The air travelling through them spins the fans.”

  “Is there anything else?” Urlick raises a jealous eyebrow.

  “Just one thing.” Martin clicks a lever on the handlebars. “He can fly backwards, as well as forward.”

  Urlick’s brows crinkle. “What for?”

  “No reason. Just thought it made him more genuinely bat-like.”

  “I see.” Urlick smirks back at me, then tugs at the points of his waistcoat. “I take it, otherwise he operates the same?”

  “Yes, sir. ‘E is Bertie’s clone to a ‘T’,” C.L. says.

  “Then we shall call him Bertie Junior,” I declare, patting his head. “Bertie J. for short.”

  “That’s wonderful.” C.L. puff out his chest. He’s about to burst with pride, I can tell, so is Martin. They’ve given us a great gift, they truly have.

  Urlick gestures for me to board the cycle. We’re running out of time. The winds pick up at our backs, sneaking through the trees, rustling the leaves and creeping up the drive toward us, reminding us of our need to get on with things. I mount the cycle as Urlick busily fastens our packs full of weaponry and supplies, to the fancy iron grappling hooks affixed to the cycle’s back fenders. I climb settle onto my seat as Urlick plops down in front of me, rising up again to jumpstart the bike. The motor sputters to life, more noisily than Bertie’s ever did, but at least it’s working.

  “I’ll fix that when you come back,” Martin shouts over the clatter.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Urlick pulls back on the throttle. “It’s wonderful!”

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t be comin’ with yous, sir?” Masheck shouts over the engine, jogging along besides us as we pull slowly away. “We could travel aboard Clementine, after a day to fix ‘er wings.”

  “No need,” Urlick shouts back over his shoulder, clicking the cycle into second gear. “I need you here to look after things. If winds get worse get the townspeople into shelters, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, and Masheck…” Urlick steers the cycle around, looping Masheck in a slow tight turn. “If Eyelet and I are not back in three days, come looking for us.”

  Looking for us? The intensity in Urlick’s eyes is unnerving. Why did he say that? What does he know that I don’t?

  “Will do, sir.” Masheck nods, and we’re away, motor buzzing, engine rattling, bumping along out of the drive—my heart lodged in my throat.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Eyelet

  THE CYCLE HANDLES WONDERFULLY, thank goodness, considering it’s only just been assembled over the past few days. We ride along in silence, Urlick pedaling, my arms wrapped tightly around his middle, the purified air threading wildly through our hair.

  Criminals’ teeth chatter in the not so distant trees. I wish Martin had added some sort of contraption to the cycle to reduce the chance of being ambushed by them.

  We could fly, but it’s too risky, considering it’s Flossie and her merry band of worshipers number-one mode of transportation. No use giving them the opportunity to spot us straight away. Urlick and I had decided to reserve flying for the most treacherous parts of the journey.

  I look down at the ring glinting on my finger, my hand firmly clasped to Urlick’s frock. So much joy, and so little time to enjoy it. We’ll make the better of that when we return, I vow silently, in an effort to slow the ever-increasing pace of my nervous heart.

  I turn and catch sight of two flashing red beams of light in the bushes.

  “Urlick!” I pull on his sleeve and point to the right.

  Urlick swerves, avoiding the area altogether. I feel a slight pang of relief, until another pod shows itself on the right. “The woods are crawling with them.”

  “It’ll be all right.” Urlick zooms on ahead, forcing the cycle through a thicket of saplings. We bump and skid, slide off a stump, and fishtail slightly before regaining our balance.

  My stomach clenches as another band of red lights illuminates in front of us.

  Urlick spins the cycle around and heads in the opposite direction.

  “They seem to be tracking us,” he shouts over his shoulder. “Like they know our direction before I know it.”

  Something glints, flickering off the bark of the trees as we sail past. Urlick’s head cranks around. “It’s your ring,” he shouts. “It’s drawing them to us.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  I look down, seeing the diamonds flashing in the sprays of dim light that seep in through the treetops. Quickly, I turn it around on my hand, but it’s not enough. The gold is flashing in the light, too.

  “Get rid of it!” Urlick shouts.

  “What?”

  “Get rid of it!”

  Criminals close in on the right and the left.

  “I’ll get you another! Just throw it away!”

  “But I can’t!”

  “You must!”

  Criminals have surrounded us on either side now, their chattering teeth louder than the sound of the engine. I look back to see a group behind us, and a group forming ahead.

  “Now, Eyelet! Do it!”

  Reluctantly, I pull it from my finger, take a long look to etch its beauty in my memory, then throw back my arm and toss it away. It arcs through the forest end over end, shimmering in the light.

  The criminals spring after it, drawn to it like vultures.

  I cannot bear to watch, so I look away, hearing the light ping as it lands, followed by chattering teeth and shouts as the criminals pounce on it.

  “I’m sorry.” Urlick’s breath is jagged. “So sorry.” He glances at me through sorrow-filled eyes and nearly loses control of the cycle.

  “It’s all right.” I bury my head in his back to hide my disappointment, tears leaking from my eyes.

  Another hungry band of criminals appear in front of us, yellow teeth bared.

  “Hold on.” Urlick rises abruptly onto the pedals. “We’re going to have to fly. We’ve no choice.”

  “But Flossie—”

  “We have to risk it. You’re right. They’re everywhere.”

  Before I can say another word, he’s deployed the wings. They flap wildly, striking the ground, and then nicking a tree.

  “We can’t!” I shout. “We need a clearing or we’ll damage the wings!”

  “We haven’t got a clearing,” Urlick shouts. “Nor time to find one. It’s a chance we’re going to have to take, or be eaten.”

  “But the wings—”

  “Stand up when I hit this bump.”

  He pedals faster toward a rock. Shadowy figures linger beyond it.

  Urlick lurches up on the handlebars as I rise to my feet. “Come on, come on!” he coaxes Bertie J. We launch from the rock—and fly only a few feet.

  “Throw off a pack.”

  “What?”

  “Get rid of one the packs. We need less weight, now!”

  “But the weapons—”

  “Do as I say, please, Eyelet!”

  He angles the cycle at another small hill.

  Criminals light the path ahead of it, gnashing their teeth.

  I choose the pack I feel is the least useful, quickly untie it, and toss it over. My stomach sinks as I let go of the strapping.

  Bertie J. lurches upward and his tires leave the ground, but only slightly—not enough to be airborne.

  “Ditch the other!” Urlick shouts.

  “No! We can’t. Have you lost your mind?”

  “Do it. Or we both will!” Urlick hollers over his shoulder, his face ashen. His eyes are two beams of worried pink light.

  I tear open the rope holding the closure, and quickly pluck out its contents one by one, holding back the lighter of the weapons and the gasmasks, praying what I’ve disc
arded will lighten the load enough.

  Bertie J. bumps and flaps and takes to the air, only to come crashing down again.

  “All of it. Quickly!” Urlick shouts.

  I throw aside the miniature rapid-fire cannonball-launcher, the last of our most powerful artillery, holding back the Urlick’s snub-nosed, cannonball steamrifle, and his secret pouch of ammo, and a few other smaller things.

  We jerk up into the air, hovering for one harrowing moment, before at last catching a current.

  Bertie J.’s right wing catches in the trees as we ascend, and we lurch back down for a heart-gulping second before catching the air current and rising again.

  I shudder, glancing down between the trees at the infestation of criminals converging on the place where our tires just left, their angry faces turned upwards. Then they turn on one another. The sounds of gnashing teeth, and the tearing of flesh and breaking of bone, rivet up my spine. I pull close to Urlick on my seat and lay my face to his back.

  Urlick forces Bertie J. into a soaring right curl, and we lift up, up, up… beyond the treetops, under guise of cloud cover. Bertie’s tattered wings flap noisily.

  All we have left to confront Flossie with is a small, steam-powered crossbow, three poison-tipped arrows, eight cherry burst bombs, and Urlick’s snub-nosed, cannonball steamrifle—thank God I spared that— and a few cannonballs. There’s also the blade I stuffed down the side of my boot, and the ladies’ flame-throwing pistol I’d tucked into the purse on my hip, but still, it’s not much to overcome her and her merry band of idiots.

  Though I suppose it could be worse.

  Urlick is shaking—he never shakes. His entire body gyrates hard, as though he’s having an episode. The cycle shudders beneath him, and my heart along with it. It pounds, a violent drum in my ears.

  “That was close.” Urlick at last breathes. “Blasted close.” He looks back at me. “Too bloody, blasted close.”

  We have to land not long after, partly because of Bertie J.’s damaged wing, and partly because we’re both trembling so badly that Urlick’s struggling to control the cycle in the air. A high-pitched squeal comes from the cycle—the sound of a sticky flywheel.

  “We best solve that wing issue while we can,” Urlick says, surveying the ground beneath us.

  We haven’t seen signs of criminals for several leagues now, thankfully. As much as I don’t want to land, I don’t want to crash-land either. We’ll be trapped out here, with no Bertie J. to fly back on. What then?

  “Agreed.” I nod and bury my face again in his jacket, drinking in its familiar worldly scents. Rosewood and cinnamon, with a slight hint of peppermint. I reach into his pocket and find a stash of it.

  “Wouldn’t be a journey without tea.”

  We share a brief smile.

  He spots a clearing up ahead and tips Bertie J.’s wings this way and that, trying to counter the force of the air currents against the damaged one. By the time we land, there isn’t much left of the outer umbrella skin. We bounce to a bumpy stop.

  “What now?” I say.

  “I don’t know.” He deploys the button on the handlebar to retract the wings. They fold back into the fender flawlessly, accordion-like—all but the tip of the torn one. “We’re gonna need to replace the end of that before we try to fly again.”

  “With what?” My voice shakes. I look around at the trees and the rolling mist. It’s not like we can find much out here.

  “Canvas. Cloth. A bumbershoot. Anything.” Urlick’s head swings in time with mine, searching. His eyes tell me he’s come up with nothing as well.

  He tugs the remaining weapons from the single pack left on the grappling hook and considers the material of the pack.

  “Not big enough,” I say. “Besides, we need it to house things.” I stuff the weapons back in and look down at my attire, wishing I’d worn skirts. The jacket and riding pants I wear offer no extra material.

  I gaze around at the forest ahead of us. Through the fog, a sweltering pond, gurgles. Bubbles rise up from its oily surface. The earth around it fumes.

  “Look!” I say. “Fumaroles in the forest floor. We’ve seen this before, haven’t we?” I smile wide at Urlick. “At the base of—”

  “Embers,” he fills in my words.

  The dumping pit at the side of the ravine, we stumbled across on our way to Brethren. Embers great black breath belches up through not so distant trees.

  “That’s it. We’ll find something there.” Urlick drops back down on the cycle.

  He pushes on, pedaling slowly, delicately weaving Bertie J. around blistering ponds, charred crevices, and the remains of three or four melted trees. The canopy overhead grows thinner and thinner as all the trees are charred.

  We pull up next to a rock, out in the open. Most of the landscape around us is dead. I realize then, we can’t be far from where we blew a tire on our way to Brethren the firest time. Only now we’re coming up on the opposite side of the worksite.

  “Wait, Urlick. We won’t have anywhere to hide.” Fear trickles up from the back of my mouth. “We’re coming straight in on the worksite.” I point through the parting curtain of clouds around us, as we dart through the remaining burned out trees.

  “Blast!” Urlick swings left under cover of boulders, the best he can do given the situation. He kills Bertie J.’s engine and pedals on silently. “Do you hear that?” Urlick’s head cranks around, a mixture of worry and exultation in his eyes. He cups a hand to one ear and cautions me to be silent with the other.

  Past the rocks, the sounds of voices carry on gusts of black belching wind. We pull in behind the quarry rock and peer out. Workers from the city are busy unloading carts of junk, just as they were the first time we stumbled upon them.

  “Why would they still be doing that now that Smrt is dead?”

  “I don’t know.” Urlick sighs. “They must be taking orders from someone. And it certainly isn’t me.”

  Torchlight sweeps across us. Urlick ducks to one side, pressing a finger to his lips, and pulls me from the cycle. He stuffs Bertie J. into the trees, grabs my hand, and tugs me behind a jagged pitch of rock. His heart slams against my back.

  He waits for the light to pass then weaves they cycle past a valley of boiling pits toward the jagged slice of escarpment up ahead. We abandon the cycle in a nearby bush, then dash on foot, hunch-backed, across the short opening, traveling under cover of trolling mist. Tucking in behind a nearby rock, we peer out over the remainder of the discarded quarry rock to where the workers are busily dumping Brethren’s factory’s refuse into the pit of Embers.

  A frightened emptiness whirls in my stomach as I press my back to the cold stone. I’m not sure we should be getting so close to the workers. But then again, how are we to steal something to fix the cycle with if we don’t?

  The worker’s voices grow more audible as we inch closer.

  Urlick plasters his back to a tree and reels me to him. I slam hard against his chest, knocking a gulp of wind out of me. Urlick claps his hand to my mouth to keep me silent.

  “What are you doing over ‘ere doing nothin’?” one worker shouts.

  I tremble. He couldn’t have spotted us, could he?

  There’s a rustle in the bushes next to us.

  The worker approaches and pokes some spindly bushes with a long stick. “I said, what are you doin ‘ere doing nothin’?”

  A slight figure sweeps past in my peripheral vision, leaping out of the back of them. “Just ‘ad to wee.” The figure darts forward. The voice is sharp and slightly higher toned than the first worker’s voice.

  The worker laughs. “Takes that long to drain it, does it?”

  I can see him clearly through the separation in the jumble of rock we’re hiding behind, but I still can’t see the one who’d emerged from the bushes.

  “Watchu doing ‘iding behind all these shrubs, anyway? You packin’ somethin’ special?” He narrows his eyes. “Can’t be that shy, now are yuh?” He reaches out and cuffs hi
m, knocking him off balance. “Ain’t no need to be so secretive. Ain’t no one out here but us and some ghouls. Want them to find yuh and nip it off?”

  “No, sir.”

  “All right then, next time you wee like the rest of us, next to the lorries. You hear me?” He gestures toward the trucks parked at the edge of the ravine. “Now get outta ‘ere and get back to yur load. We got six carts to dump before second twilight. No time to be jerkin’ around.”

  “Yes, sir.” The figure bolts forward, snapping a branch underfoot. It’s the first I can see of him clearly. He’s slight in build, and very thin, unlike the brute in charge of him. His dirty face is round and small, with delicate features. “Sir? Whose trucks are they anyway?”

  The boss man’s face curdles. “‘Oo are you to ask, you grimy-faced little imp!” He swats him in the head again, sending him stumbling back, wincing. “Now shut yur mouth and get back to work. If I ever catch you outta bounds again, I’ll feed yuh to the pit!”

  “It’s just that—”

  The boss man raises a fist.

  “Right, sir.” The figure scrambles forward, and pauses to pick up a piece of steel bar from the ground. As he leans down, he glances over, and through the mist we lock gazes, just for a moment.

  I know those eyes. Frightened, I pull my gaze sharply away. My heart thunders in my chest.

  Something familiar pangs deep inside me. It can’t be, can it? The lost memory collides with a cold shot of terror.

  Urlick’s heart pounds against my own as we wait, entangled in an awkward embrace and pressed in between the rocks. We stay that way until we no longer hear footsteps around us.

  I haven’t time to say anything about the glimpse I took of the figure before we’re off again, dashing along under cloud cover. Urlick drags me along by the hand, across the open end of a clearing, stopping only at the other side to give me a hand up the jagged escarpment rock. He tosses me up, then pushes my bottom to give me another boost before leaping up behind me.