She turned and started moving away from the ship, watching the sky for the people still hunting her.
Hours later, her legs so tired they were beginning to tremble, she reached the Bantam’s Rest and trudged down the stairs. When she was halfway down, the door burst open and her father leaned out. He stopped when he saw her and blew out a long, long breath. He reached his hand to her, and she took it, letting him lead her inside.
“Thank the Almighty you made it. You were gone so long, we thought maybe they got you.”
“I walked,” Molly said. “Stuck to the back streets. Sorry it took so long. How’s Kier?”
“He’s going to be okay,” he said. “It’s a bad burn. Probably be weeks before he’s back on his feet again, and chances are it’ll always give him grief. Ariel flew him off to Legerdemain, outside the city. He’ll be safe.”
Molly nodded and sought out Rory in the shadowy basement. He was sitting against the back wall on a half-broken chair, rubbing his fingers together. He didn’t look at her, so she let go of her father and went to him.
“Heya, sis,” he said without looking up from his hands. “Glad you made it back.”
“You too,” she said and put her hand over his. “Da says he’ll be okay.”
He finally looked up at her and faked a smile. “Yeah. Women like scars, right? Especially bloody big ones.”
“I’m sure some woman somewhere likes bloody big scars,” Molly said. “Or some man. Kier never told me which he fancied.” She allowed herself to sink to the floor next to Rory’s chair.
“I think he fancies airships,” Rory said.
Molly nodded. “What did I miss? Did the patients all get away? Do the Unionists know what we found yet?”
“You just missed them,” her father said. “They say they’ll get the patients somewhere safe, and they’ve already started their press rolling on these.” He held out a small book to her, and she leafed through it. It was a replica of Haviland Stout’s handwritten journal, bound in thin leather. Printed on the front were three words: HAVILAND’S TRUE JOURNAL. The pages were stitched together with thick string. Someone had taken a great deal of care with it.
“Looks good,” Molly said. “Theresa will be happy. And now I could really, really use a nap. Where are we spending the night?”
“Bascombe offered us a place, down near the wharf. Should be safe.”
“More walking to get there though,” Rory said, rising and extending a hand to Molly. “Got it in you?”
“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”
They walked toward the door, but their father stepped in front of them. He looked at Rory, then at her, and his eyes were clouded with tears and yet clearer than she ever remembered seeing them. He gripped her shoulder, his hand so solid it was like granite, and then he was folding them both in a hug that almost knocked her over, it was so unexpected. He simply held them.
“This is because Kier got himself burned, isn’t it?” Rory said.
“You’re bloody right it is. Now shut up,” their father said, and they did, standing uncomfortably while he held them for several more breaths.
“How much further until we can stop all this?” he asked softly, speaking into Rory’s shoulder. When no one answered, he straightened and released them. “Do you think we’ve done enough, Moll? Can we leave it in other hands yet?”
Molly shook her head. “I don’t want to, Da.”
“Me either,” Rory said. She looked into his eyes and was shocked to find they were wet too. She didn’t remember ever seeing Rory cry. “And you, Da?”
“I’ll be where you are. Likely telling you you’re a bloody idiot.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Okay. So we keep going.”
Molly woke the next morning to the scream of gulls outside her window. They were a few blocks from the water, but she could still hear the sounds of the busy docks—voices raised, ships’ horns, the bang of cargo loading and unloading. Air or water, docks always sounded the same.
She was in a small room with three cots so close together she could barely pass between them. She remembered coming into the room with her father and Rory but didn’t remember falling asleep. Neither her father nor brother was here now. Molly rose from her bed and went to the window.
The sun was well up in the sky, meaning it was probably ten or eleven. She was on the second floor of a converted warehouse—a place the Unionists had been using for some time to funnel laborers and runaways to safer conditions, though they’d never invited Molly or her family in before. The window was small, and all she could see through it was the wall of the next building over. She closed her eyes and listened.
Besides the sounds of the docks, she could hear voices on the floor below her—dozens of conversations, all going on at once. I hear Da, and is that Bascombe? But who else is here? She listened for a moment more, enjoying the solitude, until she heard a fluting voice that sounded like Ariel’s. Quickly she pulled on pants and shoes and left the room, heading toward the voices.
She navigated a network of rooms much like hers, found the stairs and descended into a wide room filled with crates and crowded with bodies. Half of them wore the white of the sanatoriums, while the rest wore the garb of laborers and factory workers. As she came in, conversations dried up and faces turned toward her. The eyes of the sanatorium patients were clear now, and they pinned her where she stood.
“Molly!” Theresa called from farther inside the room. Molly hurried forward into a clearer area with stools set up. Her father was there, and Rory, as well as Bascombe and a few other Unionists she recognized. Ariel was hovering near Rory. And Croyden sat on a stool, his artificial leg stiffly extended.
“Am I interrupting?” Molly asked.
“Good you woke,” Theresa said. “You should be here for this.”
“We’re talking through Theresa’s plan,” her father said. He stood and offered her his stool. She took it.
“Are all of these people from last night?” Molly asked. “I didn’t think there were so many.”
“Most are,” Theresa said. “Some of the ones you freed along with me asked to come too.”
“Oh. Okay.” She looked around at all the faces, but dropped her eyes to the floor when she saw how many of them were watching her.
“Bascombe has told me that the journals have already begun distribution,” Theresa said. Bascombe nodded. “Which is a start.”
“You called it a seed,” Molly said. “Something about seeds and rain.”
Theresa nodded. “Yes, the rain. It will take a few days for the journals to find their way into the right hands, the right minds, but we’ll need that time to prepare for what comes next.”
“Which is?” Bascombe asked.
“Molly, why don’t you tell them?” Theresa said.
Molly frowned. “But I don’t—”
Theresa put her hand on Molly’s knee. “Remember what we talked about in Twillingate? About me?”
“You mean…finding out about Charles Arkwright? About the wool?” Theresa nodded. “Okay.” Molly turned to face everyone. “Theresa said that the best way to get people to change isn’t to tell them what they’re doing wrong. It’s to show them who pulled the wool over their eyes.”
“Exactly,” Theresa said. “The journal puts the right ideas in their heads. Now, if we can show them who’s been lying to them, the ideas might just stick.”
“We have to reveal Arkwright,” Molly said. Theresa smiled grimly at her.
“And how the hell do we do that?” Rory said. “I mean, he’s kept his secret for decades now. Everyone thinks he’s dead.”
“He’s careful. Always,” Theresa said. “Only reveals himself to people who directly benefit from him running things. And when one of them turns, he shuts them up in the sanatoriums. We need to draw him out. And we have the one thing he might risk exposure for.”
“What?” Molly’s father asked.
Theresa’s eyes turn
ed to Molly. “You.”
Molly breathed deep and nodded. “Yeah, I thought of that.”
“What are you talking about?” Molly’s father said. “Because she’s a danger? Because he wants revenge?”
Theresa shook her head. “It’s simpler than that.”
“I’m food, Da. He needs someone spirit-touched to feed on.”
She could see the thought working its way into her father’s mind. The confusion creasing his brow, the disgust curling his lips, the anger glittering in his eyes.
“As far as we know, you are the only person so changed by spirits in Terra Nova,” Theresa said. “Unless the mystery man from Twillingate is still here.”
Molly shook her head. “Wîskacân. He’s gone home now, and I doubt he’ll ever come back here.”
Theresa nodded. “So. We give the journals a few days and keep Molly out of sight. Let Arkwright get hungrier and more desperate. We choose a time and place, then bring her into the open.”
“Wait,” her father said. “Why use her as bait at all? If Molly’s the only one he can feed on, why not just let him starve?”
“Believe it or not, if Arkwright dies before we reveal him, we’ve lost our best opportunity to change how things work in Terra Nova,” Theresa said. “He is the living proof of his own lies. He is a tool we need if we want real, immediate change. If he’s dead, we’ll find ourselves arguing against a ghost and a history people have believed for generations. We can’t win that argument.”
Molly’s father did not look happy, but he didn’t argue further.
“You think he’ll just stroll out where we can nab him if we offer up Molly?” Rory asked. “Why wouldn’t he just send his lackeys to take her?”
“I have no doubt that he will come,” Croyden said. His voice was quieter than Molly remembered, and he did not look up as he spoke. “I saw Arkwright in the sanatorium where they held me. He was weak and in pain. He could not walk without help, could hardly move. He is in need of sustenance, and even a few extra moments could be too many. He will come. But I very much doubt he will come gently.”
“No,” Theresa said. “Not gently. Disposal is in his pocket, and they will bring everything they can muster. Which is why we will need those few days to prepare our response.”
“What kind of response can there be to that?” Bascombe asked. “To the full weight of Haviland Industries and the authorities of Terra Nova?”
“The people in this room, for one,” Theresa said. “We’ve all enjoyed the tender care of Arkwright and his machinations. I suspect most of us will stick around for the finale.” There were heads nodding around the room—not all of them, but most.
“I know a great many once-trapped spirits who would happily join us,” Ariel said. “And Legerdemain, as always, will be where Molly goes.”
“We’ll have to be careful, bringing spirits into the fight with Disposal,” Molly said. “They hunt rogue spirits, after all. And when they were chasing me yesterday, they had something that stopped me from calling the wind. If they can do the same to you or Legerdemain, you might be in trouble.”
“They’ve got that damned airship that doesn’t even fly on the wind too,” Molly’s father said. “How do we fight that?”
“I might have an idea about that,” Molly said, trying to ignore all the eyes that fell on her. “I think they’re using some kind of gravitic engines to fly around without wind. But do you remember Loam—the terric spirit we freed, I mean—and what it did to the tunnel rat?”
“It made it fall sideways,” Rory said. “And then it crushed it.”
Molly nodded. “It shifted the gravity. Enough to bend metal. So if we asked him to help with those gravitic engines…”
“It could overload the engines,” her father finished. “That might work. Gravitic engines are finicky things. But that spirit crossed over to its own world. Could you even bring it back?”
“I think I can find it,” Molly said. “After that, all I can do is ask. But I doubt we can fight Disposal and Haviland Industries and win. There’s got to be more to the plan.”
“Once we reveal Arkwright for what he is, things should shift,” Theresa said. “Even most Disposal agents don’t know about him. The plan is this: we and the spirits keep Disposal busy, while you, Molly, find a way to drag that bastard out into the light before we’re all brought down.”
Molly swallowed.
“Good then?” Theresa said. “We all have to prepare. And remember, whatever we do, we must keep Molly out of sight.”
“But how do we know when the time is right? When do we do all this?”
“I will handle that, I think,” Theresa said. “The other preparations are not exactly in my wheelhouse. But I know the right time to deliver a message. If no one has anything else?” Theresa rose to her feet at these last words, looked around the crowd and then walked away.
Molly watched the others file out, leaving in twos and threes. Most of the sanatorium patients stayed—they seemed to be collecting new clothes from some of the crates. A group of Unionists stood in heated discussion around Bascombe.
“I know how you feel,” Molly heard Bascombe say, “but you’ve read the journal, you know what they found at that factory.”
“What do you figure?” Rory whispered at Molly’s side. He was watching Bascombe too. “Think they’ll kick us out before we bring more trouble down on their heads?”
“I don’t know,” Molly whispered back. “I know they think we’re crazy, but we’re talking about shutting down Haviland Industries. That would close half of the factories in Terra Nova. They probably wouldn’t mind that so much.”
“Except they still think Charles Arkwright is dead, just like everyone else.”
She watched Bascombe, who was mostly listening while others spoke now, not saying much. He hadn’t said much during the meeting and the planning either. He always looks so tired. Or disappointed maybe. “I don’t know what he thinks,” Molly said. “I’m going to go upstairs.”
Rory let her go, and she made her way back to the small room filled with cots. She went to the window and breathed the salt air in deep.
Almost immediately there was a knock on the door.
“It’s just me in here,” Molly said. “And I could use a few minutes.”
“I know you could, but I want to talk to you anyway,” Theresa responded from the other side of the door.
“Okay.” Molly took another deep breath and turned around as Theresa entered. “Something else you need me to do?”
Theresa shook her head. “No. But I want you to be ready for something. I already know when we’re going to bring you out, you see. But I wanted to talk to you about it first.”
Molly frowned. “Oh?”
“It’s the right time. It’s the best time we have, and it will reach the right ears. There is no better—”
“You’re just making me nervous now,” Molly said. “When are we doing this, and why are you afraid of what I’ll say?”
Theresa sniffed and nodded. “In five days’ time, your sister will be making a public speech. Nothing prerecorded, but live on a stage below the docks—a sort of rally. That’s when we need you to show up.”
Molly was already shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to involve Brighid. She’s—”
“She’s involved herself, and we need you to talk to her.”
“You don’t know my sister. She doesn’t listen.”
“It’s not for her. It’s for the people watching. So they can hear your voice, see your face. They know the stories about you, but they don’t know you. And seeing Arkwright might change a lot of minds, but seeing you, a human being instead of the hobgoblin your sister describes, will change more. We need to give these people so much reason to doubt that they have no way to turn their back on the truth.”
“But I haven’t even spoken to her since the Gloria Mundi. Since I set free the spirit that broke her ship, and she started making her speeches, and…what would I say?” Mo
lly breathed in and out, but there didn’t seem to be any oxygen in the room.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you first,” Theresa said. “I knew it would be hard. I’ll tell the rest of them once you’ve had a few hours.”
“There isn’t—”
“There’s no other time. If you want this to work, to change things, this is the best way.” She let herself out, closing the door behind her.
Molly turned back to the window, but the bright sun stung her eyes. She sat down on the bed, then curled up on it. Gravity seemed heavier than usual today.
SIXTEEN
Five days passed, so slowly they might have been years. Molly kept to her room, save for the one time she was allowed out to seek help from the spirit world. The sun came and went from her small window, and she slept and spoke little, the others all busy with their preparations. She tried not to think of her sister—and thought of nothing else.
Her father came to see her when he could. “This is probably great for you,” Molly said to him on his second visit. “Me stuck in here, safe. You’d probably keep me in here if you could.”
He chuckled. “Tempting, but…No. In here you’re not you.” He sat with her and spoke of nothing until he was called away yet again. She was alone in the silent room. Hiding, and hating every moment of it.
And yet, when the day came, she almost couldn’t bring herself to leave her room. When she stepped out of the Unionists’ building, it was with the feeling she was plunging into fathomless water with no winds to accompany her. Theresa and her father ran through the plan again and again, their words washing over her.
In the early evening they headed to the foot of the docks and went their own ways. Rory clenched Molly’s hand tightly, and she squeezed him back. She flew with Ariel up to the rooftops and looked out on the open circle surrounding the umbilical, taking her assigned place, and feeling she was sinking down into darkness.
Breathe, Molly. Breathe. She rubbed her eyes, slapping her cheeks lightly. Focus. You have a job to do.
Terra Nova Page 18
