The Perilous In-Between

by Cortney Pearson

  Maybe she was right. Maybe Victoria didn’t deserve her position after all.

  Chatter quieted across the crowded room. A baby cried from somewhere near the door. Uncle Jarvis rose to the podium at the stage’s center, and the noise softened, dying out completely.

  Victoria’s mother stiffened beside her, and Victoria braced herself, ready for the public reprimand and her jail sentence, though she wasn’t sure anything they said or did could make her feel any worse. She stared at the constables again, the men standing ready to drag her off at a moment’s notice.

  “Thank you all for gathering here,” Jarvis began. “As your Town Council, we felt you should know the Kreak attack last night was not sporadic as the others have been. This time the beast was provoked.”

  A murmur stirred over the crowd.

  Victoria glanced at Rosalind, then back up to Graham and Oscar, to the other Nauts in their designated pew, and finally to the empty space where Dahlia should be.

  “We have called you all here to hold the responsible party accountable. Fortunately, our mayor, Dorian Goshawk, is here to address the issue as well.”

  At the announcement, a side door opened. The congregation’s attention veered to the old man stepping through in a fitted blue suit with a yellow waistcoat and white cravat.

  Unjust, Victoria thought. Uncle Jarvis couldn’t do this. He’d conveniently failed to mention her and the others’ intentions last night. They’d been trying to help, not provoke. At least give us the chance to defend ourselves.

  And that wasn’t to mention his refusal to assist them in finding a way to permanently stop the attacks. Her blood thickened, adding anger to the mixture of emotions gushing through her the longer she sat. She struggled to retain her posture.

  Mayor Goshawk strode forward, agile for a man of his age. White hair tufted like a cloud around his ears. Victoria remembered him saying something about obtaining help from Wolverton, how that had been the reason for his disappearance the night Mrs. Powell died.

  The thought struck her with a chill in the warm room. Wolverton was not there. The mayor claimed to have been somewhere that did not exist.

  Unrest stirred in the balcony above. People were muttering and making shushing noises. Someone said something that sounded like, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Not a few people turned to gaze upward at the distraction in the balcony. Victoria glanced as well, to find Graham on his feet with a look of complete disbelief on his face. People continued to shush him. One woman even tried to pull him to sit, but he brushed away her hands.

  He caught Victoria’s eye, pointed to the mayor and mouthed something. Victoria shook her head, unable to make it out amid the hubbub.

  Finally, Graham returned his attention the mayor now standing at the podium, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted out, “Hey, Starkey!”

  Thirty

  Murmuring broke out among the crowd, but Victoria could hardly think. Her glance traded between Graham and the old man on the stage. A.C. Starkey? Their mayor was the man whom Graham followed to come here?

  Victoria slid to the edge of her seat, her hand resting on the back of the pew in front of her. If Jane was from Graham’s Chicago, then it made some sense that others would be too, but she never once considered that one of them would be the mayor.

  Uncle Jarvis stood. “You are out of line!” he called up to Graham, who was making his way down the stairs with Oscar in tow.

  “If we’re going to be on trial,” Graham said, striding up the aisle and taking the steps to the stage two at a time until he stood on its edge before the circle of lords, “we might as well be up here where we can defend ourselves.”

  Oscar rose and quickly followed, joining Graham on the main level. What felt like ants crawled in Victoria’s ribcage. She stood as well, but her mother pulled her back down again.

  “What makes you think you’ll get that chance?” Jarvis argued, staring Graham down. They were about the same height, and neither cowered back. “There will be no discussion. Doing anything differently against the Kreak as you three suggested—as you’ve proven—is too dangerous. Even if we connected ropes to the planes, we cannot put our young ladies in that kind of danger.”

  “Oh, but putting them in planes to blow fire at the thing is completely safe,” Graham scoffed. Oscar lifted his chin in defiance, as if proud of Graham’s interference.

  Jarvis’s face turned purple. “You know nothing of our ways, Mr. Birkley. You’ve only been here a handful of days. Don’t think you can—”

  “With all respect, sir,” Oscar interrupted. “But Mr. Birkley has a point. Are the women not in danger every time they fly out?”

  Bronwyn stood at this interjection. “Don’t treat us like we’re weak, incapable ninnies!” she cried. Several of the other Nauts chittered in agreement.

  Oscar went on, talking over them. “And what about those who are not pilots? We put all women, children, and frankly, the men as well, in danger just by enduring the attacks, do we not?”

  A few people in the congregation called out in agreement. Victoria’s mother covered her face with a lace-gloved hand.

  Oscar turned his attention to the eager listeners. “Last night we meant to find out where the Kreak’s lair was! We intended on finding a different method of handling it. Perhaps if we used the largest hangar in the Aviatory to store it, we could examine it.”

  “We’ll all die!” someone called out.

  “We have gas masks,” Oscar argued. “We can lure it to the surface again, only this time a crew can be ready to push it toward the Aviatory. Maybe the Nauts can position their planes over the ocean and push it toward the town instead.”

  “He’s mad!” another townsperson shouted out, followed by several nods and mutters of agreement.

  Mayor Goshawk stepped forward, fanning out his hands to quiet the uproar. “We will discuss the matter. For now, I will deal with the four wrongdoers, and I suggest you all return to your homes.” He turned to Jarvis. “And I suggest you think better of holding a public discussion about these matters in the future.”

  Goshawk then strode to Graham, took the younger boy by the arm, and stalked off the stage toward the back exit he’d come through.

  A hovney waited just outside, bobbing in midair and puttering out smoky exhaust. Starkey practically shoved Graham into it. Graham whipped around on the velvet bench, nerves racing. He could hardly believe the old man was here. And acting as the mayor, of all things.

  Starkey climbed precariously up the brief ladder and sat across from Graham. The footman closed the door behind him, and Starkey rapped on the ceiling with his cane.

  “Where have you been this whole time?” Graham demanded as the hovney lurched into motion. He couldn’t figure it out. Not once since he’d gotten here had anyone mentioned a mayor. Or that the absent mayor was tall, white-haired and scatterbrained.

  “Shh.”

  “No, really,” Graham persisted. “What—?”

  “At the house, boy,” Starkey said, glaring out the window. Graham nodded, staring out at the sky and grass. Eventually the carriage ricketed past the Aviatory and then Gingham Range, veering south toward the longest house Graham had ever seen. A stately dome with columns stood in its center, while the shorter sides spanned out like wings smattered with windows. It took several moments for Graham to recognize it as one of Starkey’s blueprints.

  “This is your house?”

  Starkey exited without a word and stalked across the gravel drive with the help of his cane, bursting through the huge front door. Graham stumbled in after him. A servant in a black suit approached.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I would have been there to greet you had I known you would be returning from town early.”

  “Not to worry, Miller.” Starkey dismissed him with a hand. He marched down a hallway to the left, never once check
ing whether or not Graham was following. Starkey unlocked a grand set of double doors and signaled for Graham to enter first.

  Graham looked around, stunned by the startling cleanness of the space. Starkey’s studio had always been a disaster back home, but this place was impeccable. He stared in awe at the oddly familiar surroundings. Starkey had used this blueprint to teach him a few basics of architecture. Graham knew this layout—from the parlor to the study located on the other side of the manor’s main floor. He’d always thought it was an extravagant and unnecessary boatload of rooms.

  Starkey led him to the study where red wallpaper complimented the dark cherry wood climbing halfway up the walls. Shelves bedecked with books lined those walls. A set of leather chairs gathered in front of the fireplace, and a desk overlooked the window, with a door standing just behind it.

  Starkey gestured for Graham to sit. He took one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. Starkey stood opposite, glaring down at him.

  “You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble for me, my boy,” Starkey said.

  Graham ducked his head. Suddenly, he was fourteen again, and filled with shame. Only this time he wasn’t even sure what he’d done wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Starkey, we were just trying—”

  “You were just meddling in things you don’t understand.”

  A flash of anger flared through Graham. “No one understands it! And no one is trying to, for that matter. We were going out there to learn more about it, Stark. If we can understand that thing, maybe we can fight it better.”

  Starkey shook his head and sat down across from Graham. His stern look softened. “Oh, Graham. Why did you come here?”

  Graham’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean? You . . . you led me here. Didn’t you want me to come?”

  “Want you to come? Of course not! If I were planning on bringing you to Chuzzlewit, I think I’d do it a little more elegantly.” He released a gruff chuckle.

  “But—but—you knew I was coming that day. You asked me to come. And when I arrived, you were walking through that purple light. I thought . . .” He trailed off at the look of confusion on Starkey’s face. He swallowed. Hard. “So you didn’t mean for me to come?”

  Starkey shook his head. “I must have mixed up the days,” he said with a regretful sigh. “I never would have brought you here without some kind of explanation. I would have prepared you in the very least.”

  Graham couldn’t help scoffing at that. “Yeah, that would have been helpful.” If it hadn’t been for Victoria, he would have died during his first five minutes in Chuzzlewit. Not to mention the massive amounts of confusion that followed for days. He’d tried to hide it as best he could, but it was still nothing short of crazy. “A little orientation would have been nice.”

  Starkey pinched his temples, sitting in silence.

  “What’s going on, Starkey? Where is this place?”

  Starkey opened his mouth, but a brief knock caused him to close it again. Miller entered with a tray.

  “Thank you, Miller,” Starkey said as the butler set it down on a convenient table. “Close the door behind you, please. We’re not to be disturbed.”

  “Very good, sir,” said the shorter man, giving a bow before doing as he’d been asked.

  Starkey watched, waiting for the door to shut. Then he turned to Graham.

  “Best we talk somewhere more private. There are some things I need to show you.” He gestured for Graham to follow him through the door beside his desk, into a smaller hallway with two other doors at its end. Graham remembered this section from the blueprints he’d seen.

  Starkey led him down this narrow hallway and through the door on the left. It opened to a small room, its walls lined floor to ceiling with drawers. A fire pit of sorts sat in the center, white tiles elevating its circular walls several inches above the ground.

  A line of cable stretched before a row of cabinets hanging along the back wall, reminding Graham of a dark-room where pictures used to be developed before digital took over everything. Various sketches hung on the cable: pictures of buildings and plants, and several of hovneys and other machines.

  A small pool of water glistened just below the images, almost like a landscape feature with stacked rocks and water trickling down.

  Starkey rested two hands on his cane and waited for Graham to close the door behind him. The air was muffled in here, as though it didn’t get circulated much.

  Once the door was closed, Starkey shuffled over to one of the drawers and pulled out a lockbox. He loosened his cravat and pulled a chain from beneath it, revealing a key at the end of its length. Balancing the lockbox on his arm, Starkey opened it and turned it to show Graham its contents.

  A dull rock, no bigger than Graham’s fist, sat in the middle of the box. Purple and speckled with white, it was nothing that would have captured his attention were he to find it on a street somewhere. And Starkey was keeping this locked up?

  “Um . . . what’s this?”

  Starkey grinned. “It’s what started everything.”

  Graham reached for the rock, and Starkey slammed the box shut, nearly smashing Graham’s fingers. “What do you think you’re doing, boy? Did I tell you to touch it?”

  Graham jerked back, shocked at Starkey’s sudden defensiveness. “Sorry,” he said, utterly confused. “What’s so big about some rock?”

  Starkey sighed, pulling the lockbox to his chest. “There’s an energy flowing through it, powerful enough to manipulate the universe—to build a Gateway between worlds. There’s power enough to create something from nothing, right here in my hands. Power enough to destroy everything.”

  A chill swept down Graham’s arms.

  “It must be handled with extreme care. You must never touch it, Graham.”

  Graham couldn’t manage to drag his gaze away from the old man. Questions buzzed through his brain like a hive of bees. “If that’s true, how on earth did you get it?”

  “It’s a meteorite. I saw it fall from the sky myself on one of my excursions. I took it home, experimented with it, and—quite accidentally—I transported myself here.”

  “You’re kidding,” Graham said.

  “Not at all. It didn’t look like this, though. Chuzzlewit, as it has come to be, was nothing more than a blank page when I first saw it. But I felt young here. Strong again. I took a few samples of dirt and water and found that the rock piece could take me back and forth. Little by little, I figured things out until I was eventually able to build my Gateway.”

  Graham pictured the machine back in Starkey’s office. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny any of what Starkey was saying. The proof of it all was right here in front of him.

  “So—you built this place?” A whole town?

  “Yes.” Starkey’s grin crinkled his eyes.

  “But—how? I mean, hovercars? How is this even possible?”

  Starkey tapped a bent finger at the lockbox, his eyes alight with glee. “The air here is different. It makes things possible that shouldn’t be. I call it the Charge. It enhances you—your physical abilities as well as your mental aptitude.”

  “That’s why I could hold my breath for so long? And run for miles without tiring?”

  “Exactly.” Starkey beamed at him. “What you excelled at in our world is magnified here. Same for me. I invent things, Graham. It’s what I’ve always been good at. Here, that talent is accelerated that much more to the point where I’ve become a genius.”

  “And that—the air—allowed you to just create things out of nothing?”

  Starkey lowered the lockbox. “Not out of nothing. But you’ve got the gist of it. The only thing I can’t create is the people. But this place was too good to keep to myself. I took people off the streets, people who had nothing, and brought them here, to start anew in a new society. A more genteel world. Here, everyone knows their pl
ace. There’s so much less angst and confusion. Everyone is happy here.”

  Graham shook his head. “That’s . . . kind of messed up, Starkey. You’re telling me you’re like, kidnapping people.”

  Starkey look offended. “What do you take me for? I give them a choice. Their lives were so miserable; really, you can’t imagine what they were before. You’d never recognize them. They jumped at the chance to leave that behind them. Many of them came to me, in fact, asking to forget.”

  Graham swallowed. “What—you’re saying you erased their memories? None of them remember where they came from or who they were before?”

  Even Victoria?

  “No, they don’t.”

  “Dude.” Graham exhaled, his thoughts colliding. His fists clenched at his sides. He sank against the wall, attempting to grasp everything. He had to talk to Victoria about all of this.

  Starkey set the lockbox back in its drawer and slammed it shut. He hobbled back toward Graham, gripping his shoulder. “This is very important, Graham. Look at me, my boy.”

  Graham straightened, clearing his throat and meeting Starkey’s wrinkled gaze. He couldn’t remember ever looking directly at Starkey like this before. Not with so much intensity in the old man’s eyes.

  “I know what you must be thinking. But you must not tell them. Their brains would start to schism, trying to reconcile two separate and distinct personalities. It would cause insanity at best—mental paralysis at worst. A cognitive disconnect. You hear me?”

  “Mental paralysis?” This was insane. Complete and total madness. What had Starkey done?

  “Effectively, a coma,” Starkey said, readjusting his weight against his cane. “If you tell anyone what I’ve told you, they’re as good as dead.”

  Victoria elbowed her way through the crowd, but by the time she made her way to the door where Mayor Goshawk had frog-marched Graham through, they were nowhere in sight.

  No—not Mayor Goshawk.