by Traci Chee
When the cheering had subsided, Arcadimon continued, “Jahara is prosperous. Jahara is stable. Jahara is at peace. Jahara is what the rest of the world must aspire to become. Gone are the days of blood feuds and civil war. Gone are the years of Oxscinian imperialism, under which both Jahara and Deliene have suffered. Gone are the days of division and discord.”
The redcoats bristled at the mention of Oxscinian imperialism, their faces stony as the Jaharan audience grew more enthusiastic in their applause.
“For too long, Deliene has remained indifferent to the Oxscinian conflict. It is not, as some would have you believe, a dispute over old Oxscinian colonies in Everica, but a struggle for the very future of the Five Islands . . .”
“No,” Ed whispered. “Arc, don’t do it.”
Don’t send my kingdom to war.
“Queen Heccata is a barbarian . . .”
A roar of protest from the redcoats made Arcadimon’s next words inaudible.
“. . . Oxscini will continue its reign of terror and violence, as it has always done . . .”
The green-eyed boy leapt to his feet. “I can’t believe I called you handsome!”
The boy beside him, who had a shaved, curiously round head, booed.
Some people in front of them turned, hissing at them to shut up.
Below, Arcadimon was still speaking. “The Alliance aspires to a new future, a better future. We are all approaching a new era—open, unified, and at peace for the first time in thousands of years. This is the vision of King Darion Stonegold. This is the mission of the Alliance. Neither Deliene nor Jahara will stand in the way of progress and peace. Today, we join King Darion Stonegold’s Alliance.”
No. Ed put his hands over his eyes. He would have been a fool to ignore the signs, but he hadn’t wanted to believe Arcadimon would really do it. Just like he hadn’t wanted to believe Arcadimon would murder Ed’s younger cousin, Roco, to eliminate all blood claims to the throne. The Arcadimon Ed knew would never . . . but how much did he know about Arc, really?
“Today, we are greater than we were before. We are not one kingdom, but three. We are unified. We are strong. And together, we will defeat Queen Heccata and the Oxscinian menace that threatens us all.”
When Ed looked up, all the redcoats were on their feet, the first two leading them in the Oxscinian anthem.
Red hearts can’t be broken.
Red fire fills our veins.
We fight, cannons smoking.
Forever shall the red flag wave.
Everyone in their vicinity was staring now. Uniformed guards had begun making their way toward them.
“Didn’t you hear?” Ed said, grabbing the first redcoat’s hand. “You’re at war now. You’re going to get yourselves thrown into prison.”
The boy looked aghast. The words of the anthem died on his lips. “What do I do?” he asked.
Ed looked around. He knew the amphitheater’s secret tunnels from his days as king, when Ignani, the captain of his guard, had drilled him until she was confident he could escape in the event of an attack.
The Delienean guards had drawn their swords.
Aiding and abetting the redcoats’ escape was as good a use for those tunnels as any.
“Follow me!” Ed said, yanking the first redcoat after him. He hoped the others were behind. They dashed through the crowd, pushing audience members into the guards. People cried out in alarm as they scrambled out of the way.
“This is a war,” Arcadimon was saying below. “A war on the old ways. A war to end the generations of violence that have preceded us. A war on Queen Heccata and her redcoats.”
As Ed ushered the redcoats into a stairwell, he glanced over his shoulder. In the center of the amphitheater, Arcadimon looked up.
Their gazes met.
Ed almost gasped aloud, the intensity of his yearning was so great. He could go running down there right now, crashing into Arc with such force that they’d never be parted again.
But then Arcadimon spoke the words that made Ed turn, dashing down the steps with the redcoats. “The Red War,” he said hollowly.
* * *
• • •
Ed’s mind spun as he led the redcoats through the black amphitheater passageways, feeling their way down rusted ladders and tunnels so narrow they had to squeeze sideways, cobwebs brushing their faces.
Arc had seen him. Arc knew he was here.
But he didn’t think Arcadimon would give him away. If they find out you’re alive, Arc had told him, they’ll have both our heads.
“Say, are you certain we’re going the right way?” one of the redcoats asked. “I swear we’ve passed this lumpy bit of wall before.” Ed recognized the voice as belonging to Lac, the posturing green-eyed one.
“I’m sure,” Ed replied.
“But how do you know?”
“Maybe he can see in the dark.” That was Hobs, the one with the round head.
The suggestion was so absurd Ed found himself caught between a smile and a frown. “I memorized these tunnels when I was a child,” he said. And now he was using them to smuggle Deliene’s enemies out of danger.
Ed shook his head. Deliene had enemies. Deliene was at war.
“Whatever for?” Lac asked.
“You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?” Ed countered. He was surprised at himself; it wasn’t a comment King Eduoar Corabelli II would have made.
But he wasn’t Eduoar Corabelli anymore, was he? The thought gave him a little thrill of delight.
“Certainly not!” Lac exclaimed.
“He’s afraid of the dirt,” Hobs added.
There was a soft chorus of laughter from the others.
“Hobs, as the ranking officer here, I’d like to maintain a little of my authority, and you’re not helping.”
“It’s not the dirt that will get you,” Ed said, nearly joining in their laughter. “It’s the spiders.”
He was rewarded with a gasp of horror.
He chuckled aloud this time.
It surprised him, sometimes, how much lighter his steps felt since he’d given up his name. How it felt to exist without a curse hanging over your head like the executioner’s ax.
Free.
And . . . empty, lacking purpose. He had no court to hold, no disputes to mediate, no trade agreements to negotiate. It had left him feeling scooped out, a shell of his former self wandering aimlessly through the Central Port.
For a time, they continued palming their way along the walls, shuffling through the darkness, until Ed reached the exit. Lac stumbled into him from behind.
“Are we here?” the boy asked. “At the Oxscinian embassy?”
“The wha—” Ed shook his head, though the redcoats couldn’t see. “The tunnels don’t go to the embassy. What made you think—? Never mind. We’re at the amphitheater’s west gate.” He pressed his palm to the wall, searching for the lever he was sure was there.
“And then you’ll take us to the embassy?”
Ed paused. He’d been to the embassy many times before. Given his past week of exploring the city, he could probably get them there without hiring a guide.
But in wartime, things changed.
Deliene hadn’t been to war since before the White Plague, when his fourth great-grandfather became king—at the cost of thousands of lives and a curse upon his bloodline—but Arcadimon had ended their peaceful history.
They have a plan for Deliene, he’d said, and that plan doesn’t include you.
Ed could have revealed himself during the announcement. He could have stood up and reclaimed his throne and prevented Deliene from going to war. A part of him still thought he should.
But he’d simply stood by while the new flag of the Alliance—with three stripes of blue, gold, and white to signify the three allied kingdoms—was unfurled before
his very eyes.
He told himself he loved Arcadimon, the boy who’d taken his crown and his heart. He trusted Arcadimon. He had to believe Arc had the best interests of his kingdom at heart.
No, not his kingdom. Not anymore.
He was no longer Eduoar Corabelli. He was no longer a king. And it had to remain that way, if he wanted Arc to survive.
In the darkness, Ed found the lever, cold in his palm. “Jahara is at war with Oxscini now,” he said. “They won’t be letting anyone enter or leave the embassy.”
“Then how do we get home?”
He pushed the lever. Deep in the stones, there was a rumbling as the door cracked open. He couldn’t prevent Deliene from going to war. But he could do this. He could rescue a dozen redcoats, though they weren’t his own subjects—because you don’t have subjects anymore, he reminded himself. “I’m going to get you on a ship to Oxscini,” he said.
* * *
• • •
Unfortunately, saying he was going to get them all out of Jahara was easier than actually getting them all out of Jahara.
As Ed had predicted, the Oxscinian embassy had been closed. All vessels flying red flags had been grounded. All other ships with upcoming voyages to the Forest Kingdom were being temporarily held until their captains and crews could be questioned.
But little by little, Ed found the redcoats ways off the island.
He had money left from selling the dinghy he’d used to escape Corabel, and he blew most of it bribing port officials to allow small fishing boats with Oxscinian crews to depart, overpaying guides to learn which yachts and cutters were flying false colors.
As king, he’d never done anything so underhanded.
But he wasn’t a king, and he liked it. For the first time in a week, he felt useful. He had a purpose again, however minor, however temporary.
One by one, he secured a place for each of the redcoats. They took work as deckhands in exchange for passage. They paid for hammock space between cargo crates. They were smuggled into hidden compartments.
Until at last it was sunset, he was out of gold, and two redcoats still remained: Haldon Lac, who didn’t possess even the most basic common sense, and Olly Hobs, who had a seemingly endless supply of strange questions.
The other redcoats had offered up their places many times throughout the day, but both Lac and Hobs had repeatedly refused—Lac claiming loudly that it was his duty as ranking officer to see them all home safely, and Hobs giving no explanation but a shrug.
As a pair of lamplighters passed them, setting flame to the lanterns that lined the docks, Lac flopped down on a tangle of fishing nets, throwing his arm theatrically over his eyes. “Now what are we going to do?” he moaned.
Hobs plopped down beside him. “We’ll do what we always do,” he said.
“And what’s that?” asked Ed, sitting between them.
Hobs paused for a moment. “I’m not sure, exactly. But if I know us, and I think I do, Lac will do something dramatic, I’ll make an astute observation, and Fox . . . well, Fox would have criticized both of us and come along for the ride anyway.”
Lac dropped his arm, and in the dusk light his features were lined with sadness. “Ah,” he said, his voice stripped of its usual extravagance. “Fox.”
“Who’s Fox?” Ed asked.
“She was our friend,” said Hobs.
“We lost her,” added Lac simply.
“I’m sorry.” Ed knew about losing people. Because of the curse on his family, he’d lost aunts, uncles, his mother and father, his little cousin, Roco—to a weak heart, he told himself—until only he remained.
There was a short silence.
“You know, this is the longest I’ve gone without thinking of her?” Lac asked. “Just a week ago I couldn’t go an hour without wanting to ask her for help, or wanting to show her something that would make her smile . . .”
“She had a good smile, sir,” Hobs added when Lac trailed off.
“One of the best,” Lac agreed. “But I don’t think she’s crossed my mind since this morning.”
Hobs shook his head. “Me either.”
“It almost feels like a betrayal, doesn’t it? Like we’re being disloyal to her memory.”
Thoughtfully, Ed looked north. From this southern sector of the Central Port, he couldn’t see the Delienean coast, but he could imagine the lights coming on in Corabel. He wondered if Arc had returned to the castle, if he was removing his gloves and striding across the courtyard with the first stars just beginning to appear overhead.
“Fox would say disloyalty would be not making it back to the Royal Navy,” said Hobs, interrupting Ed’s thoughts.
“Hobs, you’ve never spoken truer words.” With athletic grace, Lac sprang to his feet, managing to strike a dashing pose despite one of his boots getting caught in the nets. “We shall not give up. We shall make it home. We shall honor Fox’s memory by returning to our kingdom and our queen.”
“Very dramatic,” said Hobs. “I already made an astute observation. Now we need someone to criticize us.”
As one, both redcoats turned expectantly to Ed.
“Me?” he asked.
“Glare at him,” Hobs said helpfully.
“Tell him to shut up,” said Lac.
“You can berate us any way that feels comfortable to you.”
Ed shook his head. “I’m not going to berate you—”
“Oh,” Hobs interrupted, sounding almost disappointed. “I suppose that’s different.”
“But I’ll say you won’t get home just talking about it.” Ed stood, digging into his pocket for his last copper coins. There were seedier parts of the Central Port they hadn’t yet tried, more disreputable captains they hadn’t yet spoken to. He wouldn’t give up yet. “Come on, I have an idea.”
“Spectacular!” Haldon Lac flashed him a smile of such unabashed joy that Ed couldn’t help but smile back. The redcoat didn’t know if the plan would work—he didn’t even know what the plan was—but it seemed that hope was enough for him. Maybe Ed could learn something from him, about joy and hope.
With the last of his copper zens, Ed hired a guide to take them through the twilit catwalks. They passed rooster fights, high-stakes games of chance, shady figures making shadier deals.
“We’re not going to end up dead in some alley, are we?” Lac said in a stage whisper.
Ahead of them, their guide snickered. A wrought-iron sign above a tavern door creaked ominously in the evening breeze.
“I hope not,” Ed muttered back.
“If we end up dead in some alley, it’s a good thing we wouldn’t be in charge of locating the bodies, or we’d never be found,” Hobs said.
“Another astute observation, Hobs,” Ed said, testing the words. They were snappier than he was used to, but at Lac’s approving smile, he decided he wouldn’t mind trying it again.
“Points for sarcasm,” Hobs replied. “I think you’re getting better at this.”
Their guide brought them to a gray ship she claimed was from Epidram, on the north coast of Oxscini, though the splintery old tub was now flying the new Alliance flags of blue, gold, and white.
Ed hoped the guide’s information was good. They might all be arrested otherwise.
Someone would surely recognize him if that happened. And Arc would forfeit his life.
“The captain’s a former redcoat,” the guide said as Ed dropped the second half of her payment into her open palm. That left him a couple zens and a pocketful of lint. “They go by Neeram, and don’t ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ them either. It’s ‘captain,’ or keep your mouth shut.”
“Sir,” said Hobs, tugging needlessly on Lac’s sleeve. “Do you recognize that ship?”
Haldon Lac squinted. “Uh, if by recognize, you mean not recognize at all—”
“It’s th
e Tin Bucket. From Black Boar Pier.”
“She’s called the Hustle now.” Their guide stuffed her payment into a threadbare coin purse and strode down the dock, disappearing quickly into the shadows.
Ed glanced at the gray ship again. He didn’t know what significance Black Boar Pier had for the redcoats, but that they were familiar with the ship was a surprising moment of serendipity.
“What a happy accident this is!” Lac cried.
“Is it an accident?” Hobs asked, narrowing his eyes. “Or is it on purpose?”
“Whose purpose could it possibly be?”
“I’m just saying . . .”
As the redcoats fell to bickering about the nature of luck and coincidence, Ed sighed. Though he’d known them less than a day, he’d miss the redcoats when they were gone. But he’d done them a good turn. And done something to oppose Arcadimon’s choices, though Arc would never know.
“Well,” Ed said, “I’ve got two coins to rub together, but that’s about it. Do you think you can wheedle your way aboard with nothing but your good looks and charm? I’m sure they’ll take on two able-bodied sailors for a sympathetic cause.”
“I have no doubt,” Haldon Lac declared with one of his dazzling smiles. “But I’m hoping they’ll take three.”
“Three?” Ed almost retreated. Leave Jahara?
“Come with us, Ed.”
“I can’t.” What about Arcadimon? What about Deliene? He couldn’t abandon them, not now, when they needed him.
“I think you can,” Lac said, clasping Ed’s hand. “I think you need this.”
“Almost as much as we need you,” Hobs added. “For the sarcasm and such.”
Ed looked down at his hand, which Lac still held. In the lamplight, he could see the tan line from his missing signet ring.
He was no longer a Corabelli. He was no longer a king. He wasn’t capable of extricating Deliene from the Red War. Or of saving Arcadimon. They didn’t need him.
But these ridiculous, hapless, good-natured redcoats did.
And he needed them, he realized. They were giving him a chance to reinvent himself, and for the first time in a long time, he actually liked who he was—and who he was becoming. Helpful. Capable. With a touch of sardonic humor that Arc would have appreciated.
