by C. R. Grey
“Did Tremelo have something to do with it? Was it at the school?” asked Digby.
“Did you see whoever did it? Did you kill them?” shouted a younger man with dark, angry eyes.
More questions from the gathered revolutionaries seemed to crowd around Gwen like beggar children in the market asking for a snailback or a piece of bread. She shrank back and set the bowl of soup onto the bar with trembling hands. She wished for sleep—but more than that, she needed to tell the RATS everything.
“He died at Fairmount,” she said, feeling the sting of the words as they left her mouth. “We went there to find Tremelo—you thought he’d be able to help you, but we realized that he…” She paused. Looking around the room, she wondered whether she could truly trust each and every person there. As for the RATS, they were hanging on her words, mouths agape and eyes staring.
“The journey was too much for the Elder,” she said instead. “And Tremelo will help, but…but you’ll need to wait for his word.” She would tell Digby later—alone—about Tremelo’s true identity. He would know who to trust.
Tiredness washed over her, and her shoulders slumped. She looked to Digby.
“All right, that’s enough,” he said, reading the pleading look in her eyes. “Time for all that later.”
He waved the RATS away and guided her out of the main room and down a hallway. He stood aside an open door at the end of the hall, and let Gwen into a small bedroom. It was clear to her from the folded pallets and piled rucksacks that at least three people were sleeping there, and she wondered how many RATS had come forward and joined the movement in the few weeks since she’d left the city.
“Not much in the way of room,” he said. “But it’s yours if you need it.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said. Eagerly she unrolled a pallet and lay down. Despite the rising wave of voices from down the hall, she quickly fell into a deep sleep. For the first time in many days, she felt safe.
The next morning, she had to tiptoe over the snoring bodies of several other inhabitants of the Alley Cat to get down the hall to the main room. There she found Digby sitting with a mug of hot sap milk.
“Glad you’re an early riser,” he said. “I’ve got something for you, and it’s best the others don’t see it just yet.”
Digby took a wrapped package out of his pocket, and handed it to Gwen.
“He told me that if something was to happen to him, this needed to go to you.”
Gwen sat next to Digby on a stool and held the package in both hands. It was heavy, the size of a fist. She unfolded the bits of muslin tied with twine around the object.
She recognized it as soon as the first piece of muslin fell away. It was the bit of the Statue of the Twins that the Elder had brought back to Parliament with him, those many months ago. She could still make out the fox’s paw—the girl twin who’d transformed, while her brother had remained a human. The first Animas bond.
Underneath the piece of stone was a note. Her fingers shook as she lifted the slip of parchment to read.
My dearest Gwen,
If Digby has given you this token, then it means I am gone and must rely on you—I have utter faith. The stone should tell you where to begin your journey. From where the statue once stood, look for the tallest peak and travel to it. There, you will find the Instrument of Change. Without its help, our True King cannot find the strength in his heart to lead. For remember, true sight is a light that grows—the physical world is a limited thing, strengthened and made clear by what is stronger and unseen.
Gwen had always wanted to journey to the Seers’ Valley with the Elder. Now he was asking her to go without him, tasked with ensuring the fate of Aldermere. Tremelo would not become a king without her help—she felt at once important and all alone.
Digby put a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“No need to tell me what it says, girl. That’s just for you to know.”
Gwen smiled.
“Thank you for keeping this safe,” she said. “I have something for only you to know, as well.”
Digby turned on his stool, his eyebrows rising in curiosity.
“When we left for Fairmount, it was because the Elder wanted to find Tremelo,” Gwen began.
“I remember,” said Digby. “The Elder was interested in him being the Loon’s son.”
“But that wasn’t quite it,” Gwen said. “We weren’t going to find the son of the Loon—we went because we believed we’d find the True King there.”
Digby set his mug of sap milk down on the counter.
“What’s that now?” he said. “The Elder believed in the prophecy?”
Gwen shook her head.
“Not exactly,” she said. “But he knew to recognize certain signs.” She breathed in deeply and kept her eyes trained on Digby’s ruddy face.
“It’s Tremelo,” she said. “He is Trent Melore. The Loon was so sure about his prophecies, because he was the one raising the True King in safety, away from Parliament. He saved him from the fire.”
A smile as wide as the Fluvian broke out on Digby’s face. He threw his head back and laughed loudly.
“Go on,” he said, playfully hitting Gwen’s shoulder. “Tremelo? A king? Naw, I don’t believe it.” He laughed again. “But I do! I do believe it! Ha! That old Thelonious. Old Loony.” Digby wiped a tear from one eye and laughed again. “I’ve heard stranger stories—this one, it’s strange enough to be true. The Elder had proof?”
Gwen nodded again.
“Well, here’s to King Myrgwood, then,” said Digby, lifting his mug of sap milk into the air and taking a long swig. After slamming the mug back down, he smiled at Gwen. “Well, now that we have a king, what do we do?”
Gwen laughed.
“I…I don’t know!” she said. “But please—you can’t tell anyone else. Tremelo isn’t even sure whether he wants the throne—”
“Wants it?” Digby said. “He sees what’s going on, don’t he?”
“He’ll come around,” Gwen said quickly. “And he’ll need you and the RATS to be ready when he does. Will you fight for him when the time comes?”
Digby looked to his lap.
“It’ll be hard convincing this lot that that oaf is their king,” he said. “But if he comes around like you say, I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you. And for this too,” Gwen said, touching the stone the Elder had left for her. She reached out her hand to shake his.
“None of that, now,” said Digby, waving away her hand and squeezing her in a tight hug instead. He eased up, and once she could breathe again, she rose and returned to the crowded bedroom. She set the stone carefully in her own rucksack, alongside the Seers’ Glass. As she gathered her things, she heard more and more voices rising over freshly poured mugs of sap milk and coffee.
When she returned, the main parlor was once again bustling, and the RATS were in the midst of a debate.
“What have I missed?” Gwen asked Digby.
Digby waved a frustrated hand at the group.
“We’re not the only one interested in the Loon’s prophecy,” he said. “Talk about the white tiger has been all over the city. Used to be, us RATS were the ones spreadin’ that around. But now the talk’s not just coming from us.”
“It means people are excited, and want to stop Viviana just like we do,” said a white-bearded man across the room.
“But we can’t rely on that,” said a young, dark-skinned man named Enoch, whom Gwen was happy to see again. He’d helped her escape the Dominae once before, and in the tunnels he’d taught her to play the Elder’s old harmonica. “Just look at how Viviana’s been using the same prophecy to her own ends—she’s got that mechanical tiger that she parades around with. She’s laughing at the prophecy with that piece of clockwork. She might be the one spreading the rumors around, so she can claim they’re about her.” A chameleon named Bill was wrapped around Enoch’s neck, blending in with his blue plaid scarf.
“If she’s trying to use the prophecy
as some kind of political move, she ought to think twice,” said Digby. He glanced at Gwen, and gave her a quick wink.
“I say, best to forget about prophecies,” said a younger woman standing next to Enoch, “and concentrate on the task at hand—stopping the Dominae ourselves!”
“Someone’s outside!”
A cry from the front of the parlor hushed the entire room, and Gwen heard a sickening sound—boots on the pavement, and the barking of dogs in the street.
Digby shot up from his seat and hurried down the hallway with Gwen’s hand in his own.
He opened the door to a bedroom and threw open the window. Behind them, Gwen heard the sound of broken glass and shouting. The barking of several dogs echoed down the hallway, as well as rushing footsteps, of people trying to escape.
“Go, girl!”
Gwen grabbed her rucksack and lifted herself up onto the windowsill. She looked back at Digby’s round red face, full of fear. A terrible thought occurred to her, that she might never see him again.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Digby, before ducking beneath the opened window.
A harsh voice echoed down the hallway. “Halt, in the name of the queen!”
“You have to get out!” she whispered.
“Don’t worry about me!” he said. “Go, go!”
She slid away down the alley behind the house. Terrified, she ran through back alleys to the marketplace to find the motorbike. She thanked Nature it was still there, started its engine, and fled the city, away from the crowded Gudgeons and out toward the open valley of the Seers’ Land.
THE BELLS IN THE Fairmount clock tower clanged: four o’clock. Hal and Bailey stood by the columns of the library building, waiting for Phi and Tori, who were both, as of that minute, late.
“So now that we’ve got the casing soldered and the wires connected, what’s left?” asked Hal, who was ticking off a list on his fingers.
“The centerpiece—the orb,” said Bailey. He watched the lawn for their friends.
“Right, but we don’t know what that’s made of,” said Hal. “I meant the part we do know how to make.”
In the days following both Gwen’s and Viviana’s departures, Bailey had finally begun to feel the tight knot of worry in his stomach unraveling. Viviana was gone, and he was still alive—as were all his friends and Taleth. But that worry had been replaced by seemingly endless questions about the Reckoning machine: What was it for? What was it made of? How would it work? The group had met every afternoon during that week, constructing an object that, despite Tremelo’s eager experiments, remained a mystery. On top of that, they still had not received word from Gwen. Tremelo had sent a note to Digby Barnes, the leader of the Gray City RATS, but the RATS moved around the city so often there was no certainty that it would reach him.
“There’s Phi,” said Hal, pointing. She was hurrying across the lawn from the direction of the dormitories, carrying a packed rucksack. Bailey and Hal walked down the front steps of the library to meet her.
“Where’s Tori?” Hal asked. “I thought you’d be coming together.”
“I don’t know,” said Phi. “I thought she’d be here.”
“Let’s go without her,” said Bailey. “I’m sure she’ll catch up.” He turned to walk up the path that would lead out to the teachers’ quarters.
“Actually,” said Phi, “I’m going to the Dust Plains.…I’m not coming with you.”
Bailey stopped short and turned to face her.
“What? Why? Is everything okay?” Hal asked.
“Yes—well, I mean no,” she said. “My aunt—she was sick for several weeks, and now she’s passed.”
“I’m sorry, Phi,” Bailey said. He didn’t want her to go—he felt like he’d hardly seen her since he’d returned from break. “When are you coming back?”
“A week or two,” she said. “I’m catching a rigi now. Want to walk with me?”
Bailey nodded. “Of course.”
“I’ll go let Tremelo know that everyone’s late,” said Hal. “Not that he’s ever on time, either…”
Together, Bailey and Phi walked past the clock tower and between the animal-shaped hedges toward the rigimotive platform.
“Did you tell Coach Banter about missing Scavage practice?” he asked her.
“Ms. Shonfield let all my instructors know that I’d be gone—and the coach too,” said Phi.
The wind was very strong near the rigi platform, near the edge of the cliff. Bert nestled inside Bailey’s coat, sluggish from the cold. The breeze plucked at their lapels and Bailey saw something glisten inside Phi’s jacket—a blue brooch in the shape of a flower, pinned to the inside lining. It was fancier than anything he’d ever seen Phi wearing, and it reminded him of something. But the rigimotive appeared at the edge, and clanked into place on the horizontal tracks. Phi yelled over the squealing brakes as it entered the station.
“I know this is terrible timing,” she said.
Bailey shook his head.
“Your family is important.” In truth, he was concerned to see her go. First Gwen’s disappearance, and now Phi leaving—he couldn’t keep track of all the people he wanted to keep safe.
“Is there a way we can reach you? You know, to let you know when we hear from Gwen?”
Phi bit her lip nervously.
“I’d be back before the post even reached me in the Plains,” she said. “I am worried about her, though.”
“I’m sure she’s okay,” Bailey said, even though he wasn’t.
The rigi shuddered to a stop, and the door at the rear of the car opened.
Phi set her rucksack down on the platform and gave Bailey a quick hug, taking care not to squish Bert.
“Listen,” she said, “Graves, Viviana, the machine…it’s part of a bigger picture.”
“What do you mean?”
“‘Part of a bigger picture’—it’s what my mom told me when I left for Fairmount. She said not to be scared or anxious, just to figure out my place and then go from there. And maybe it’s the same with all of this. That we need to figure out how we fit into it—like who we are and who we’re going to be when the prophecy unfolds.”
Bailey smiled.
“Who I’m going to be? Just Bailey, I hope.”
Phi shook her head and smiled back. Her brown eyes shone.
“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, picking up her rucksack. “At least, I hope not. Because I don’t want to come out the other side as ‘just Phi.’”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bailey saw Ms. Shonfield hurrying down the path toward them, with her assistant, Jerri, following.
“Miss Castling!” Shonfield cried. “Wait just a moment!”
Phi glanced at the waiting rigi and waited for Shonfield to climb the platform steps.
“I wanted to see you off personally. Do you have everything you need for the journey?”
Phi nodded, and Shonfield patted her on the shoulder. Bailey realized, seeing the unoccupied leather patch Phi wore, that Carin was still away, hunting. No wonder Phi had been especially moody lately.
“Ahem.” Shonfield’s assistant coughed, holding out a sheaf of papers.
“Oh, Nature, I’d almost forgotten. One last-minute assignment, my dear—from Dr. Graves.” Shonfield gestured to Jerri, who handed over a packet of worksheets. “Can’t have you falling behind. Safe journey, Miss Castling! Mr. Walker—behave yourself.”
Bailey smiled, and noticed that Jerri was smiling too.
“And the post?” Jerri said, holding up the envelope.
“Oh, yes, of course. ‘Urgent’ post going out from—who was it?”
“Oh. Um, Graves,” said Jerri.
“I should have guessed,” said Shonfield with a hint of irritation. She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Jerri, hand that to the conductor yourself? I must meet with Finch.” With that she turned on her heel and strode down the platform.
“Tough as nails, that one,” Jerri said admiringly. “Real old guar
d.”
Bailey saw a pair of squirrels wrestling playfully on the platform. It made him think of his first day at Fairmount, disembarking from this same rigi, and the chaos of animals that had crowded the platform. Today was colder, and the platform was nearly deserted.
“She doesn’t care for Graves much, does she?” asked Bailey. Shonfield, he knew, was a staunch loyalist. And if she didn’t like Graves, it was one more strike against him as far as Bailey was concerned.
“He is a little demanding. And odd,” Jerri said. “I have to make sure this is given directly to the conductor, apparently.”
Bailey looked down at the envelope in Jerri’s hand—inside could very well be a message for the Dominae.
“I’d best be off! Good-bye, Miss Castling. Mr. Walker,” Jerri said, bowing. He walked off to the front of the next car.
Phi touched Bailey’s arm before stepping up into the rigi.
“It might be nothing, anyway,” she whispered. “But I’ll check and see if the conductor meets with anyone in the Gray,” she said.
“Good idea,” he said as the rigi car began to creak forward. The dirigible balloon whooshed upward, casting a yellow shadow over the platform. Phi waved from the doorway, and then was gone.
Bailey felt empty watching the rigi pull away. With Taleth out of reach in the woods, Gwen gone, and now Phi too, Fairmount didn’t seem like home anymore. As he left the platform, Bailey regretted not wishing her a safe journey. He looked around, hoping to cross paths once more with Jerri, but the assistant had disappeared. Instead, he walked across campus to Tremelo’s garage workshop. Tremelo and Hal stood side by side, bent over the machine spread across the workbench. Fennel the fox sat upright on a wooden chair, watching Tremelo with intent yellow eyes.
“Where’s Tori?” Bailey asked.
“Not coming,” said Hal.
“What do you mean, ‘not coming’?” asked Bailey.
“Phi catch the rigi on time, then?” asked Tremelo. “Shonfield asked if I wanted to send along some homework, but I’m not that cruel.…”
“But what about Tori?” Bailey asked again.
Hal put down the wrench he was holding.
