The August 5

by Jenna Helland

  “You’re a liar!” Shieldman yelled.

  “Did you take such a reward, Mr. Anderson?” Shore asked, ignoring the outburst.

  “I did not,” Anderson said.

  “You voted for the act!” Shieldman shouted.

  “Richard Shieldman is under arrest,” Colston said. “You’re to be held until such time as a trial is scheduled and your sentence is determined.”

  At those words, Shieldman seemed to deflate. He turned back toward his peers and colleagues, but most averted their eyes from him.

  “First the cottagers, now one of your own?” Shieldman asked the Chamber. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be next?”

  Of course the Zunftmen were afraid they were next, Gavin thought. That was why no one spoke in support of Shieldman. With one hand, Shore had played the fearmonger card while the other hand shelled out rewards to his loyal followers. Shieldman’s earnest idealism was no match for Colston Shore. A guard put his hand on his gun and moved toward Shieldman. Resignation crossed Shieldman’s features, and he let the guards take him into custody without incident. Gavin surveyed the faces of the men as Shieldman was removed from the Chamber. Their expressions ranged from the smugness of the veteran Carvers to the undisguised horror on the faces of the few remaining men who stayed loyal to Hywel. There was fear in many of the new Carvers’ faces as well, but they were doing their best to conceal it.

  When the door of the Chamber slammed shut and Shieldman was out of sight, Kaplan lumbered to his feet and weakly stamped the floor for attention. All heads turned toward the aging adjudicator. Colston walked over to the man’s chair, leaned down, and whispered in his ear. Kaplan stood up straighter.

  “In light of the recent political unrest and with the revelations of corruption in the Chamber, I move to dissolve the Chamber for a period of not more than six months,” Kaplan said, slurring his words. “During that time, Colston Shore will have full legislative powers and the authority to prosecute those who are found to have participated in this bribery scandal. We will vote by secret ballot.”

  In response to this, two of Hywel’s men stood up and left in protest. When the men had reached the door of the Chamber, Colston motioned to one of the guards to follow them. Gavin wondered if they would even make it out of the building before being detained.

  The remaining Zunftmen wrote their votes on scraps of paper that were put into a silver dish. Kaplan left the Chamber to count the votes. He returned in less than five minutes.

  “The decision was overwhelmingly in favor of the emergency legislation,” Kaplan announced. “This Chamber is officially dissolved.”

  Colston Shore stood up, but there was no applause. “We will hold a mass trial for the rebel leaders this week,” he said. “Justice has been delayed for too long.”

  This time, no one disagreed. After all, they had witnessed what had happened to Shieldman, the only man courageous enough to speak out against the mass trial back in August. Now that Shore had full legislative power, there was no way to compel him to reconvene the Chamber. In effect, power was completely in his hands. Gavin decided it was time to leave. He avoided the main entrance by ducking into a side stairwell, which led down to the lower level and into an alley. But when he turned the corner, he saw that a checkpoint was set up in front of the side doors. The soldiers motioned to him, and now that they had seen him, there was no way to go but forward.

  “Identification card, please,” the guard said gruffly.

  Gavin’s hands trembled as he handed over his card. He was mere steps away from the door. A beautiful autumn day beckoned him to come outside, but these men were like an impassable wall. Gavin felt a rising sense of panic as the soldier read the card carefully and jotted down information in his ledger.

  “Gavin Baine,” the guard read. “What’s your profession?”

  “Machinist,” Baine lied.

  “Is this your current residence?” the soldier asked, peering at the address printed on the small piece of paper.

  “Yes, sir,” Gavin lied again. The address on the card was actually an empty warehouse in the butchers’ district, but the numbers and street name were a plausible place for a cottager to reside.

  The soldier jotted more notes in the ledger. It seemed to take forever, and every once in a while, he’d consider Gavin critically and then make another note. Finally, after a tense silence, the man spoke.

  “You’re free to go,” the soldier said.

  Gavin had to restrain himself from sprinting into the street. Now that they had his name, he wondered how much freedom he had left.

  20

  MASS TRIAL FOR REBEL COTTAGERS BEGINS

  The mass trial of the rebel leaders has begun at the Zunft Compound in Sevenna City. While the good people of Port Kenney try to rebuild the ruins of their village, they call for justice to be done. The families of the soldiers murdered in the August Rising demand action! Chief Administrator Shore has heard their cries and he has answered: justice will be done!

  —Zunft Chronicle, Evening Edition, October 21

  On Saturday, Tommy entered the dining hall as the bell rang to signal the beginning of the evening meal. Across the sea of tables, Kristoph and Dennett were laughing together as they sat at their usual table with Bern. When Tommy entered the dining hall, Bern glanced at him and quickly turned his attention elsewhere. The two brothers hadn’t spoken since the night at Ash Street Garden, and Tommy had mostly avoided the dining hall. But he was tired of lukewarm soup and crackers. He didn’t want to avoid his brother anymore. Tommy had been in the right, not Bern and his buddies.

  Tommy wove his way between the tables toward the back of the hall and stood behind the chair next to Ellie. As always, Ellie and Kristin were the only students at the large table near the entrance to the kitchen. The servers were so accustomed to this arrangement that they only put out two place settings instead of eight. Tommy stood there, waiting for an invitation to join the girls, but they both stared at him like he had two heads, which oddly hurt his feelings.

  Everyone in the hall stopped talking and stared. Tommy pulled a chair out to sit down, but the legs screeched against the floor. The unpleasant noise reverberated loudly in the hall as Tommy plunked down in his seat. With everyone watching him, everything seemed overly loud and overly dramatic. It was so silent that Tommy could hear the clink of the dishes from the kitchen as the servants prepared the meal. The blood rushed to his face as he felt all eyes on him.

  Kristin tossed her blond curls and laughed. “I don’t know if there’s room for you, Tommy. This table is pretty crowded.”

  “Is it all right if I sit here?” Tommy asked. “I should have asked first.”

  “Of course, Tommy!” Kristin said. “You don’t have to ask.”

  Finally, the students returned to their eating and chatting—probably about Tommy—but at least the racket felt like a shield around them. He glanced over at Ellie, who was frowning at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “This is where Zunft careers come to die,” Ellie said.

  “Ellie!” Kristin said.

  “I’m sorry,” Ellie said. “But he has to know what he’s doing.”

  “No problem. I already ruined my political future by disagreeing with the lads,” Tommy said.

  “Is that what happened to your eye?” Ellie asked. Tommy still had a faint black eye from Kristoph’s fist. Tommy shrugged as if it wasn’t important. Ellie and Kristin glanced at each other, and then they both grinned at him.

  “Well, then, welcome to the table where the fun never stops,” Kristin said.

  “We put the ‘fun’ in funeral,” Ellie said, and Kristin groaned. It took Tommy a second to get her joke.

  “Ugh, Ellie, that was terrible,” he said, and she laughed, delighted with herself.

  “Ellie is the master of bad puns,” Kristin told him.

  “My father was this incredible genius who was tickled by dumb humor like that,” Ellie said. “When I was little, I would get
him laughing with the silliest jokes.”

  “What did your father do?” Tommy asked.

  “He was an engineer with the Bureau of Innovations,” Ellie said.

  “He has the patent on volt-cells, right, Ellie?” Kristin said.

  “Your dad invented the volt-cell?” Tommy asked. He suddenly remembered the name Peter Sommerfield from his engineering book. He was considered the father of the industrial revolution.

  “His original model was incredibly unstable,” Ellie said. “But it’s the foundation of what they make now. That’s why they let me into Seminary—to carry on his legacy or something.”

  “Both Ellie and I come from notable families,” Kristin said. “We’re smart, sure, but our dads have spectacular pedigrees. It was Charlotte who was the true genius. Her dad’s a nobody, and they still let her in.”

  Kristin had a funny inflection every time she talked about the Zunft. To someone who didn’t know her well, it made her sound ditzy. Tommy had come to understand it as a layer of sarcasm. She wasn’t as overt as Ellie about her disdain for the Zunft, which was definitely the safer choice.

  “How is Charlotte doing?” Tommy asked as a server arrived with plates of chicken and fresh bread.

  “I haven’t had a letter from her in a while,” Kristin said.

  “Not since her mother took her back to her grandparents’ house on Norde,” Ellie said. “Apparently, she’s going to stay there for a while.”

  “Poor Charlotte,” Kristin said. “She thought her grandparents’ manor house was haunted. She’s going to be miserable.”

  “Charlotte left Seminary for good?” Tommy asked. He actually wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t seen her since the day she was ill and went to the hospital. The same day that he and Ellie had walked around Sebastian’s Circle.

  “Did you hear what they did for Rannigan?” Ellie said. “They rewarded him with a full professorship and a shiny new office on the top floor of the administration building.”

  “Did she leave because of Professor Rannigan?” Tommy asked.

  “The rest of the students weren’t exactly friendly,” Ellie said. She and Kristin exchanged glances. “But he targeted her specifically. There was a bet among some of the professors about who could get us to leave.”

  Tommy glanced up at the row of men eating at the head table. Sure enough, Rannigan was now wearing the stripes of a full professor on his black robes. He was talking to Headmaster Olberg, who was seated on his right. Even from a distance, Tommy could see Rannigan’s self-important smile. It was amazing to him that anyone could congratulate himself for bullying a girl—a girl he was supposed to be teaching and helping find her way in the world. And his colleagues had rewarded him for his efforts. Tommy stared down at his chicken. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.

  “Well, the issue of girls in Seminary is being examined in the Chamber now,” Ellie said. She lowered her voice. “Not that there is a Chamber anymore.”

  “Ellie!” Kristin hushed her. “Not here.”

  “I can talk about the facts,” Ellie retorted. “The chief administrator dissolved the Chamber. All power now resides with him.”

  “It’s a temporary thing, right?” Tommy said.

  Ellie scowled at him. “Your father crowned himself the metaphorical king of the world. Do you really think he’s going to willingly hand his scepter back to the peasants—ever?”

  Tommy felt annoyed and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was her tone of voice. “It’s not like the ‘peasants’ ever had any power.”

  “Did you think I meant the cottagers?” Ellie retorted. “Your father treats his own faction like peasants. And you know what? They’re starting to desert him. He’s taken his power trip too far, and it doesn’t matter how much he tries to pay them off, they don’t want to be second-class citizens to King Colston.”

  “Uh-oh,” Kristin said softly. She tilted her chin toward the front of the hall. A group of lads were approaching their table. Kristoph, Dennett, and Frank were among them, but Bern had disappeared from the hall.

  “They’re swaggering,” Ellie whispered.

  “Swagger alert,” Kristin agreed.

  “Like cocks showing the hens what’s what,” Ellie whispered back, and Kristin made barely discernible chicken noises under her breath. Cock-a-doodle-do! Tommy realized that the girls were rehearsed at this. Maybe it made them feel better, but Tommy wasn’t laughing.

  The lads lined up along the edge of their table. The dining room was surprisingly empty considering the meal had been served only a short while ago. Kristoph and Dennett lifted the edge of the table up and dropped it back down with a loud bang. The three water glasses tipped over, and the rest of Tommy’s food was ruined. Ellie was about to speak, but Kristin shot her a warning glare, and Ellie closed her mouth.

  “What is it with you and food?” Tommy asked.

  “I think you dropped something at the garden,” Dennett said, and the other boys snickered. “Your balls, Tommy. Some kid is playing with them in the garden.”

  Tommy mopped up the water in front of him with his napkin. The hall had grown quiet again. At the front, a few of the professors excused themselves and left the dining hall. The rest made a point of talking among themselves and pretending to ignore the situation. Rannigan was the only one who was watching openly.

  “We’ve been talking about you,” Kristoph said.

  “You’ve got nothing better to do?” Tommy replied.

  “And we’ve decided that you must be a pansy boy,” Kristoph continued. “That explains why you’re such a fruitcake.”

  Tommy wasn’t sure if he should stand up and leave or sit there and take it. Either way, people would think he was an idiot. Across the table, Ellie was red faced and furious. Kristin was staring at the entrance like she was wishing she was somewhere else.

  “Pansy boys should really wear some face paint and ribbons,” Kristoph said. “Why don’t you ask your girlfriends for some?”

  “Shut up, Kristoph,” Ellie, who couldn’t keep quiet anymore, said.

  “Close your trap, dog face,” Kristoph said.

  “Hey!” Tommy stood up abruptly, pleased to see that Kristoph took a step backward. “Leave her alone.”

  “You know what your brother told us?” Kristoph retorted. “Your father thinks you’re a pansy, too.”

  Tommy hesitated. Either Kristoph was skilled at saying the right things to hurt someone or Bern had talked about Tommy to his friends. Colston Shore probably did think Tommy was a misfit, but it was a betrayal that Bern would actually reveal that to anyone else.

  Kristoph spun around to address the hall, speaking loudly so the remaining students and professors could hear him, “There ought to be a law. No pansy boys in Seminary. Will someone please take out the trash?”

  There was a smattering of laughter among the rest of the students. Suddenly Tommy wanted to kill Kristoph. Throw him down on the ground and smash his face. But if he swung at Kristoph, he’d get himself expelled. So instead, he turned and walked away.

  “A pansy and a coward?” Kristoph called. “Pathetic.”

  When he reached the door, he could still hear the lads laughing at his expense. Tommy wished he could enjoy the irony of Kristoph calling him a coward. Here was a rich kid who destroyed a poor man’s garden in the dead of night. As Tommy yanked the door open and hurried down the stairs, he wondered if he should wait for the girls. If they didn’t follow him, he would look even more like an idiot. It was getting dark and he wasn’t supposed to leave the Seminary at this hour. He was going to have to slip out a side gate to avoid being stopped by a guard. If he got caught, it would mean trouble, but with his face still burning with humiliation, he really didn’t care. He wanted to get out of there—beyond the walls of Seminary. He wanted to be beyond the reach of any Zunftman.

  Go over Shadow Bridge, take a right at Connell, and go two blocks east. That’s what Emilie had told him that night in the cabaret. He found the Plough and Sun, a pub with a w
ooden sign swinging in the cool breeze. Warm firelight glowed under the door, and even from the street, he could hear lively fiddle music and laughter. When Tommy stepped inside, he was met with a blast of heat. He surveyed the room anxiously, but no one paid any attention to him. He was yet another body in the already packed establishment. A crowd of people danced on the open floor in front of the roaring fireplace. The inside of the pub was bigger than it looked from the street. There were high-backed booths along the far wall and long tables and benches in the center of the room.

  Tommy was happy to see that, like him, most of the men wore brown trousers and long-sleeved shirts. Many had their vests on and their sleeves rolled up. Tommy shoved his green scarf in his pocket and loosened the buttons on his jacket. He gingerly navigated the crowd and waited patiently in the crush of people near the bar. After ordering shepherd’s pie and a mug of cider from the harried barkeep, he asked her about Emilie Johns, but he could barely make himself heard over the noise. So he found an empty alcove in a far corner away from the boisterous dancers and waited for his food. It was dimly lit and colder in the back of the pub. A half-burned candle flickered in the center of the scarred tabletop.

  Tommy poked at the base of the candle, leaving fingerprints in the soft wax pooling in the tin holder. A shadow fell across the table and he jerked his hand away, expecting to see the server. But it was Emilie. Her long red hair was loose around her shoulders tonight. She seemed happier and more relaxed than she had at the Estoria. She set a covered crockery dish in front of him. Steam wafted out from under the lid, and Tommy realized how hungry he was.

  “Don’t look so guilty,” she said. “It’s only candle wax.”

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s a Saturday night, so … here I am.”

  “I didn’t think you would come,” she said.

  “Is it all right that I’m here?” he asked.

  “Why did you come?” she asked, sliding into the booth across from him.

  “The entertainment is better here,” Tommy said, nodding toward the band, which had just finished a set. They were stowing their instruments back in their cases, and the dancers were heading off the floor for a break. The noise in the pub settled down to a dull roar.