Winterbay

by J. Barton Mitchell

  Past the dock, there was a large archway, and Mira could see something hanging from it, lit up with strobes for all to see: a single huge gear or cog, painted in blue and white, the ominous symbol for Winterbay, one that spoke of the city’s reliance on, and dedication to, the mechanical ways of the past.

  A line of people stretched to that archway and that giant cog, where city guards meticulously searched everyone who entered, looking for weapons and artifacts and other contraband. Mira swallowed at the sight. The time had come. She was about to learn if she had gotten here fast enough, if she’d beaten the swirling rumors of her crimes and the huge reward that was undoubtedly now on her head.

  Everything, all her plans, rode on that hope.

  Mira exited the ferry with a dozen other survivors and joined the line waiting to be searched. In fifteen minutes, she was through, staring at the impossible floating city of Winterbay. The guards hadn’t given her a second look.

  Winterbay

  Mira moved through the tight, winding streets of the city, trying not to look like an outsider as she brushed past hundreds of residents, but it wasn’t easy, mainly because she couldn’t help but stare around her in awe. Compared to the subterranean metropolis of Midnight City, Winterbay was a completely different animal.

  There was no ceiling of thick black cavern rock; instead it was built “upward,” into the open air. The night sky hung above the city, full of stars and the blackened masses of occasional clouds. Somehow, it made Mira feel even more isolated and exposed.

  Buildings and levels climbed upward all around, as high as six stories, and no two of them did it in the same way. They leaned or curved, some obviously built better than others, and a few even had ropes anchoring them to the deck to keep them from falling over.

  Between the buildings, precarious-looking bridges made of rope and wood and other materials stretched, and Mira saw they were just as full of people, swaying back and forth.

  Everywhere was evidence of electricity. Thick black power cables crawled over the street, climbing up the sides of buildings, and disappearing into holes that led down to the Underworks, where the city’s old ships rested in the dark. The warm glow from electric lights hovered inside the buildings. The shops and eatery stalls she passed had their names lit in colorful letters that stretched and wound ahead of her, painting everything in humming neon. The flickering illumination from old television sets reflected in Mira’s eyes, showing movies from the World Before. Kids huddled around video games or arcade machines; music streamed from stereo sets.

  As she took it all in, Mira felt a sudden stirring of melancholy. The city was amazing, if only for the history it kept alive. It was a living museum, and it was strange to witness. Each individual sight or sound was a memory of how things used to be, a recollection of times that were gone but could still be remembered. They were things she could encounter outside Winterbay, of course, but only rarely, and the combined force of them, all at once and all around her, was almost overwhelming. Here, in certain ways, the world hadn’t moved on. It was both heartening and sad at the same time.

  Mira forced her thoughts to the business at hand. The faster she got this over with, the faster she could be on her way, safely blended into the landscape, away from crowded, dangerous places like this. Winterbay was dangerous, she reminded herself, no matter how enthralling it appeared on the surface.

  Mira studied the electric signs that pointed out the directions to the city’s many sections. What she needed was the trade district, and according to one sign, it was around the next bend, ahead on the right. Mira started moving, pushing through the crowd.

  She passed under another archway, this one made out of columns of thick, rusted chain, welded into place, and at the top hung something that took her by surprise.

  It was another giant gear, like the one at the front gate, but this one had a symbol etched in glowing blue neon in the center: a Greek letter, a lowercase delta, the δ. In the World Before it meant many things, but now it was the symbol used to designate Strange Lands artifacts, a warning of sorts. Mira had seen it countless times, but never like this.

  The bright blue δ had been turned upside down, and it was enclosed in a circle of red light, with a crimson slash crossing it out. It meant that artifacts weren’t wanted here … and neither was she. Mira again pulled her coat around her shoulders and moved through the arch, the blue and red light reflecting in the frozen puddles at her feet.

  The path between the buildings dead-ended into a larger, open area, where two huge, rusted smokestacks jutted up strangely through the city’s thick wooden deck. They were evidence of the hundreds of boats resting beneath, the ones that made up the support base for the floating city. Smoke bellowed up and out of the stacks, floating into the air, and they were each wrapped from top to bottom in bright white rope lights, lighting the trade district in between them.

  A large system of scaffolds and railings stretched between the two stacks in a roughly square shape. Ladders connected the higher levels, and rope bridges were strung between them. On each level, shops and stalls were set up and lit by electric lights, and the city’s visitors and residents alike swarmed from one to another.

  Mira sighed. She had no way of knowing if what she needed was up there. Even if it was, it could take all night to find.

  It was there, she told herself. It had to be—and she would do whatever she had to in order to get it. It wasn’t just her life she was trying to save, after all.

  Mira moved between the various stalls of the first level. It was an impressive collection: clean water, nonperishable food, candy, first-aid supplies, radios, knives, mechanical watches, maps, cable and rope, tools, clothing (both vintage and newly made), bags and packs, the occasional gun or other weapon.

  What she needed was less tangible … and much more dangerous. She had no expectation of actually finding it in Winterbay; it wasn’t something you traded for in a stall. As she’d told Olive, what Mira needed was a direction. A mark on a map. Someone who could show her where she could find it.

  The owners of the first two stalls laughed in her face, while the third, a boy who was maybe thirteen judging by his crystal-clear eyes, became instantly hostile. What she wanted wasn’t an artifact, so it wouldn’t be banned in Winterbay … but it was still tied to the Strange Lands, because it was only there where it could be put to use. As a result, some people were going to be wary here. She’d have to be careful.

  Mira climbed a ladder to the second level. More stalls, more wares, but these all had something in common. They were all electronic items from the World Before: TVs, microwaves, video games, refrigerators, window-unit air conditioners, fans, hot plates, stoves, even some run-down computers. Mira stared at all of it in confusion. In most places, these things would be worth next to nothing, but this level was almost twice as busy as the one below. It was another reminder that Winterbay wasn’t like most places.

  Mira moved through the stalls, pushing through all the people, just as she had on the first level, and the results were pretty much the same. Odd looks, snickers, hands waving her off in annoyance or anger. She sensed the slowly growing, hollow feeling of desperation in her gut after each encounter. There was only one level left.

  Mira climbed an ascending bridge to the top level. She could smell food, could hear the sizzling of hot plates and grills cooking fajita meat or vegetables. With a sinking feeling, she saw that every stall on the level was a food booth. There were no more traders. She had burned through all of them, and no one she’d spoken to could show her a way to what she needed.

  She was now officially out of options, and that meant she was screwed. Mira leaned against the railing that circled the top deck, staring down at the surface level below with its two giant smokestacks, lit in bright circles of white light. What was she going to do now?

  “Funny, isn’t it?” a voice asked from her left. Mira turned and saw a girl leaning against the railing with her. It was startling—one moment the girl ha
dn’t been there and the next she had. She didn’t look at Mira; her stare just floated down to the main deck below. “The smokestacks, all lit up like that. Someone tried to make them seem like they weren’t a piece of the rusting hulk dying under the deck. They’re a lie, just like everything else here. You can’t trust anything.”

  Mira studied the girl quizzically. Her black hair was pinned behind her head, and she wore dark, form-fitting cargo pants and a faded, tucked-in David Bowie T-shirt. She was tall, Asian of some mix, and older than Mira, probably close to twenty, judging by the spread of the Tone in her eyes. They were almost completely filled in with its black, spidery tendrils now.

  “Does that go for you, too?” Mira asked.

  “Oh, indeed.” The girl finally turned, and her eyes were laced with other things besides the Tone. Cunning. Guile. Experience. It was all plain as day. Whoever she was, she was no trader.

  Mira frowned. She didn’t have time for whatever game or scam the girl was trying to run. She had to get out of here, had to find another solution, as impossible as that seemed. “Thanks for the tip.” Mira turned to leave, heading back toward the stairs down to the lower decks.

  “No problem, Freebooter,” the girl replied nonchalantly.

  Mira froze in place. Unconsciously, she glanced out of the corners of her eyes, checking if anyone was within earshot. They weren’t. At least not yet. “Accusations like that get you killed here,” Mira began, trying to sound angry. “I don’t appreciate—”

  “Don’t get your long johns all bunched. I haven’t told anyone yet. All kind of depends on whether what you have to say interests me.”

  “You don’t know who or what I am,” Mira stated.

  “Sure I do. It’s how you walk, mostly,” the girl replied. “Eyes to the ground, marking each step, always looking for those hidden kinds of death. Only one kind of person walks like that.” She nodded to the rows of people, almost a hundred, lined up at the third level’s various food stalls and, for the moment, oblivious to their conversation. “Doesn’t really matter, though. These guys don’t need a body of evidence. All they need is one word from someone like me.”

  “Someone like you?”

  “A known quantity. Which is what you are right on the verge of becoming yourself.”

  Mira swallowed. She’d gotten herself into the exact kind of trouble she’d hoped to avoid. “What do you want?”

  “To know why someone with as much to lose as you would come here.” The girl’s voice was ice.

  Mira hesitated. She could run, maybe leap over the railing and slide down one of the support poles to the deck, but if this girl really was as influential as she claimed, then Mira wasn’t likely to make it past the front gate. Swimming wasn’t an option, either; the water was cold enough to kill her in less than ten minutes. She was trapped.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” The girl stepped away from the railing and inched closer to Mira. “Do I lie to her? Tell her the truth? Deal is, there’s only two things traded here worth anything. Electronic stuff, but that’s only good in Winterbay, and you ain’t looking to stay. That leaves option two. Information. Which I happen to be a purveyor of. And any piece of information that’s worth you risking your life most likely would involve a pretty profitable trade.”

  Mira studied the girl again. What choice did she really have? She’d bet everything coming here; maybe it was time to show her hand.

  She reached into her coat and pulled something out: a patch, the old iron-on kind, like her mom used to put on her school jackets. It was a round symbol, divided into six yellow and black triangles pointing at a black circle in the center. In the World Before, it had been the universal warning for radiation. It still was, she figured, but the implications it brought with it were much different now—and in this place, much more dangerous.

  Mira handed it to the Asian girl, and her eyes narrowed as she took it. “Well. You don’t disappoint, do you?”

  “Can you help me or not? I’m running out of time.”

  “Only one person in this whole city that can help with something like this,” the girl said, flipping the patch over between the fingers of her left hand. “Armitage.”

  The name meant nothing to Mira. She just stared at the girl, her impatience beginning to overpower her anxiety.

  “Heedless guy, been here since the beginning.” The patch kept flipping between the girl’s fingers. “Started as a trader; now he runs all the merchants, keeps them in line, keeps the trade fair, sort of like an overseer. Everyone gives him a percentage, because a system needs somebody to run it. And Armitage is real good at running things.”

  “Shouldn’t the Quorum be doing that?”

  “The Id?” The girl laughed. “That’s their tower over there. It look lived in to you?” Mira followed her nod to a black, hulking shape that hung over the eastern end of the city, near the edge, where the icy waters beat against the Underworks. She hadn’t noticed it before. It was foreboding, a shadowy obelisk, and unlike every other building in Winterbay it was dark and unlit. It looked dead.

  “Hasn’t been lit up in years,” the girl continued. “My guess is they’re all gone now. Tone probably took ’em. Then again, maybe not. Maybe they’re still in there, maybe they just don’t give a damn. No one knows for sure, ’cause no one knows how to get in to ask. No doors, no windows until you get to the very top, surface is smooth, no handholds to climb. Whatever their secrets were, they died with them.”

  “If the Quorum doesn’t run the city anymore, this Armitage does?” Mira asked, confused.

  “Armitage runs the trade. The city runs itself,” the girl replied. “Winterbay’s like a well-oiled machine. Just keeps going, no matter what, because it has to. Just like the rest of the world, I guess.”

  Whoever he was, this Armitage sounded like Mira’s first real lead. The feeling energized her; the trepidation about the girl lifted a little. Maybe she was what she said she was, just a purveyor of information. In order to get her help, though, Mira was going to have to make it worth the girl’s while. “How can I find this Armitage?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” The girl held up the yellow and black patch. “You’ve been flashing this thing around the trade district all night? Then I’m betting, sooner or later, he’ll find you.”

  That didn’t sound particularly comforting. “Is he dangerous?”

  The girl gave Mira a dubious look. “He can get you what you want, most likely, but honestly? If I were you? I’d take this patch and leave. Right now. Cross back over and never look back. Trust me, any deal you make with Armitage won’t be worth the price. Even if you get what you’re looking for.”

  A part of Mira believed the girl, but it didn’t matter. She’d painted herself into a corner a long time ago. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You always got a choice, Freebooter,” the girl replied, holding Mira’s gaze.

  There was a commotion to their right; a scream or two, an anguished cry.

  A group of kids had formed a circle around someone on the ground, lying still. Other kids were running to help, but Mira was pretty sure there wasn’t anything they could do.

  “Now, that’s a shame,” the girl said, though her voice seemed to lack compassion.

  Mira peered through the crowd. It was what she figured: a boy lying on his back, motionless, staring blankly up into the night sky, eyes solid black. He had Succumbed, reached the end of the road, the same one Margot had finished just a day earlier.

  “Pathetic, isn’t it? The way they waste it?” The girl’s voice again, from just behind Mira. “But what do you do? Sheep are always gonna be sheep.”

  Everything went dark as something slipped over Mira’s head. It felt like a bag, a thick one, and she felt a cord tighten around her neck and seal it in place. She struggled, tried to get away, but it was too late. The slender but strong arms of the girl slipped around her throat; a hand muffled her mouth before she could cry out.

  “Armitage wil
l see you now,” the girl whispered through the bag. “Should have left when you had the chance.”

  Then Mira felt herself being dragged away.

  Armitage

  It was black, but not completely. Mira could see dim traces of light in the gaps between her neck and the black hood the girl had slipped over her head. The chair she’d been tied to was missing a good amount of its padding. A jagged screw still poked up through the base, and depending on which way she leaned, it jabbed her in places she didn’t appreciate. She was strapped so firmly, though, there wasn’t much she could do about it. Besides, she had a feeling she had bigger problems.

  There was a noise from behind her as a door opened. She heard two pairs of footsteps, one of them heavy, one of them lighter, more deft.

  Mira tried to keep calm, tried to keep from shaking. Showing fear in situations like this usually got you hurt sooner rather than later. She had to seem strong.

  Someone yanked the hood up and over her face—and she gasped at what was in front of her.

  Nothing but open air, falling straight down to a snow-covered street far below. She could see the glow of neon and flashing televisions. Her chair had been placed at the very edge of a roof.

  She tried to push back and away from the edge … but she couldn’t.

  The Asian girl stood behind Mira, staring down at her with an unreadable look, a hand clamped onto the back of the chair. She could shove it forward if she wanted, Mira realized, and that would be that. The girl smiled. A little. Mira noticed something else, something new and disconcerting: A matching pair of sharpened knives sat in sheaths across her chest. The accustomed way she wore them made Mira uneasy.

  “What do you think of the view?” a deep, masculine voice asked beside her. There was something unique about it. It was aged, the voice of someone much older, and in a world like this one … that was a very rare thing.