The First Book of Ore: The Foundry's Edge

by Cameron Baity

  “With the dark glasses. A hat and curly mustache.”

  His eyes widened. “It couldn’t be. Not here in the city.”

  “He’s been following me. He chased me.”

  “If they are here…Come, Phoebe. Now!”

  Her father dragged her across the threshold and through the adjacent sitting room, suitcase in hand. He swept open the curtained glass doors that led to the side yard.

  The stranger in the bowler hat stood blocking their way.

  He looked like a corpse in the twilight.

  Phoebe screamed, and her dad slammed the doors. The panes shattered, sending the intruder backward in a shower of glass. Her father grabbed her and ran. Their pounding steps thundered through the house as they dashed for the front door. But it swung open before they could reach it.

  “Hello, doctor.”

  The words pierced the shadows with ice-pick precision. Phoebe felt her dad’s hand slacken. They both took a trembling step back, and her father dropped the suitcase.

  The dark figure that entered was uncommonly tall, like he had been painfully stretched. As the man stepped into a shaft of moonlight, Phoebe shuddered at the sickly sight of him. He was broad-shouldered with a sinewy neck, wound as tight as a rope, and his dark eyes were buried deep in shadowed sockets. Every move he made was sharp and deliberate. Beneath his unbuttoned overcoat he wore a flak jacket of finely woven bronze fibers and olive-colored military fatigues, and his gloves and high boots were black leather. His splotchy complexion was the color of disease, and the skin was pulled so tight across his angular cheekbones and hairless skull that it gleamed.

  But it was his mouth that held Phoebe’s gaze. His chapped lips pulled back in a malevolent sneer to reveal tiny grayish teeth spaced too far apart in his gums, like a sparse graveyard of weathered tombstones.

  “Kaspar.” Her father’s voice faltered.

  Another figure appeared in the doorway behind the menacing soldier. It was the stranger in the bowler hat. He should have been sprawled out unconscious in the side yard. How had he gotten around the house so quickly? Phoebe backpedaled but bumped up against something.

  No. It was impossible. The stranger stood behind her as well, glass shards dusting his black suit. She looked from one to the other—the two men were identical in every way, from their cadaverous color to the symmetrical curl of their smiling mustaches. They ignored Phoebe, their impenetrable black spectacles focused on her dad.

  “Your files,” Kaspar rumbled.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Strength had returned to her dad’s voice. “Breaking into my home, threatening my family. This is low even for you. Does Goodwin know his little lapdog has released Watchmen into Albright City?”

  There was no longer any trace of fear in her father. Had he looked frail before? Now he seemed to rise before her very eyes, emanating resolve.

  Kaspar nodded to the Watchmen. One grabbed Phoebe by the collar, and the other seized her dad’s arm, twisting it hard behind his back. She stamped on her captor’s feet and swung her bony elbows wildly, but the Watchman didn’t budge.

  “Don’t you touch a hair on her head,” her father warned.

  “Your files,” Kaspar repeated.

  “Explain yourself. Or so help me—”

  Kaspar nodded to the Watchman holding Phoebe. A cold, white-gloved hand clamped her mouth as another wrapped around her throat, squeezing her windpipe. She thrashed and tore at his hands, but his grip was unbreakable. Her dad broke away from the Watchman restraining him but was yanked back viciously.

  She couldn’t breathe. The world swam before her eyes.

  “Stop!” her dad shouted, pointing to the dimpled copper door at the end of the foyer. “Through there.” The pressure on her throat released, and she sucked in a blessed lungful of air. She looked to her father for some kind of answer.

  “Everything’s going to be okay, Cricket.”

  Phoebe nodded, wanting desperately to believe him, but the glimmer in Kaspar’s eyes made her think otherwise. As he strode past, she could smell the oiled leather of his gloves and boots, masking a bitter scent of decay. He kicked open the door to the study and marched inside as the Watchmen dragged Phoebe and her father along.

  Moonbeams poked feebly through the stained glass window but did little to penetrate the shadows.

  “I warned Goodwin that you were nothing more than a common thug,” her father snapped. “Do you really think you can get away with this?”

  Kaspar looked at the flames and curled ashes in the fireplace. “What did you destroy?”

  “My documents are classified, and you have no authority. When I inform Goodwin what you have—”

  “Who do you think sent me, doctor?”

  Her dad drew back. Then he clenched his jaw and composed himself. “Release her. Then we can talk.”

  The Watchman holding her father kicked the back of his legs, dropping him to his knees. Kaspar grabbed his hair and wrenched his head back painfully. Phoebe wanted to scream, but the sound died in her throat.

  Another two identical men in bowler hats appeared at the study door.

  Was she going crazy? It seemed like the world had been replaced by a hall of mirrors. Phoebe was beginning to wonder if she could trust her senses.

  The Watchmen ripped open cabinets and seized files, gathering them into bundles. They carefully collected the ashes and burned fragments of paper from the fireplace, then unplugged the Computator and hauled it all away.

  “I’ll ask once more,” Kaspar said, with a yank of her dad’s hair.

  Phoebe clenched her jaw.

  Think.

  No one was going to come to their rescue. She had to find a way to help them escape.

  Phoebe looked around the room, searching for a weapon or a distraction of any kind. Perhaps she could throw one of those burning logs in Kaspar’s rotten face or light the rug on fire with it or something. No, they would grab her before she even got close. Maybe there was something in her sniping pockets that could help. She tried to focus. What did she have? Firecrackers? No, she used the last one a week ago. There was a packet of itching powder. It would keep her captor busy for a little while, but she didn’t have enough to use on all of them.

  “Where is the rest?” Kaspar asked, his voice unwavering. “Tell me, or I will break her fingers.”

  The Watchman holding Phoebe snatched her hand in one white-gloved fist and spread her fingers wide.

  She couldn’t think straight. Her father turned to her, his darkened eyes suddenly drained of hope. His expression seared her heart.

  Everything was not going to be okay.

  Her dad croaked, “Behind the mirror.”

  The Watchman held her fast while another crossed to the six-foot mirror framed with etched iron and lifted it. She flinched as he hurled it to the ground. A cascade of shards splashed across the floor, and a wave of mirrored glass slid to her feet. She caught a glimpse of her broken reflection in the twinkling daggers, the image of her own shocked face broken into a thousand shattered pieces.

  Embedded in the wall was a black iron safe.

  “The combination is—” began her father, but Kaspar wasn’t listening. He seized the handle, and with slow and deliberate effort, he peeled the front of the safe off of its hinges. The metal twisted in his gloved hands like wet paper. There was a series of loud pops as the steel bolts of the lock snapped.

  This isn’t happening.

  Kaspar took his time, enjoying the horrific screech of the shearing metal. He hefted the door, which was several inches thick, then tossed it aside to grab the documents within.

  “Now we go,” said Kaspar in a maddeningly calm voice. “Mr. Goodwin awaits.” A sick gray grin cut across his face as he leaned in close. “And he knows everything.”

  The Watchmen dragged them through the dark ma
nor and out the front door. She kicked and writhed, but her captor’s grip didn’t yield in the slightest.

  “Phoebe!” her dad called back to her.

  Two stretched Auto-mobiles were parked in front of the house, their engines softly purring. They were identical to the one she had seen that morning, glossy black with a stripe of bronze. Watchmen sat placidly in each driver’s seat. Dr. Plumm was hurled into one vehicle, Phoebe into the other. Two Watchmen climbed into the backseat on either side of her, and Kaspar leaned his head through the window.

  “Take her to the pen,” he said. “Wait for further instruction.”

  Her flickering fear congealed into something more definitive—a cold and sickening dread. Her throat constricted, and she couldn’t breathe. It was as if the Watchman were choking her all over again. Reality finally sank in.

  There was no escape.

  The two Autos rolled down the driveway, leaving Plumm Estate shrouded in silence behind them.

  Then the bushes rustled.

  Micah stumbled out from the shrubs, scratching furiously after sitting still for so long. He had been wandering out front, trying to dodge his chores, when the Autos pulled up. As soon as those creeps in the hats appeared, Micah hid.

  But he hadn’t been expecting this.

  What should he do? Going to the cops was a waste of time. And sure, it would take a while for those two Autos to wind down the switchbacks of Shimmering Crest, but not that long. The Doc needed help now.

  Micah raced around to the servants’ quarters at the back of the estate and peered through the window of the Tanner cottage. There was Ma, passed out on the couch with a half-drained bottle of cherry wine in her hand, snoring like a wildebeest. Fat lotta good she’d be.

  Should he go find Randy? By the time his brother got through popping his zits, slicking back his hair, and putting his stupid cadet uniform on, the Doc would be long gone.

  Micah ran to his work shed and flung open the doors.

  A lopsided smile spread across his face.

  He snatched his jacket off the hook and slipped it on. It was a souvenir replica of a real-life MIM pilot’s jacket. When this was all over, and the Televiewer news crews came to talk to him about his daring rescue of Dr. Jules Plumm, Micah wanted to look the part.

  A thrill rippled through him, and his mind started to race. He was going to be famous. He was going to be a hero. They’d probably let him into cadet school early just for the publicity!

  Of course, what he was about to do would put him in a whole new category of trouble, earning him a kind of punishment that hadn’t even been invented yet. It was stupider than anything he had ever done in his entire life.

  Micah tore away the tarp.

  For safety reasons, the drive motors on Cable Bikes came installed with a limiter bolt that capped their speed. No good if he wanted to catch those Autos. Micah ripped off the bolt with a wrench and slid the tool into his back pocket.

  This bad boy was the Doc’s only hope.

  Just like Maddox. No guts, no glory.

  icah jogged alongside the Bike, leading it out of Plumm Estate. The hair on his arms rose as he listened to the muted whir of its segmented platinum wheels. The kidnappers were probably still zigzagging down the hill. If Micah could just get to the Link-Way hub around the corner, he’d be able spot them from the air. Piece of cake.

  He tried to mount the Cable Bike, but his leg wasn’t long enough to swing over. It took him a few tries, and he repeatedly cursed his size. Finally, he had to lean the Bike against a tree to climb aboard.

  Once he was settled, Micah cranked the starter gear on the handgrip, and the Bike growled to life. He gunned the throttle, thrilling to every rumbling vibration. It was like having an electric panther on a chain. Micah had practically memorized the entire manual for the Bike, but in his excitement it still took him a minute to figure out how to pop the clutch and put it in gear.

  The machine blasted forward like a rocket. He flailed for the handlebars and clung tight. This thing was way too fast. Way too dangerous. Way too perfect.

  Micah squealed as the Bike shot down Shimmering Crest. He had to stand to reach both the handlebars and the footholds, and the wheels wobbled as he struggled to keep control. The Link-Way hub around the corner was lit up with a bright blue spotlight, and it was vacant. He pulled into the mounting niche, then he hit the release button and pushed the handlebars into their upright “flight” position.

  With a hiss of perfectly balanced hydraulics, the back runner boards slid out, swung overhead, and snapped together to form the swoop of the cable arm. The two halves of the torpedo-shaped winch head joined around the ascension line that led to the Link-Way high above. The street wheels retracted into the frame with a soft purr, and the Cable Bike hung there, suspended just off the ground.

  Micah strapped himself into the harness. His finger quivered above the silver switch that would engage the Bike.

  Then he hit it.

  With a jolt, the ground dropped away, and the Bike screamed up the ascension line and onto one of the many parallel cable lanes. Before he knew it, Micah was whipping past caution signs sixty feet above the ground.

  It was like being strapped to a missile. The air felt sharp and wild as it whistled through his nose and mouth. He looked down at the winking night-lights of the city and the sparkling bay on the horizon. It was everything he had dreamed it would be. He had never felt anything like it.

  Micah whooped in exhilaration.

  There was a cluster of Bikers ahead of him, puttering along on the right. Micah waited for the next crossover, the links between cables that allowed riders to switch lanes. He leaned his weight to steer left, his Bike slid over, and he whizzed past the slowpokes. No sweat!

  Micah glanced down to see if he could locate the bronze-striped Auto-mobiles, but he was going too fast to see anything. Just as he squeezed the brake, they came into focus. The Autos were in close formation, about to merge into downtown traffic.

  He pumped his fist in a victory salute but quickly grabbed the handlebars when the Bike began to wobble.

  The Link-Way junction leading to downtown was dead ahead. He hit the turn too fast, and the winch head let out a grinding squeal. The Bike fishtailed violently under the taut, twanging cable. The world around him spun and shuddered, and for an instant, Micah was sure he was going to fall.

  But when he released his sweaty hand from the shifter, the Bike steadied, and the blinding smear that was Albright City sprang back to normal. He noticed that the winch head was climbing in pitch, like a violin string being tightened.

  Maybe yanking off that limiter bolt wasn’t such a swell idea after all.

  He risked a glance back at the road—the Autos were gone!

  The steel canyon maze of Albright City closed in. Bikers raced above and below him, a chaotic horde speeding in every direction. Their headlamps tore streaks across his eyes. No way he could search the streets below for the Autos and keep an eye on the crazy cable traffic at the same time. He blasted past skyscrapers, his reflection flashing back at him from lofty office windows. Micah was eye level with massive statues of golden eagles and dancing maidens mounted atop the mirror-polished buildings. It would have been wicked if he weren’t dead numb with panic.

  He released the brake, and his Cable Bike accelerated like it had a mind of its own—a psycho mind that clearly wanted to kill him. Apparently, that limiter bolt he had removed also kept the Bike from constantly speeding up on its own. Must have skipped that page in the manual. This meant that he had to keep one hand squeezing the brake. Which was bad.

  Micah spotted them, the two Autos dodging in and out of traffic below. He felt a charge and released his grip on the brake. The Bike roared. Not gonna lose them again.

  He had already worked out what was going on with the kidnappers. These were spies from Greinadoren
(or another one of those sneaky little countries), and they were going to hold Dr. Plumm ransom until he gave up some kind of vital Foundry secret. Now Micah would swoop down, free the Doc, and pound a few spy noggins in the process.

  The Cable Bike was accelerating so fiercely that every turn of the handlebars threatened to throw him off balance. He squeezed the brake again and was met with a shriek and a hot blast of acrid smoke. Must have burned through half the brake pad by now.

  Glancing down, he watched as the Autos turned onto the suspension bridge that led to Foundry Central. That was weird. Why would those spies drive up to the Foundry’s front gates? It didn’t make a lick of sense. Unless…

  Micah’s insides churned. What was supposed to be the best night of his life was starting to look an awful lot like a suicide mission.

  Had the Doc been kidnapped by the Foundry?

  He searched desperately for the junction across the bridge, but hundreds of Bikers were merging and breaking away, darting this way and that, following patterns he couldn’t decipher. A big sign pointing toward the Foundry loomed out of the darkness. Micah cranked the handlebars, but there were too many riders cutting him off from the exit.

  He was going to miss the stupid bridge!

  Wedged between two Watchmen, Phoebe wriggled forward to get a glimpse of where they were taking her, but it was hard to see anything out of the Auto’s narrow window slits. With her initial terror receding, she felt anger rising up in its place. It was time for a new tactic.

  Phoebe hitched her breath, working up a convincing sob.

  “P-please,” she whimpered, “I’m scared. I want my daddy.”

  They didn’t so much as glance at her.

  “I—I feel sick. And I have to go to the potty.”

  Nothing. Their faces remained fixed straight ahead, eyes hidden behind those irritating black spectacles.

  The Auto-mobile slowed. Traffic. Phoebe perked up—this was her chance.

  When it stopped, she leaped across the Watchman to her right and forced the door open. For an instant, she could taste the pungent air of Foundry Bay and hear the bleat of horns. The choppy shudder of Aero-copter blades thundered overhead. She was swinging her leg outside when the Watchman yanked her back in and slammed the door. Phoebe glared at her captors, huffing and heaving.