“I take it back,” he answered with a slow shake of his head.
“What about the neighbors?”
“If they saw you, they would understand.”
Ronja snorted, then padded over to her bag to retrieve her clothes. She put on a moderately clean sweater and leggings, stifling a series of yawns that threatened to drag her back to bed. Roark joined her as she was tugging on her socks.
“Hey, Roark,” she began as he was pulling on his pants. He cinched his belt and tossed her a questioning look. “What are we going to do, if the broadcast failed?”
The boy squatted down to retrieve his socks from his knapsack with a sigh. “I thought we went over this.”
“Actually, I tried to talk to you and you literally swept me off my feet.”
Roark paused to wink at her, then continued rifling through his belongings. Ronja crossed her arms, an eyebrow arched as she waited for a real answer.
“We’ll see what Terra and Samson have to say, shall we?” he soothed her. “Ah, here we go.” He yanked out a pair of matching socks triumphantly and pulled them on. When he straightened up, she was still watching him sourly.
Roark gave a rueful smile, then stuck out his hand for her to take. “Worrying won’t save the world, love.”
Ronja let up with a sigh, then clasped the offered hand. Their fingers knit with ease. “Neither will your ego,” she replied.
“I beg to differ.”
They stepped into the hallway, bickering. Their banter fizzled and died when the hum of another conversation dusted their ears. It was coming from the room Iris and Evie shared. They shared a glance. Ronja released Roark and crossed to the door. She knocked tentatively. The conversation cut off at once, which only heightened her suspicion. “It’s us,” she called out softly.
“Yeah, come in,” came a strained voice.
Ronja opened the door, her brow creased and her stomach knotted. Roark was on her heels. His apprehension was palpable, stirring the air behind her. Evie, Iris, and Mouse sat in a tight knot on the right side of the room. The girls were perched on the edge of the bunk, shoulder to shoulder. The boy sat cross-legged on the floor, brooding.
“We were just about to come get you,” Iris said quietly.
Ronja felt her throat tighten. She did not like the dejected tint to her voice. “What happened?”
“Do you want the bad news, or the bad news?” Evie inquired dryly.
The Siren crossed her arms as if to protect herself from a blow to the stomach. “Try me.”
The three Anthemites shared a loaded glance, then Mouse spoke up. “Abe is … giving us trouble.” He leaned back, supporting himself with the heels of his hands. “Your voice is getting through to people, but the signal is damp, like something is blocking it.”
“Imagine listening to music through a window,” Evie added helpfully, spreading her palms to symbolize the glass.
“It might be why it’s taking so damn long to get a response out of people,” Mouse said.
“How long has this been going on?” Roark asked. His voice was sharp enough to cut through bone. Ronja snuck a glance at him. His face was arranged into a mask of calm, but his eyes sparked like match heads.
“We dunno,” Evie admitted. “Maybe the whole time.”
“And you’re just noticing it now?” he demanded.
The Arexian tensed, her eyes narrowing to slits. Iris tapped her on the knee discreetly, reminding her to keep her head. “Careful, Trip,” Evie warned in a low voice.
“Do you know what it is? The interference, I mean?” Ronja cut in hurriedly.
Mouse and Evie shook their heads.
The Siren took an unsteady breath. She flexed her fingers at her sides, forcing herself to remain calm. “How do we fix it?”
Evie scratched the back of her head, squinting up at the ceiling in search of answers. Mouse drummed his pale fingers on the hardwood, chewing on his lip. Iris stared at her knees. It was Evie who finally worked up the courage to answer her. “I don’t think we do, mate.”
The room slipped from focus. Ronja felt as if all the oxygen had been yanked from her lungs. She swallowed dryly, begging her mind to remain steady.
“What do you mean?” Roark growled, shouldering past her to stand in front of Evie. Mouse scooted aside like a crab across the sand.
“This is the best signal we can get so far out,” the techi told him levelly. “If we want a more potent signal, we would need to pick up and move closer to the core.”
“Which is sort of impossible,” Mouse added with a wince. “Abe is delicate. If we hit one pothole, he’ll fall apart.”
“Okay, theoretically, where could we go in the core? Do we have a safe house there?” Ronja asked. Her voice sounded distant, as if she were hearing it through a tube. She wondered if that was how she sounded to the people of Revinia.
“Yeah, but …” Roark began.
Ronja’s thoughts drifted to the core. She blinked as the past washed over her, veiling her vision. When she was a child she would scale the fire escape of her elementary school to catch a glimpse of the radiant heart of Revinia. The golden clock tower. Sometimes, when The Conductor spoke to them through their Singers, she would hurry up to that same rooftop to view the tower. It made her feel closer to Him. “What are we going to do?” she heard herself ask, peeling away from her memories.
“Move Abe by airship?” Evie joked darkly.
No one laughed. The radiator hummed away in the corner, oblivious. Outside the wind howled, throwing itself against the bricks.
“Whoa,” the techi backpedaled, throwing up her hands. “You guys know I love a challenge, but moving Abe really is impossible. Right, Mouse?” She jabbed her thumb at the trader, who nodded fervently. “Even if we could get him to the core, it would take too long to get up and running. Not to mention, the safe house on 11th doesn’t have nearly enough space.”
“What if we didn’t have to use Abe?” Roark twisted around to look at Ronja, an epiphany flaring in his dark face. The others leaned around him curiously. She scarcely noticed. “Evie,” she said suddenly. The techi jumped, drawing a little whine from the rusted mattress springs. “What if we could get a direct line to The Conductor’s radio station? The one he uses to broadcast His speeches.”
“Uhhh.” The techi raked her fingers through her silky hair.
“Could we free the city in one shot?” Ronja pressed.
Evie bit her lip. She glanced first at Mouse, then at Iris. Both shrugged helplessly. The techi returned to Ronja, her expression caught between interest and uncertainty. “I dunno. Maybe.” She leaned forward and steepled her fingers, resting her chin on her thumbs. “When you sang directly to Roark it worked immediately.”
“Yes,” Ronja confirmed.
“But I had only been under The Air Song for a few minutes,” Roark pointed out.
“Yeah,” Ronja allowed. She itched the bridge of her nose as her thoughts took shape. “But The New Music is way more powerful than The Night and Day Songs.”
“Right,” Evie agreed with an affirming nod. “It evens out.”
Ronja blinked as if she could reset the world around her. “If we could find that station, we could start an uprising in one broadcast.”
“Maybe,” Evie interjected quickly.
Both Ronja and Roark pretended not to hear her.
“Terra and Sam haven’t called yet,” Roark pointed out. “Maybe we’ve already started one.”
Ronja rolled her eyes, though she knew it would only egg him on. “Come on. If anything had happened they’d be back by now.” She stretched out a tentative hand to touch him on the elbow. He did not react. “We are running out of time,” she reminded him, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We have to make a move. Every day we wait is a day they could launch The New Music. Who knows if I’ll be able to bring people back from that. Not to mention, it’s only a matter of time before it breaches the Belly.”
The words planted the seed of nausea in
her stomach. As hard as she tried, she could not push away the image of Georgie and Cosmin struggling under the waves of The New Music. Would The Conductor use The Air Song, simply wringing emotion from them? Or would he torture them first with The Lost Song?
Roark stared at her for a long time. Tension radiated from his taut muscles. Ronja held her ground, unflinching. “Even if we could find the station,” he finally said. “How would we get in?”
The Siren released his arm, knowing he would recoil as soon as she answered. She glanced at Evie out of the corner of her eye. The techi nodded, her mouth pressed into a grim line. She knew. “Maxwell.”
Roark blinked. “Maxwell,” he repeated blankly.
“We know where he is,” Ronja reasoned. “We can trade access to the station for his freedom.”
“Terra said he was insane,” Iris said, speaking up for the first time in a while.
“Right,” Roark agreed with a grateful glance her way. “Samson said he does nothing but pace around the cell and talk to himself in another language, a language he shouldn’t even be able to speak.”
“To be fair, I would probably talk to myself too if I was locked up in a room alone for months on end,” Mouse pointed out.
“I’m not saying we should trust him,” Ronja said with a huff. “I’m saying we should use him.”
“No,” Roark snapped. The Siren flinched at the harsh syllable, then clenched her jaw. “No, this is too dangerous.”
“Yeah, damn right it is,” she said. “But we already know Maxwell will do whatever he has to do to save his own skin, even if that means going against The Music.”
“Ronja is right,” Evie chimed in thoughtfully. Roark whipped around to glare daggers at her. She slapped her hands to her knees, then got to her feet and moved to stand beside Ronja. The Siren felt her heart swell.
“This is insane,” Roark said, his eyes flashing back and forth between them in disbelief.
Ronja shrugged and cast a glance at Evie. The techi flashed her signature grin, which only stoked her confidence. “So is using my voice as a weapon,” she replied. “But here we are.”
“You want to get the son of The Conductor to lead us to the radio station his father spits propaganda from.” He shook his head. The coin he wore around his neck shifted against the fabric of his sweater. The silhouette of Atticus Bullon regarded Ronja haughtily. She fought the urge to snatch it from his neck and bury it. “What makes you think he’ll betray his father?”
“Technically, he already did by helping us get out of Red Bay,” Evie reasoned.
“That was different,” Roark shot back. “This would be a direct betrayal.”
“No one knows about Maxwell,” Ronja reasoned. “He was hidden away at Red Bay for who knows how long. He has a Singer, which given his status is downright bizarre.”
“Maybe his father was trying to control him,” the techi hypothesized, rubbing her jaw with her finger thoughtfully. “Or hide him.”
Ronja shrugged. “Either way, he was able to resist The Music enough to get us out, which means something was driving him.” She paused, wondering if her next statement would be taking things too far. She was already in deep; there was no sense holding back now. “I think, for whatever reason, he wants to make things hard on his father.”
To her surprise, Evie agreed with her at once. “That would make sense,” she muttered, nodding to herself. “Bastard kid gets mad when Daddy slaps a Singer on him and hides him outside the city.”
Roark gawked at Ronja and Evie as if they had just announced their engagement. “Someone help me out here,” he groaned, turning to Iris and Mouse, who were watching the exchange with eyes flown wide.
“Well,” the surgeon began in a tiny voice. “I actually think it sort of makes sense.”
“Pitching hell,” Roark muttered, craning his head back toward the ceiling. He took a deep breath and brought his eyes down to Ronja. She crossed her arms, a challenge. “Samson and Terra should be back soon,” he finally said. “We should wait to hear what they have to say. Then we’ll talk.”
“Fine,” she snapped.
“Fine.”
Roark spun on his heel and marched from the room without another word, leaving the door wide open behind him. Ronja stood perfectly still, listening to his footsteps sing down the staircase.
Evie leaned toward her. “Do you really think that could work?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth.
The door to the factory floor slammed, the crack radiating up the stairwell. “Yeah,” Ronja answered, her eyes fixed to the place Roark had been. “Yeah, I do.”
“Then if it comes to it, we’re with you.”
“Yes,” Iris agreed fervently from her seat on the bed. She kicked Mouse in the knee when he said nothing.
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the trader grumbled.
“We’ll see what Sam and Terra have to say,” Ronja said absently. They all nodded, knowing the words were hollow.
41: Radio Silence
Ronja paced back and forth across her room, her fingers laced behind her back. The perpetual motion was starting to make her dizzy, but she knew if she sat down her fears would swallow her whole. Iris, Evie, and Mouse had left half an hour ago, leaving a trail of reassurance.
She glanced at the bed she shared with Roark as she strode past. The sheets were rumpled, creased. For some reason, the image tugged at her heart. He was just downstairs, she reminded herself. Probably thinking about her too.
He’s right, a nagging voice at the back of her mind whispered. Her plan was insane. In some ways, more dangerous than their mission to Red Bay and infinitely more likely to fail.
The Siren scraped to a halt. The world tilted. The image of the clock tower was seared into her brain like a brand. She could still feel the wind combing through her curls as she stood on the rooftop, gazing out across the smoke-stained city at the golden behemoth. Somehow, it sharpened the voice of The Conductor, as if his lips were pressed to her ear.
Passion is perilous. Emotion is treacherous. Disobedience is destruction. This is The Conductor. Remember, I am watching.
Ronja felt her knees buckle. She crashed to the floor, her head in her hands. White hot pain exploded in the walls of her skull, scattering her vision. Chills wracked her body as memories coursed through her. The Music, the voice in her head, the face of the clock baring down on her from above. Larger than Carin, darker than an eclipse.
A knock at the door, louder than a gunshot.
“Just … just a second … ” Ronja called.
“Ro, are you all right?”
Skitz. “Coming,” she called, striving to keep her voice steady. Ronja clambered to her feet, wiping the cold sweat from her brow. She stumbled over to the door, fiddled with the lock, then yanked it open.
Evie stood in the gap, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Ronja flushed. “What?”
“Did you and Trip make up?” The techi leaned around her, searching for the boy in the spartan room.
“No.”
“Were we fighting?” came a voice from down the hall.
Ronja peeked outside. Roark was approaching from the stairwell. She glowered at him through the fog of her migraine. Her blood simmered beneath her skin. He smiled apologetically as he arrived outside her door. “Well,” he said, itching the back of his head. “If we were, I am quite sure it was my fault.”
Ronja felt her migraine recede, her blood cool. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and looked down at the floorboards, smiling vaguely. His gaze rested lovingly on the top of her head. “What did you need, Evie?” she asked.
“Right,” the techi said, settling into a solemn tone. “Sam and Terra have gone radio silent.”
Ronja snapped her head up, her eyes wide. “What?”
“When?” Roark asked.
“They were supposed to check in hours ago,” Evie answered, holding up her portable radio and giving it an indicative shake. “I radioed them three times, got nothing.”
Evie pressed the red button on the face of the communicator. Static rushed to fill the silence. “It works,” she said grimly. “They’re just not answering.”
The trio fell into an uneasy silence as the reality of the situation set in. Ronja rested her hand on her stomach as it lurched with nausea. She cared for Samson like a brother. He reminded her of Henry. Terra, she would be happy to punch in the face any day of the week. That did not mean she wanted to see her dead.
“We should go after them.”
Evie and Roark looked at Ronja, surprised.
She gave a firm nod, settling into her words confidently. “They could be in danger. Not to mention we need to know what happened with the broadcast before we go hunting for Maxwell.”
“That would be swell, except we have no way of finding them,” Evie said dryly.
“Yes, we do.”
The three Anthemites rounded on the voice, surprise plastered across their faces. Iris stood in the doorway of her bedroom, wearing her green pajamas and a smug expression.
“How?” Ronja asked.
“Easy.” Iris examined her nails, leaning up against the doorframe. “We ask Jonah.”
“Jonah?” Evie exclaimed.
The surgeon glanced up at her friends, dark amusement glinting in her hazel eyes. “Did you really not notice?”
“Clearly not,” Roark replied, his voice dry as bone.
“Terra and Samson kept disappearing. At first I thought they were going at it,” Iris said, tapping a manicured finger to her lips. “But then I realized if they were fooling around, they would just do it one of their rooms.”
“You think they were questioning Jonah,” Ronja gathered.
Iris nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Maybe he told them something, something they felt they had to keep from us.”
“Terra isn’t exactly known to be forthcoming,” Roark admitted, itching his jaw thoughtfully. “But Samson? He hates lying.”
Radio Page 22
