“Honour.”
“And Timofei’s not terrible. I mean—he’s got more issues than a newspaper but—”
Yosiah efficiently stops the flow of words by covering my mouth. “Thank you. I appreciate that, but please shut up.”
He lets go of me. I pretend I’m not embarrassed.
We’re quiet for minutes, watching the boat make slow progress into the town. It eventually goes out of sight, hidden by the hulk of a white building at the end of the road.
“What about you?” Yosiah asks after a while.
It takes me a moment to put together his words with a meaning, too wrapped up staring into space. “What do you mean?”
“Well you and Branwell are close.”
“We’re friends.”
Yosiah gives me a smirk straight off Miya’s face. “Hmm.”
“We’re good friends.” I’ve never thought of Branwell as anything more than a friend. I turn the idea over in my head and I don’t hate it, not at all.
“Is that why you don’t like strangers talking to him? Because you’re friends?”
“What?”
“You get edgy when he talks to people you don’t know. You look like you’ll jump into a duel to defend him if it’s needed.”
“Really?” I frown at the sea. “I do that?”
“You do.” Yosiah’s tone is pure sincerity so I believe him. It’s weird to think that I’ve been doing something and not even knowing it.
I remember in Leeds when I hugged Bran, remember being taken off guard by the easy way he fit in my arms. I remember not wanting to let go. I shake my head to clear it. I’m just protective of him, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I’m gay.
I’m relieved when Yosiah speaks again.
“There’s another.” He points to the mouth of the port where another boat, this one smaller, is sailing towards us. He narrows his eyes at the ship for two seconds, then spins around and jogs to the guest house.
“Right,” I say to the empty road. “I’ll wait here.”
The door across the road slams open. Yosiah, Timofei, and Dalmar come pouring out.
“That’s the third in an hour,” Yosiah says.
Timofei glares at the ship. “If these people expect to come with us, we’ll need an extra aircraft from Bharat.”
“Can you do that?” I ask. “Just request another and they’ll send it?”
“I can,” Dalmar says. “I’m the leader of The Guardians now.”
“Since when?” He never said he was even thinking about taking over Alba’s position. It cuts a little but I guess it’s not my business. I don’t have anything to do with organising this rebellion, even if I want to help.
“This morning,” he says. “There wasn’t time to tell you. I decided on the spot.”
“Oh.” I put my back to the sea, focusing on the row of houses across the road to avoid Dalmar’s searching gaze. They’re painted either pristine white or pastel colours, none of them a boring grey or brown, none of them falling apart.
I should ask Dal about helping the Guardians, about joining properly. I’ll ask him when we get to Bharat.
“There are at least twenty people on that ship,” Dal says.
Yosiah makes a sound of agreement. “The other two were bigger. Fifty people, maybe. How are they getting that many people out of a Forgotten Town without the Officials stopping them?”
“Smuggling,” Dal suggests.
“Too much security,” Timofei argues.
“No,” Yosiah says. “The security in some Forgotten Towns has been upgraded. There’s more technology and less men. It could be hacked, in theory.”
I lean over the wall and look at the drop to the sea. I could break my neck if I fell.
“I heard that too,” Dalmar agrees. “They’re bringing in heavy tech for the bigger Forgotten Towns. Maybe they don’t want them turning out like we did.”
“How do you know that?” I raise my head instinctively at the sharpness in Timofei’s voice. He whirls from Dal to Yosiah. “Actually how do you know that?”
“I overhear things.”
“And I’m told things.” Dalmar turns the collar of his coat up against the wind. “Guardian leader now, remember?”
“As if I can forget.” Timofei slices through the light atmosphere with a serrated edge. He opens his mouth, closes it, and walks away from us.
Yosiah runs after him, listing to one side.
I pull up my hood to block out rain that came from nowhere and rest a hand on Dal’s shoulder. He looks at his feet. Neither of us mentions Alba.
The slap of feet on the road is the first sound in ten minutes. Hele’s shiny green blouse fans out behind her as she darts across the street, pale red hair dyed dark on the ends by fat drops of rain.
She stumbles to a stop, catching Dalmar’s hand.
“What?” He touches her face, her hair, her neck. His worry is clear in the small, frantic caresses. “What is it?”
Hele looks between us with wide blue eyes. Between heaving breaths, she says, “Forgotten Paris has Fallen.”
***
Yosiah
16:54. 04.11.2040. The Free Lands, Southlands, Plymouth.
“Tim,” I yell. “Wait!”
“What do you want?” he snarls. The dark circles under his eyes make him look ill.
“I was gonna ask if you were okay but you’re clearly not.”
“And?” He throws his arms out. “So what if I’m not?”
I don’t answer. I grab the sleeve of his coat and pull him close. He struggles half-heartedly. I know the strength Tim has in his arms, his fists. He’s not trying to get away.
“I feel like I’m betraying her,” he wheezes. “Every time I look at you.”
I apologise. It’s not enough but I don’t have anything else.
“I love her,” he says. “And I love you. And you love Miya.”
I don’t apologise this time. I can’t.
He gasps for air, says, “I really hate you sometimes.”
“I know.”
Timofei stops talking, just lets the howl of the wind and rain drown everything out. Eventually he pulls away from me. The sudden cold is enough that my fingers twitch, wanting him back. I force them still. He’s not mine and I’m not his.
“I don’t have anything,” he forces out. “Not now she’s gone.”
I tear my eyes away, look at the bricks on the floor. “You have your sister.”
I think he might nod but I don’t see it. He speaks the words I don’t want to. “But I don’t have you.”
“No.”
His hand pushes through my wet hair and he kisses me but I can tell it’s for the last time. Even though it shouldn’t make a knife twist in my heart, it does. This is closing a door that was opened again when I found him in the Guardians’ base. This is giving up one possible future for another. This is goodbye, surrender. I can’t stand it, but I stand it anyway because this is the last time. The last time he’ll kiss me and the last time I’ll love him.
He drops his hand and walks away, and that’s it. It’s over.
I breathe in sea air, shivering. I can live without Timofei—I did live without him—but I won’t survive the coming hell without Miya. She makes me strong, makes me a person I actually like. I feel more like myself when I’m with her than when I’m on my own.
If I’m going to live through this war with States, if I’m going to survive the revelation everyone will have about me, about us, I have to be myself. I have to be in control.
I need Miya.
Besides—I love her.
I walk fast, on a mission to find her so she can stabilise me. I’m on edge. I’m not thinking, not acting right. My body is too hot, my hands shaking.
“Yosiah?”
An unfamiliar voice.
“What?” I snap. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?
But when I turn, there’s nothing there. No voice or person hounding me. There’s nothing but the ash caught
in the wind, sickly grey.
Oh God.
Oh God.
“Siah. I’ve been looking for you all over!”
Now a voice I do know. Miya. My heart is pounding—I’m falling apart. She can’t see me now.
“Livy said she saw you with …” She trails off, seeing me. “Your eyes are weird.” She stands on her tiptoes to look directly into my eyes. Thank God she makes my heart stop, my emotions flutter out of control, because it masks my fear. “They’re more golden,” she decides.
A weight sits on my chest; it feels like pure, unadorned terror. “It must be the light.”
“Yeah.”
She grins then, like she can’t tell my world had dissolved into a mess of ash and accidents. “Come on,” she says. “I got us food.”
***
Bennet
19:15. 04.11.2040. Bharat, Delhi.
When we leave for Nanda Devi, Delhi is twinkling. Fireworks burst across the sky like watercolour added to a wet page, seeping and growing until the sky is nothing but colour and light. Tonight is Diwali, the festival of light, and I would give anything to stay and watch the painted evening sky, but I’ve been given a task. We all have.
I know I’m not the only one of us who wishes to stay. I can see the longing written in Garima’s eyes. Before we left, they lit diyas along the hallways of the Guardians’ home, the lamps burning so bright my eyes stung if I looked at them too hard. I don’t know how Bharatians usually celebrate Diwali, but I doubt it was as rushed as the dinner and prayers of the New Delhi Guardians.
It makes me sad that my friends weren’t able to stay longer, to revel in the festivities. But Vast said tonight would be the safest for us to leave. Nobody would notice as we wove our way through the squares and roads, not on this night. Most people are tucked away inside, in prayers or feasts with their families, and those who aren’t are bewitched by the fireworks.
The streets are cloying with the scent of explosive powder and the saccharine fragrance of desserts and candies, but it fades as we walk further and further out of the city, into the less inhabited lands. A vehicle waits for us a mile or so outside Delhi but we have no option but to walk until we reach it, secretive as we’re trying to be.
The closer we get to the city border the more often Garima sighs with weariness, hefting the straps of her backpack up her arms. I myself have only a lightweight bag on my back. It holds what little possessions I brought with me and the food, drink, and essential items the Guardians supplied me with.
Garima and Devika have what bare essentials they could put together of their scientific equipment, though it still seems very heavy. The two Black Cats carry the bulk of our supplies—tents, tins of food, stores of water, a small army of blankets, torches, matches, a compass, and a handful of tablets that we’re supposed to take just before we reach the Nanda Devi park. Vast says they’ll protect us against most illnesses that might find us in the wilderness, though I’m not sure how possible that is.
We also have weapons, should anyone try to hurt us. Garima and I have twin small knives—and I have my familiar dagger. Devika has a wickedly curved blade strapped to her back, hidden by a thick coat. The Black Cats, our masculine protection against anyone that might intercept us in the hopes of foiling our plans, could have any number of weapons. They may have none—they may be able to kill a man with only their hands. I know nothing about them. They might be our security but I don’t trust them a single bit.
The vehicle is waiting for us where we were told it’d be. My legs are pulsing with a deep rooted ache by the time I climb into the metal cart attached to the car, a dark grey-green I should think will blend into any surroundings. Garima hefts herself up with her last remaining strength, tumbling into the cart. The two of us turn our eyes to the Black Cats, waiting to see what they will do.
The older of the Black Cats—Amil—strolls around the vehicle to climb into the front with Devika. Rasendra hops into the back with us, dropping his heavy backpack onto the metal crate. The machine rumbles beneath us and we begin to move. The car bumps and jars me with every movement but at least the assault I’ve been waging on my feet has ended. My soles are stinging, my legs sore, but I feel something exciting beginning and it brightens the first hour of the rocky trip.
By the second hour, I’ve become frustrated with the constant rocking, the bruises that are surely forming along my body.
I don’t know what I’m doing here. At first I guessed Vast was sending me to Nanda Devi because I knew what the Miracle looked like, but now that Garima and Devika are here … what purpose am I serving?
It feels like a trap now that I am fully engaged in this journey but there’s nothing I can do about those fears unless I plan on jumping out of this cart. Besides, Garima is here. If she weren’t, I might have risked the jump.
At least I have my back up plan, my insurance in the event that something terrible happens and I lose my tether to Vast and his promises. The piece of paper from V, the Guardian ally I met in a grimy diner. I put my hand into my coat pocket to touch the note. It says only a telephone number and the answer to a question I presume to be asked upon calling, but it’s reassuring. V wants something from me, thus when I need her help she’ll be happy to provide it. For a price. But if I’m desperate and alone and utterly hopeless, I know I’ll pay anything.
I feel safer knowing that I have an escape route.
I tip my head back against the side of the car and let the jolts and hiccups lull my fears into silence.
***
Branwell
13:16. 05.11.2040. The Free Lands, Southlands, Plymouth.
I lost my morning in one of Plymouth’s laboratories. The people were nice enough to introduce me to the different areas and rooms of the building, explaining the purpose of each department—anything from artificial food production to massive panes of glass said to soak up the energy of the sun. Hours passed in my amazement.
I’ve been given a department of my own, and an assistant. I’m sure Dalmar’s new position at the head of the Guardians hierarchy granted me this privilege. I was speaking to him a couple of days ago about my wish to fully investigate the mechanisms and paraphernalia that makes my bracelet function, so when the time comes I’ll be able to go home. He must have mentioned it to one of Plymouth’s ambassadors.
Whatever and whoever is responsible for me having this opportunity to investigate my time manipulating device, I’m grateful. Maybe now I will finally get answers. Maybe I’ll be able to reach the deep calm that comes over me when my mind is fixed on a task. So far, I and my assistant, Samantha Bryall—the first girl I ever saw in the Guardians’ base, the girl who convinced the other Guardians to give me the benefit of the doubt when they thought I was an Official spy, the girl who coincidentally happens to be a gifted technologist—have only managed to get through the exterior metal band. It took a laser, which I’m warned could easily cut through my flesh and bone if I got in the way.
Tomorrow, or if there’s time after the meeting Dalmar is holding this afternoon, we’re going to start analysing the components that were inside the casing. It’s a change from the way of things I’m used to. I’m not usually so involved with physical matters; my father was the tinkerer of our family. He spent his life surrounded by odds and ends that could come together to make bewildering machines. I on the other hand was more involved with the biology area of science, though most of my last year was spent singularly obsessed with the development and progression of disease.
Suffice it to say, it was a far cry from using fatal beams of light to cut into metal.
This room is full of all manner of paraphernalia, some of which I’m sure could hurt me as successfully as the laser, others I’m itching to know the function of. For the first time since we left the Guardians’ home in Forgotten London, I’m immersed in the bright reality of the future. I can believe now, much more than when I was trudging through the countryside, that I am centuries after my era. The technology alone is sharp pro
of, and it entices me.
I’ve always been told my curiosity would get me killed.
I tuck my hands close to my sides as I follow Samantha Bryall through the winding corridors past walls of glass and the thriving experiments beyond them. I thought Manchester felt alive but it was a speck of life compared to this place.
Samantha pivots on her heel to frown at me. “We’re gonna be late.”
I quicken my pace, leaving the scent of pungent cleanliness and chemicals behind me, my hope and calm along with it. I have the bracelet tucked into my satchel, the casing pieced back together and secured by wire until we can return to the lab to analyse each component; the bangle is the one thing I will never leave in this building of silent technologists. I could never leave it anywhere. It’s my only hope of going home.
We embark a shining silver lift that will whisk us to the bottom of these twenty one floors and back to the real world. My stomach lurched when we ascended so I brace my hands against a railing, preparing for the same weightless, suspended feeling. Just as the doors are about to close an aging man wedges his walking stick between them. He pries the lift open, manoeuvres his body inside, and presses a button on the control panel. His beady eyes are trained on me, a foxhound tracking its prey.
The doors hang open.
“Don’t forget about helping us,” he croaks. “The engineering team will show you the device when you come back.”
I nod, avoiding making eye contact by staring at my reflexion in the mirrored doors. My face looks narrower, my eyes framed with darkness, but I’d rather look myself in the eye than court the director’s attention. Something about the man makes me feel as if my stomach has flipped inside out, a new level to my discomfort.
The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2) Page 28
