“Can you hack into the SBN news feed and broadcast this?” Sigur asks.
Juno shakes her head. “We already tried.”
“The government’s somehow jamming any signals going into or out of the city,” Stuart explains. “We can’t broadcast anything, unless it’s within the city limits.”
The video footage cuts to an image of a young couple hunched over a tiny figure lying in a pool of blood. Everyone in the room falls silent as the crying mother faces the camera.
“Why aren’t you helping us, Phoenix?” the woman sobs into the camera. “We supported you, and this is how you repay us? You’ve abandoned us!”
Juno mutes the digital screen, but it’s no good—I can still hear the woman’s words ringing in my head.
Roach strikes her palm against the com-desk. “We need to be out there, fighting!”
“But what about Polly?” Natalie says. “If we interfere, she’ll be killed.”
“And what about all those people who supported us yesterday?” Roach says. “They’ll be killed if we don’t act now. We have a duty to protect them.”
“Can’t we just wait until we know where Polly is?” Natalie says.
“Every minute we waste, more people are being taken,” Roach replies. “Is your sister’s life really worth more than theirs?”
Natalie lowers her blond lashes. “Do what you have to,” she says quietly, getting up from her seat. “If you need me, I’ll be upstairs.”
She leaves the room, and Day and Amy hurry after her.
Elijah stands up. “Excuse me, but I need to make a phone call.”
“You can use the telephone in my office,” Sigur says.
“Thanks,” Elijah replies, walking out of the room.
The others start planning our attack while I wander over to the window and gaze up at the sky.
A Transporter carrying another batch of prisoners cuts through the clouds of ash that hang over the city, making it rain with black snow. The aircraft is an armored tiltwing, nearly one hundred feet long and big enough to carry up to fifty passengers at a time. Painted in large, bright red letters on the side of the ship are its name and number. This one’s called Marianne 705. Nearby, a second Transporter called Roselyn 401 flies up to another Destroyer Ship hovering over the Park. I’m guessing the name relates to the Destroyer Ship the aircraft belongs to, and the number distinguishes it from the others in its fleet.
The giant digital screens across the city blink, and Polly’s image appears on the monitors again. She looks petrified. I tear my eyes away from her, ridden with guilt, knowing we’re about to sentence her to death by defying Purian Rose’s orders. God, are we doing the right thing?
Beetle catches my eye as I return to the com-desk and gives me a sympathetic look. This isn’t easy on him either; he’s gotten to know Polly well these past two months, since she moved in with Day’s family. I try to listen to the others as they discuss our plan to strike the Transporters, but I can’t concentrate. My eyes drift toward the muted video footage that Stuart took this morning, still playing on the digital screen. Families are being torn apart; people are being killed. You’re doing this for the greater good. There’s more at stake here than Polly’s life. Still, it’s a bitter pill to swallow when I see her terrified image broadcast across the city every hour.
Something Stuart said earlier suddenly flashes into my mind: The government’s somehow jamming any signals going into or out of the city . . .
I jerk bolt upright in my seat, alarming everyone.
“If the government’s blocking all broadcast signals coming into and out of Black City, how are they showing the live footage of Polly?” I say.
Everyone’s silent for a moment, then Stuart grins.
“The signal has to be coming from somewhere in the city!” he says.
“Where?” Beetle asks.
“Sentry headquarters?” Juno suggests.
“No, we’ve broken in there before,” I say. “It needs to be somewhere they know we can’t get access to.”
My mind races. If I had to keep Polly in the city, but somewhere out of reach, where would be the best place to hide her? The answer hits me. I peer toward the window.
“She’s in a Destroyer Ship,” I say.
11.
NATALIE
I CURL UP on the leather chair beside the stone hearth in Sigur’s office and watch the yellow flames as they dance in the fireplace. Amy and Day sit cross-legged on the antique rug in front of me, giving me concerned looks. It’s clear neither of them knows what to say, but what can they say? I’ve basically just signed my sister’s death warrant. I blink, and the flames blur through my tears.
“Maybe the rescue team will find her,” Amy says hopefully.
Pain knots inside my chest, and I try to knead it away with my fist, but it doesn’t work. I let out a pitiful groan and crumple in on myself, finally allowing myself to cry. Day rushes over, putting her arms around me.
I cling to her, hating myself for betraying Polly, and hating Purian Rose for tearing my family apart. Again. How can he do this to his own daughter? Would he save her if he knew the truth? Somehow I doubt it.
The door opens.
“Sorry,” Elijah says when he sees us. “I was going to make a call. It can wait.”
I wipe my eyes. “No, it’s fine. Come in.”
Elijah hesitates, then crosses the room toward Sigur’s desk. I try not to listen in on his hushed conversation with his father.
“Any news about your mother?” I ask when he hangs up.
He shakes his head.
“Your father must be worried about her,” I say. “I’m surprised she didn’t tell him where she was going.”
“They’re not together anymore,” Elijah explains. “My mom hates him. They rarely speak.”
I bite my lip. Good one, Natalie.
“Do you have Lucinda’s letter with you?” I say.
He takes it out of his pocket.
“Come on, let’s try and work out where your mother is,” I say, in desperate need of a distraction before my guilt over Polly threatens to devour me.
We gather armfuls of encyclopedias, atlases and old nautical charts from the shelves, then carry them back to the rug beside the hearth and sit down in a circle. Elijah places the letter on the floor between us. Day’s glasses keep sliding down her nose as she reads.
“So Lucinda’s gone to meet the twins,” she says. “Who are they?”
Elijah shrugs. “Mom never mentioned she knew any twins.”
“Well, the city they’ve gone to definitely starts with an m and ends with an r,” Day says. “And given that only a few letters are stained, we’re looking for a place-name that’s five or six letters long.”
“Okay, everyone look through the books and see if you can find anything that matches,” I say.
Elijah picks up one of the books. I’m sure he’s done this already, but without anything else to go on, it’s all we can do. Maybe he missed something.
I pick up an old atlas and flip through the yellowed, musty pages, scanning the tiny print for any reference to a city that could match the name in Lucinda’s letter. With every book I get through, desperation rises in me, my desire to save Polly getting muddled with the need to help Elijah. I furiously throw the last book across the room and sink my head in my hands, taking a few deep breaths.
“You all right?” Elijah asks.
I nod, drawing my hair back into a bun. “I didn’t find anything that matched. Only Maize, Mercury, Majesty, Monns Peninsula and Molten Lake.”
“Same here,” Elijah replies, tossing his book on the pile.
“Me too,” Day says.
“I found a place called Mountain Shade on one of the older maps,” Amy says. “But I don’t think the town exists anymore, after Mount Alba erupted.”
>
Elijah’s face crumples, the last glimmer of hope gone.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking his hand.
The study door opens, and Ash and Beetle enter. They’re both breathless.
“There you are!” Ash says.
His sparkling black eyes flicker toward my hand, which is clasped around Elijah’s. I let go.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“We’ve worked out where Polly is,” Ash says.
I stand up, my heart leaping. “What? Where?”
“She’s in one of the Destroyer Ships over the Park,” Beetle replies. “Ash and Stuart worked it out.”
“He was able to trace the signal to the airship Roselyn,” Ash adds.
I run over to Ash and throw my arms around his neck, kissing him passionately. A tremendous weight lifts off my heart; we can save Polly!
He breaks the kiss. “It’s not going to be easy getting her back.”
“But we’ll try, right?” I say.
He nods. “The others have already started planning the rescue mission.”
Beetle nudges the pile of books on the floor with his boot. “What are you guys doing?”
“We’re trying to work out where Lucinda and Elijah’s mom have gone,” Day replies.
“But we can’t find any cities that match the place referenced in the letter,” Amy says. “We’ve looked through everything.”
“Maybe it’s a code name,” Beetle suggests.
“Oh!” Day exclaims, jumping up. “Oh!” she says again.
“What did I say?” Beetle asks.
“Sshh, I’m thinking,” Day says, pacing in front of the fireplace. She snaps her fingers. “I’ve got it! It’s the city’s nickname.”
Amy and Elijah exchange confused looks.
“Come on, guys,” she says, grinning. “Centrum’s nickname is the Gilded City—”
“Viridis is the Vertical City!” Elijah chimes in.
“And Thrace is the Mirror City!” She gives us all a smug look as she sits down.
“How do you know all this?” Beetle asks, impressed.
“Some of us actually paid attention in geography.”
“Oh, yeah,” Beetle mutters.
Ash furrows his brow. “Did you say Thrace was the Mirror City?”
“Yeah,” Day replies.
He jogs out of the room and returns a few minutes later carrying a leather-bound journal. He takes out a photograph and shows it to us. It’s a picture of two Darkling girls—I assume they’re Ash’s mother and aunt—standing beside a young barmaid in a wheelchair and a stunning girl with honey-colored eyes wearing a hooded green robe.
“That picture was taken in a tavern in Thrace,” Ash says.
“That’s my mom!” Elijah says, pointing to the girl in the green robe.
“Look on the back,” Ash says.
Elijah flips it over. “T4K, Thrace . . . T4K? The Four Kingdoms!”
Day looks at the photo. “Huh. I thought the Four Kingdoms were about uniting the four races, but there’s no Lupine in the picture.”
“Maybe the Lupine was the one holding the camera?” Ash suggests.
I take the picture from him. “Do you think this is where your mother has gone to meet Lucinda?”
“It’s very possible,” Elijah says, grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s not much to go on,” Ash admits. “I don’t even know the name of the tavern.”
“It’s more than I had yesterday,” Elijah says, looking at the young barmaid in the photograph. “She might know where my mom and Lucinda went to fetch the Ora.”
“So we have a plan,” Ash says. “We go to Thrace and find the barmaid?”
We all nod in agreement.
I look at Ash, and he returns a smile—we’re both having the same thought. If we can find Lucinda, and persuade her to give us the Ora, maybe we’ll finally have a way to bring down Purian Rose. I’m coming round to the idea of using the weapon against the Sentry, after they kidnapped my sister, bombed Ember Creek and then threatened everyone in Black City.
But first we have more pressing business to attend to.
I’m going to rescue Polly.
12.
NATALIE
I GLANCE UP at the sky toward the airship that’s been my sister’s prison for the past two days. Roselyn. It’s such a pretty name, considering what it is. Roach did a recon mission last night and worked out that our best shot of getting onto the Destroyer Ship is to board one of the Transporters parked on Union Street. Ash gives me a cuddle, kissing the top of my head as I try to calm my nerves. Polly needs me to be brave right now.
We’re hidden down a side alley, near Union Street. The city around us is in chaos. People are screaming and running in all directions; there’s a pop of gunfire every few minutes; and we catch sight of several Lupine packs stalking the streets, on the hunt for their next victims.
“Okay, let’s go over the plan one more time,” Ash says.
He goes through the plan again with Elijah and Stuart while Harold helps me with my robe, since my hands are shaking too much to tie the belt.
Elijah lets out a weary sigh.
“I’m sorry. Am I boring you?” Ash says.
Elijah shrugs. “A little.”
Ash glowers at him, opening his mouth to say something, but I shoot him a warning look. Elijah’s doing us a massive favor by helping us out today, and I don’t want to upset him, since he’s a key part of the plan. Ash relents, muttering curses under his breath instead.
Harold binds our hands with rope, keeping the knots loose enough for us to break free when we need to. Then comes the bit I’m really not looking forward to: he puts the burlap sacks over our heads. Immediately I feel suffocated and want to tear the hood off, but somehow I manage to restrain myself. Two small holes have been cut in the sack, so I can just about see what’s going on directly in front of me, which is better than nothing.
“This sack stinks of fish,” Elijah whines, his voice muffled.
“I thought cats liked seafood,” Stuart replies.
Nerves start to kick in, and I ball my bound hands into fists.
“Let’s do this,” I mumble through the sack.
Harold guides us to Union Street and herds us into the steady stream of people being ushered toward the prison Transporter Roselyn 401. Through the open hatch at the back of the ship, I can see long rows of metal benches with shackles to lock onto our feet. There’s only one window right at the front of the aircraft, so the pilot can see where he’s going. There’s a mesh grille between him and the prisoners for protection.
Four armed Sentry guards wait by the hatch, loading the prisoners onto the Transport and handing out Evacuation Passes to the traitors bringing them in. One of the guards, a slim man in his fifties with close-cropped silver hair, waves a hand.
“Next,” he says.
A man shoves two dark-skinned girls toward the aircraft. They can’t be more than seven and ten years old. Fury surges through me, thinking about what that man did to get hold of those little girls. Are their parents dead? The younger of the two girls trips, and he roughly hauls her to her feet. She starts crying. A smack across the cheek silences her, and it takes all my strength not to run over to that man and punch him in the face.
“Name?” the silver-haired guard says.
“Greer, Adrian,” the man says. “I brought a nipper here earlier today; it should be against my name.”
The guard scans the list and then shakes his head.
“That’s fragging ridiculous! I brought it here just three hours ago. Give me my Evacuation Pass!” the man yells, his face turning red.
“If you don’t shut it, I’ll hand you over to the Lupines,” the silver-haired guard says to the man.
The man storms off, escorted by
two Sentry guards to ensure he doesn’t cause any trouble.
“Next,” the silver-haired guard says, bored.
We take another step forward, and that’s when I see him.
Sebastian.
I didn’t notice him earlier, because my hood blocks my peripheral vision. He’s carrying a handheld com-screen and is making a note of the prisoners as they board the Transporter, like we’re inventory.
“Harold—” I begin.
“I’ve seen him,” he mutters.
“Will he recognize you?”
“He’s only ever seen me without a beard, so I don’t think so,” Harold says.
I try to steady my growing nerves. There’s no reason Sebastian should recognize Harold, not dressed in Workboot clothes and wearing a full, gray beard. The line continues to shuffle toward the aircraft.
“Next,” the silver-haired guard says.
“Good luck,” Harold whispers as we step forward.
I can’t see Sebastian anymore, but I know he’s to my left. Every hair on my arms stands on end, sensing him. I can even smell his spicy aftershave; the scent brings back memories of our time in Centrum together, when we spent hours kissing on my bed. I push that revolting thought out of my head.
“Name,” the guard says.
“H—James,” he quickly corrects, trying to disguise his mistake with a cough. “James Madden.”
I daren’t turn my head to see Sebastian’s reaction to Harold’s slipup.
“How many are you transporting?” the guard says.
“Three,” he replies, giving our false names.
The guard checks the list and nods approvingly. He passes Harold an Evacuation Pass. “Enjoy your train ride.”
Harold mutters his thanks and turns to leave.
“Wait.” Sebastian’s voice comes from my left.
My heart flips.
“Can I help, sir?” Harold says.
“Have we met before?” Sebastian asks.
Panic rises up inside me, every instinct telling me to run. If Sebastian works out who we are, he’ll kill us, I’m certain of it.
“No . . . no, I don’t think so,” Harold says. “I work at Chantilly Lane Market. Maybe you’ve visited my stall?”
Phoenix Page 9
