by Jason Letts
The Commerce Titans couldn’t have known Tris and Lowell would be in attendance or how hard it would be to stand by while this happened to someone who was so important to them.
“We have to do something,” Tris said, although she couldn’t imagine what.
“Some dirty old man will buy him and we’ll get him back. I promise,” Lowell whispered.
A woman in the crowd threw a rock at Dedrick, causing him to cry for help, at first in Madoran and then in Cumerian. The crowd laughed at that, but still not one bidder appeared.
It was madness, but Tris swore that Dedrick recognized her, even though she was all the way in the back and wearing cloth over all but her eyes. The shame pulsated within her until it was all she could feel. This boy—his parents abandoned him, the city rejected him, and even the Brackens couldn’t speak up and say they wanted him. The Brackens took care of their supporters, but this was a line she knew they could not cross.
The gavel struck again, signaling the end of bidding. Tris took it as a relief that Dedrick would not be carried off as the young woman had been before.
“What will happen without a winner?” Tris asked.
She’d barely gotten the words out before the answer presented itself. The morose man on the stage grabbed Dedrick by the back of his shirt, dragged him kicking and screaming to the end of the stage, and withdrew a fat little dagger covered in dried blood. He sliced across Dedrick’s neck, spilling blood all over his front and the edge of the stage, before pushing the boy’s limp body into the gaping sinkhole.
CHAPTER 4
Randall had never spent so much time with Taylor in his life as he did traveling the interminable road to Iron City. It didn’t help that whenever he felt the impulse to make small talk his mind drew a blank, or that the bumpy ride in the coach gave him a constant jarring feeling that made him wish he could be alone.
“Why not just cut the thing open and let the fluid out?” Randall suggested when Taylor took off his boot to check on a cherry-sized blood blister he’d developed. Taylor squinted at him like he had two heads.
“Because then nothing would cushion the blister, and I’d probably end up with an infection from some nasty bug hiding inside these old boots,” Taylor said.
Randall was clearly out of his depth here, and he leaned back in his seat, vowing not to make any more stupid suggestions and really stick to it this time. He’d already asked if they could adjust the campfire to make the smoke blow in a different direction and if they could move the lanterns closer to the carriage rather than out in front of the horses. Both times he suffered withering embarrassment. At least nobody but Taylor could really understand him.
“What do we have left, a few more cycles of this? Spending another entire night out here is going to be torture,” Randall said, giving in to his annoyance. The lukewarm, bland meals composed mostly of beans, the strange animal calls that woke him up, and the uncouth nature of the other caravan members all combined into what seemed the perfect torture.
“Actually, I think we’re almost there. Look up. You can see a plane descending for the airport near Iron City,” Taylor said.
Although Randall had been wrong again, the relief at being nearly there was more powerful than anything. The plane, nothing more than a couple blinking lights in the dark sky, floated ahead of them toward what he knew was a runway set on a cliff near the sea. The darkness prevented him from glimpsing more of the city than some distant fires, such as its fortress of tall iron walls that sealed the city off from Plagrass’s savagery.
Now that they’d nearly arrived, the challenge of finding Angela Lu and carrying out his part of the plan had come, but he was riddled with doubts about his ability to execute it. He’d been played for a fool by Qi Ptock and Chancellor Aggart while he was Grand Councilman, and it had killed his confidence. Based on what he heard, Angela Lu and her seven sisters of the powerful Lu Dynasty telecommunications giant were as much to be feared as any Cumerian politician.
“Is it true you have to put your own blood in all of your money to prove it’s yours?” Taylor asked, a glow from the lanterns reflecting off of half of his face.
“They have some strange rules to keep order in Iron City,” Randall said, remembering how squeamish he was about blood. His mother had managed to exchange all of the blood currency before they arrived, leaving Randall with some amount of Madoran coins that would again need to be exchanged if they were to survive on them until they got to Angela.
A few more hours passed, and the caravan curved around a long stretch along the shoreline and made its ascending approach to the city’s towering gate. Firelight from blazes in the battlements and the bustling sounds of countless people from inside the city couldn’t be contained by those iron walls.
Beyond the northern end of the city, more fires revealed that one of the hill tribes had camped nearby, and as soon as Randall noticed that, the couch driver’s whip cracked and the horses sped up. Everyone was anxious to avoid any harassment after what had otherwise been an uneventful journey.
The large gate waited just ahead with a smaller caged entryway just beside for regular comings and goings. Armed guards stood next to the latticework of steel and torches, but they were still a ways up the hill when members of the hill tribe, in ragged robes and employing all manner of rusty weaponry, emerged on the road and blocked their passage. The horses reared as they came to a stop, and one of the lanterns fell from its hold and burst against the ground.
“What do we do?” Randall fretted, looking over at Taylor, who already seemed to have the answer. He clenched his fists, a subtle blue glow emerging from within the skin. An instant later, he’d hopped out of the coach and raced forward, joining a few other caravan members to engage the tribe members.
“More are coming!” Randall shouted. If they didn’t make it through the entryway quickly, the entire camp might decide to drop in on them.
Taylor ducked under the swing of a man wielding a shovel, hoisting him up by his middle and throwing him off the side of the road. The others in the caravan helped clear the way, and the driver snapped the reins to urge the horses forward. As it passed, Taylor and the others leapt on board while the attackers pursued on foot. Some made it onto the road just behind them, and Randall saw another lantern strike the road to ward them off.
When it became clear they’d make it to the entryway, the members of the hill tribe backed off and returned to camp. The coach slowed at the behest of the city guards, who held massive blades nearly as tall as a man.
The guards began speaking to the leaders of the caravan, who promptly turned and pointed to Randall. The sudden attention caused a flush of anxiety. The guards nodded, and one of them went to a lean-to set up against the iron wall, where papers were set into a number of wooden pockets. The guard removed his gauntlets, selected one of the papers, underlined something with a pen, and delivered it to Randall, who had a hard time making it out in the uneven light.
A whistle blew, the cage gate opened, and the coach and the caravan members were permitted to enter the city.
“This thing is in five different languages,” Randall noted. “But where’s Cumerian?”
Everything went pitch black as they traveled through the iron wall. Ahead, they could see people walking back and forth near the exit. When they finally got there, electric lights strung up on rooftops allowed Randall to finally discern the purpose of the paper.
“You are charged with criminal mischief and destruction of property for damage done to Iron City’s external roads. The maximum penalty for these crimes is a fine of one thousand bills and three years of probation. You are hereby required to attend your arraignment at the district courthouse and answer for these charges at,” he read, scanning down to the underlined section, “the eighteenth hour of the cycle. That’s only two hours away!”
One of the caravan members helped him down from the coach, gave him a sympathetic nod, and then turned along with the others to leave him there in the street.
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br /> “Liquid hell!” Randall moaned at the realization he was being left to deal with this alone. Taylor took a glance at the page and grimaced.
“That’s a bit of bastard luck, isn’t it?” Taylor said, much too lightly. He didn’t understand what Randall needed from the Lus, and how much of a mess it would be to ask for it now that he’d been caught in Iron City’s criminal justice system before taking one step in the city. Spending three years on probation here wouldn’t just ruin the plan. It would ruin his life along with it.
“I guess there’s nothing we can do but find out where the courthouse is,” Randall muttered.
Taylor grabbed his shoulder and forced him to look him in the eye.
“Oh, there’s something we can do,” Taylor said, grinning. “We’ve got to take matters into our own hands, find Angela Lu, and then dodge this nonsense by whatever means necessary.”
“But the rule of law…”
“Should not distribute big fines and years of probation for some lantern shards in the road that five minutes with a broom would take care of,” Taylor said. Randall didn’t want to admit it, but he had a point.
“We have no idea where the Lu Dynasty is or where to find Angela Lu,” Randall said, raising his hands, but Taylor was not to be deterred.
“I know enough. The Lus are the most powerful telecommunications company in the world. They’re practically the only reason this city is on the map at all. Look up at the wires strung along the rooftops and above the streets. They form a web, and my guess is Angela Lu is the spider right at the center.”
“Shit, you’re right,” Randall gasped, looking up. Taylor pulled him forward, and together they marched into the city, keeping an eye on the web above for clues about which direction to head. On the way, Randall couldn’t help but marvel at how different this city was from Madora. Instead of clay and sand everywhere, stained wood composed most of the buildings.
The people were clean, wearing wool fashioned for respectability and the cooler climate. Not a soul lounged on the streets in abject poverty. Stores, homes, and small factories were interspersed so thoroughly it was hard to tell one street from the next. Antennae on rooftops fed television screens they could see through the windows. Mobile phones were common as well. In many ways, civilization in Iron City seemed to rival the best of Cumeria.
The rungs of the web grew closer together as the half-brothers walked toward the city’s center. Randall continued to worry about the diminishing time until his appointment, only managing to think about something else when they spotted an imposing edifice with a massive broadcasting tower on top. The buzzing wires sloped down to the city from the top, wrapped in lights that made the surrounding area seem like it was the middle of the day. But no sign articulated the occupant of the building.
“What are you waiting for?” Taylor asked, striding on ahead. He’d heard about the Lus’ ways, and a little over an hour wasn’t enough time for them to tie their shoes, let alone reach a far-reaching and complicated agreement that had to be arrived at through subterfuge and misdirection.
But Randall gave in once again to Taylor’s impulsive lead. They reached a pair of glass doors, entered the lobby of the building, and approached a young woman at a desk made of computer circuits. Behind her, countless desks extended to the end of the building. Overhead, only a porous steel frame separated them from the second floor, where yet more employees worked at desks and computer screens. The only things even resembling decoration in the building were video cameras that appeared numerous enough to watch everyone at every single moment. It wasn’t exactly welcoming.
The young woman at the desk said something in the language of Iron City. Randall cleared his throat. It was said that between Angela, who had a Cumerian name, and her seven sisters, at least one of them could speak every language on the planet, but that didn’t seem to extend to the staff.
“Do you speak Cumerian?” he said, getting a blank stare in response. “Angela Lu. Me, Randall Bracken. I’m to see Angela Lu.”
“So sorry,” the woman at the desk said, and Randall turned for the door when Taylor again caught him.
“She just didn’t understand,” Taylor said.
“No, she was saying Angela wouldn’t meet with me. She might not even be here.”
Randall’s response certainly didn’t impress Taylor, who glanced back at the wide-open floor and then huddled closer.
“You’re not going to give up that easily, are you? She could be just a few floors above us, waiting for us to get to her. Now, this isn’t as dangerous as it sounds, but I saw some scaffolding and a fire escape on one side of the building we could use to climb up a few floors. The few windows seem to be simple sliders, and we’d just need to break the latch and lift them open. Once inside…”
Taylor’s dizzying plan went on and on, but it was so far out of the realm of what Randall wanted to do that he couldn’t even bear to listen. His thoughts instead drifted to Cori, the love of his life, who had to pose as his cleaning lady. She was still in the Cumerian capitol of Toine, waiting for him to return.
“I’ve got to stop you right there, Taylor,” Randall said, sighing. “It’s not going to work. There are places you can get away with sneaking around, climbing around things, and breaking into places, but Iron City isn’t one of them. We’ve got to do this the right way. Let’s get the charges straightened out, then come back with someone who can translate, make a proper appointment, and prove that we’re trustworthy.”
Taylor looked like he was about to argue, but Randall cut him off.
“Hey, I’m in charge here. We can’t blow this one by screwing around. That’s exactly what Dad wanted you to learn—when to show some restraint. Those cameras are watching us and probably recorded everything you just said.”
Taylor glanced at the cameras fixed to the ceiling and grimaced, turning his head away. Randall knew it was hard for him, and that the Ma Ha’dere had taken his self-control in exchange for a strange power, but he hoped Taylor could muster his strength and overcome that deficiency.
Exiting into the street, Randall led his brother around until they found the district courthouse, a large dome that seemed to be the most densely populated area in town. Scores were constantly coming and going, all of them carrying red charge slips similar to the one he had stuffed in his pocket.
The people outside were just a fraction of the people inside, where the walls were lined with people curving around, waiting for arraignments, sentencing, or whatever. Guards strolled along the outside, and Randall tried to ask one what to do, even handing over the paper describing his infraction, but the guard only vaguely gestured for him to continue down the hall to the right.
“Hey, you!” a man leaning against the wall said in an unusual accent. Randall looked at him suspiciously. “You look Cumerian.”
“I am. Are you?” Randall said, relieved to find someone he could actually speak with.
“No, no, Lyrian,” he said. That explained the accent, but his clothes and beard appeared to be in the style of Iron City.
“What are you here for?” Randall asked, and the man rolled his eyes.
“Is always something. In Irony City, everyone is always defendant and always judge,” he said. The man had a twitch in his left eye and a tremor in his right arm. He didn’t seem well by any standards.
“How do I get out of these charges?” Randall asked, hoping to quickly gain any information he could and leave.
“Everyone is expected to know the law here. They won’t tell you this, but when you face the judge there’ll be a red card next to you for claiming judicial misconduct. If you use it, then you can become the judge,” he explained, his face breaking into a huge grin.
“I see,” Randall muttered before the traffic in the hallway forced him to move on. It seemed a bizarre system for a city, one that was so incredibly different from the way things were done back home. Bribery, pointless legal motions, and courtroom spectacles weren’t likely to work here.
> Randall and Taylor continued around the circular hallway. One door opened, allowing someone to exit the courtroom and the next in line to enter, and in that instant Randall peeked at the judges’ benches arranged in a circle and the television screens hanging above.
While not watching where he was going he bumped into a guard, who snatched his charge card and pointed him to a spot against the wall across from a door.
“No one else is in line here?” Randall noted, and Taylor shrugged. He had no idea why that was. But all of a sudden the door in front of him popped open and a short woman in a guard’s uniform waved him forward.
“Beat them senseless,” Taylor said to his brother, who was filled with dread when he walked through the doorway into the spacious courtroom of iron and marble. A short distance ahead was a stand upholding a red card, as the man in the hall had described, and slightly farther was a tall steel desk, a dark-haired woman conveying impressive aloofness and poise behind it, and above her a television screen that began playing a video recording of his approach to the Iron City entrance.
Only a few yards away to his left and right, other defendants pleaded their own cases, with video of their crimes playing on similar screens above the judges’ benches. On the left, a girl who couldn’t have been more than fifteen appeared to spit in the street. On the right, the screen showed a middle-aged woman hitting her husband with a spatula.
“State your name.”
The woman’s authoritative voice snapped his attention back to the bench in front of him. Although she did not look Cumerian, she spoke Cumerian without the slightest accent. Randall only knew of one person in Iron City to have such command of his language.
“Randall Bracken,” he answered.
“Hand me your card,” she demanded. When he approached and looked into her black eyes, his suspicions flared. Certainly he’d seen other women in the city who looked like this, but he began to get the feeling that this whole situation was not an accident. He gave her his charge card, which she looked over and handed back.
