by Devon Monk
The crowd flashed white lights and roared even louder. They threw white feathers tied to glass jewels onto the field until the ground seemed to be covered in snow.
Her history rolled, showing stitches of brown, silver, black, and white.
January leading an army of medical staff into the walled-off city of Mumbai, January climbing bombed-out signal towers to patch communications, January digging through ancient ruins, diving for wrecks, and recovering the lost Leonardo. January smiling and posing with heads of Houses, famous stars, scientists, and children.
And, finally, January standing next to Kiana White.
Abraham was next. The crowd cheered, “Seventh, Seventh, Seventh.” The door opened.
I rocked up on my tiptoes, held my breath, and searched for him in the shadows.
The announcers paused. He should be walking through the door; Abraham should be on the field.
The screen filled with his image, a warrior leading the other galvanized across the rubble of a city, and then it froze.
“Elwa,” I said, wondering for the first time if the earpiece worked both ways. “Can you hear me? Is Abraham here? Should I do something?”
The chanting faded, the cheering faltered. Voices rose into a buzz of concern. The screen went blank and the announcers in my ear rattled on about how unusual this was, and they were certain the situation would be solved soon.
“Elwa,” I said again. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, darling,” she said. “Stay where you are.”
“Can I help?” I asked. “Should I go down there?”
No answer.
The crowd had worked itself up. The announcers continued with their soothing commentary, but even up this high, behind glass, I could feel the crowd shifting.
Someone booed; more people joined in.
“Brace yourself, Matilda,” Elwa said, sounding rattled.
A movement in the shadow behind the door caught my eye.
I must not have been the only person who saw it. The cameras zoomed in and the blank screens were filled with that door, those shadows, and the figure who walked out of them.
Abraham Seventh. He wore a long gray coat covering him from neck to boot. The only stitches visible were those edging his face, and they were dripping in blood.
The crowd exploded in a cheer and the announcers started into their prewritten speech about Abraham’s exploits. The screen flashed with images of him, but I could not take my eyes off the man who walked the field.
At first I thought he was taking his time around the field for show. But after he had crossed a short distance, he began limping.
The crowd noticed it too. Cheers shifted again to strained muttering.
Before he even reached halfway around the stadium, he stumbled and fell.
No.
I didn’t pause, couldn’t stand aside. My heart was pounding with fear.
I ran out of the room and down the hall, jogging the switchbacks that took me down and around the underwork of the stadium, to the door that emptied out onto the field.
He had to be alive. Galvanized couldn’t die, right?
Even before I reached the field, I saw the galvanized from the other Houses running to help Abraham or already at his side, doing what they could to shield his body from the cameras while they helped him sit.
He was unconscious. But there was something else wrong with him. Something much worse.
He didn’t seem to be tied together right, as if pieces of him had loosened, been torn away. They were propping him up to sitting, but one of his arms was too low, not just dislocated out of the shoulder socket, but no longer attached to him at all. His torso sat wrong on his hips; his legs weren’t moving.
If they weren’t holding his head, I thought it might fall off his shoulders.
He shuddered, convulsing.
The crowd gasped, screamed.
I ran for him.
Voices yelled in my ear, voices yelled around me. I didn’t listen to any of them. Abraham was falling apart. Dying. Had this been Reeves’ plan? To kill Abraham?
I had promised to stand aside while the event played out. But I couldn’t let this happen.
“Let me through. Let me see him.”
Dotty stood in front of me and pushed her palms against my shoulders to make me stop.
“Listen to me, Matilda,” she said, low and quick. “He’s hurt. He’s falling apart. That means he’s been attacked by a House head with Shelley dust. We are going to take care of him as best we can.”
“Let me touch him,” I said, “I can help.”
“If you touch him, he will feel his body dying. He will feel his skin tearing, his bones breaking. If you touch him, you will bring him agony. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded, the shock and reality of what was happening mixing up with all the confusion and raw fury in me.
Foster was doing the most to support Abraham, and Clara was on her knees, a lavender-robed angel talking to him, comforting him.
I would make it worse, make him worse.
“Matilda!” Elwa’s voice screeched in my ear. “Get off the field now.”
I jerked my head up, expecting death to be riding down on me.
The crowd was silent. They were on their feet, and my startled face was on every screen around the arena.
The announcers in my ear called me the woman in gray. They couldn’t believe I was galvanized. They thought I had to be a fan, that my stitches were so fine and beautiful that they would not be strong enough to hold a real galvanized together.
“Off the field,” Elwa said again. “Matilda, darling, now.”
I pulled my shoulders back. Yes, I’d revealed myself, but if my getting off the field would make it so Abraham could get medical attention, then that’s what I’d do.
The crowd cheered. I glanced over my shoulder.
Somehow, impossibly, they had gotten Abraham onto his feet.
He looked over at me, his gaze pleading me not to go.
Hell to everything. If I stayed, was I breaking my deal with Reeves Silver? If I left, was I breaking the deal?
Which action would keep my brother safe, my grandmother safe? Leaving Abraham? Leaving House Gray?
Reeves hadn’t asked me to leave. He’d just asked me not to get in the way of whatever happened today. I glanced up, looking for Quinten. He was still there, still standing between the men in the stands.
So maybe I hadn’t blown this deal yet.
I took a step toward Abraham.
“Stop this event.” A voice echoed across the arena, silencing the crowd, silencing the announcers. “I am Robert Twelfth, the galvanized of House Orange. As of this moment, I am also standing as head of House Orange. Stop this event. Immediately.”
Screens filled with his image. Robert Twelfth, Abraham’s friend who had been acting so strangely. Abraham’s friend whom Neds had said wasn’t who he appeared to be.
“Slater Orange has been murdered,” he said.
A cry rose from the crowd, drowning out the voices in my ear.
“His blood is on the hands of House Gray.”
A second cry rose from the crowd.
Abraham weakly pushed away from the others. Even though he should have fallen, he remained standing. I didn’t know how he did it.
“What proof do you have against House Gray?” he asked, his voice picked up and amplified by the recording devices.
“My eyes, my word, and my witness.” The screen flickered, and Robert’s image was replaced by a recording of Abraham walking over to the bed where Slater Orange sat. In one smooth motion, Abraham pulled a gun and shot Slater Orange.
The crowd screamed and cried out.
Men and women dressed in House Black flooded the field. House Black, Defense, coming to arrest Abrah
am. Coming to take him away.
Buck was already on the field, heading toward Abraham.
And then another voice called out: Oscar Gray.
“The accusation of House Gray will not be tolerated.” There was no need for the camera to search Oscar out. He strode onto the field through another door, wearing a fine-cut gray suit and coat.
The forces from House Black paused and created a ring around Oscar and the galvanized, facing outward to halt the restless crowd that looked ready to jump the stands.
Every person in the stadium was on their feet.
“Robert Twelfth,” Oscar said, as he strode toward Abraham, “House Gray does not recognize your right to speak for House Orange without the proper procedures in place. This matter will be brought into the private audience of the Houses immediately. Remove yourself from this arena and join us there.”
“Agreed and accepted,” Welton Yellow’s voice said over the speakers.
Eight other voices—the heads of the Houses—including Reeves Silver, also agreed and accepted Oscar Gray’s request for a private audience to find out what was going on.
The crowd’s voices rose in heightened chatter. If I ran now to find Quinten, would anyone miss me?
“Matilda.” Oscar waved me over, then turned to Abraham, helping him stay on his feet. Abraham looked even worse than a moment ago, as if standing on his own had taken the last of his strength.
Too late, I saw the figure in black step in front of me. She was compact, her silver stitches glinting in the shadow of the black hood she wore.
Helen Eleventh? Why was she wearing black? Too late, I saw the gun in her hand. Too late, I saw her aim.
In less than a second, she unloaded the bullets into Oscar Gray.
32
Edith Case sent the encoded message. She begged House Gray for help. They must find her husband, Dr. Case. They must find her daughter, Matilda, hidden away on a strange little farm that appeared on no map. They must hurry, while there was still time to save the world.—2199
—from the journal of Lara Unger Case
Chaos.
Helen ran as the arena filled with screams and shouting and people. Buck Eighth pounded after her and took her down, holding her pinned to the ground.
More people were filling the field, screaming, panicking. Over it all, an announcer’s voice told people to stay calm, to file out in an orderly manner, and that the situation was under control.
Only the situation very much wasn’t under control.
I ran to Oscar, to Abraham. The galvanized were trying to help them both, and hold off the panicked crowd that had jumped the barriers and were running across the field. A dozen or so people dressed in white—House Medical—were half a field away and pushing to get through the confusion of people to Oscar.
House Black did all they could to hold the human wall around the wounded, standing shoulder to shoulder and facing outward, to keep Oscar and Abraham from being trampled.
“Please,” I said. “I’m House Gray. Please let me see them.”
Two people shifted enough I could slip between them.
Clara and Vance knelt beside Oscar, performing CPR.
Abraham lay unconscious a few feet from where Oscar had fallen. His skin was a sickly mottle of black and yellow, his features swollen and bruised.
My heart was pounding so hard, my head buzzing.
They say galvanized are immortal. But I didn’t know how Abraham could survive this.
I hurried over and knelt beside Oscar.
Clara was doing what she could to compress the bullet wound, and Vance was pumping Oscar’s chest to try to keep his heart beating.
But neither of them were speaking.
I gently touched Oscar’s cheek. “You’re going to be all right,” I said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
His glassy eyes rolled and focused on me kneeling over him. “Save . . .” he breathed, “Abraham . . .”
“We will,” I said, trying to smile though tears filled my eyes. “He’s fine. Just keep breathing, Oscar. We need you. We need you to just keep breathing.”
His mouth worked around words, but no sound came out. Then he smiled, as if trying to reassure me that he was okay.
“Oscar?” I said. His eyes rolled back into his head and a sudden and complete stillness spread over him.
Vance cursed, and Clara quietly prayed.
The world blurred through tears. He couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t be dead. Oscar was too kind, too good to be ended by petty violence.
Killed while I stood by and let it happen.
Dotty was suddenly behind me. She put her hand on my shoulder and helped me to my feet.
“What can I do?” I asked Dotty. “Can they save him? Can they bring him back?”
“We won’t give up on Oscar until it is medically impossible to revive him. I’m sorry, Matilda, I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
“Abraham?” I asked, looking wildly for him.
“Abraham can’t die, no matter how badly he’s injured. But there has never been a House assassination,” she said. “Not in all the time since the Restructure. For two to happen in one day?” She shook her head and swallowed hard.
“What now?” I asked.
“I don’t know. If the allegations are proven true against Abraham, he will not be allowed to survive. His brain will be locked away in storage, his body dismantled.” She nodded, her lips white at the edges, her eyes wide with fear.
But her voice didn’t betray the horrors she was so matter-of-factly telling me. “The Houses will demand justice. I believe things will become very dark for the galvanized and for you. At the best, at the very best, you will be claimed by House Orange in payment for House Gray killing Slater Orange.
“There will be a testimony and trial, but the Houses err on the side of brutal punishment when it comes to the galvanized, and I am sure they will do so now. Even if Abraham is innocent, Helen is not. It is possible we will all bear their guilt.”
“Everyone? All the galvanized will be punished?”
“Our treaty with the mortals, our trust with the Houses, has been gravely damaged. Under no circumstances—none—are we allowed to injure a head of House. I don’t think anything will be the same again. Our world is gone. It is too late now. Too late for all of us.”
She gave me a sad smile, then turned to help the other galvanized with Oscar and Abraham.
The medical people pushed into the circle, hurrying over to Oscar with cases of equipment.
I had lost Oscar before really knowing him. I had lost Abraham and this new life that I might have learned to love. I wanted to fall on my knees and sob.
There was no time for that. But there was plenty of time to fight, to survive.
What resources did I have?
My strength, my brother in the stands, and the scarf around my shoulders.
It wasn’t much.
It would have to do.
I unpinned the scarf, my fingers fumbling through the clasp as more medical people slipped through the ring of House Black around us. Finally got the clasp free. I quickly unknotted the end of the yarn and pulled. The yarn ticked as it slipped free of each knotted stitch.
Time slowed, stopped.
My heart was beating the same, well, faster now since I was facing a future of pain and punishment and might, by these decisions, be sealing my grandmother and brother’s death.
People around me froze in place.
Even the slight breeze and sounds ground down to a halt. Except for me.
I pulled the stitches as slowly as possible as I walked over to Abraham. I bent and deadlifted him into a fireman’s carry. I pulled yarn while I hurried out of the stadium. I set him down outside. I only had two feet of scarf left.
“I’ll be right back.” I r
an into the stadium, then up the stairs, only pulling on the yarn when I thought I saw someone move. I needed time. Much more than I had.
Quinten was easy to pull away from the two men who guarded him, lift, and carry outside. By the time I made it clear of the stadium and around the corner to where I’d left Abraham, the scarf was gone.
The world suddenly snapped back into motion. The earth shook beneath me as if a giant had struck it with his fist and the sky cracked with thunder and copper lightning.
I stumbled. Fell onto my knees with Quinten, the smells, sounds, and motion slamming into me all at once, overwhelming and painful.
“Matilda?” Quinten said, startled. It took him half a second to grasp the situation: me on my knees, him on the ground next to Abraham, who wasn’t moving.
“We have to get out of here,” I said. “Can you walk?”
“Yes,” he sat, brushed his coat, and got on his feet, pulling me into a rough hug. “I thought I’d never see you again, little sister. What took you so long? No, never mind. We need to go.” He released me, then took a step, his hand held out for me.
“I won’t leave him.”
Quinten looked down at the mess that was Abraham.
“We can’t take him.”
“He’ll be tortured.”
Quinten frowned, then pressed his fingers against his lips the way he did when he was thinking through possibilities.
“They’ll know he’s gone any second now,” I said.
“Carry him. Can you?”
“Yes.” I picked him up again, and this time he groaned. Since time wasn’t paused, my contact caused him pain.
I knew galvanized couldn’t die. I was just hoping he might go unconscious and spare himself some suffering.
We started running.
“Money?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“Weapons?”
“Knife. You?”
“No.”
“Boston Sue is working for House Silver,” I said as we jogged down an alley to a street and another alley. “She’s looking after Grandma.”
“That’s delightful,” he said. “Why did you claim House Gray? Why did you even leave the farm?”
