by Joe Hart
The room is ten feet square with a single bed positioned in the center. A desk sits beneath a window looking out onto the street front and a watercolor depicting Mount Rainier in the evening above the city’s lights hangs on the farthest wall. Lee’s imagined seeing that scene in real life and wondered what it must have been like, all of the life carrying on below the over-watching mountain, people living out their lives in relative peace. Even with Ray’s continual relaying of what the world was like before the Dearth it’s hard to fathom.
“This hangover’s getting more furious by the minute and he stands there gawking,” the lone occupant of the bed says.
Ray Ellenbury sits propped up on three pillows, waist and legs hidden beneath a wool blanket. He has a squarish head, white hair framing its top with a matching tangle of beard below. His eyes are bright behind dark-rimmed glasses, and even with the sickness that surrounds him like an aura, there is a sharp sense of wit about him like a knife with a dull edge but a honed tip.
Lee crosses the room and holds the bottle just out of the old man’s reaching hand. “Just a swig.”
“Give it here, you little shit.” Lee pulls the bottle back and raises his eyebrows. “For God’s sake,” Ray says, “you’d think I’d earned some respect after nursing your broken ass back to health.”
“I didn’t get drunk every night.”
“It’s not my fault you can’t handle your booze.”
Lee laughs and hands the bottle over. Ray uncaps it and takes several long pulls before closing his eyes. “Ah, that’s the ticket right there. The only cure for what ails you. My daddy always said you can’t drink all day if you don’t start in the morning.”
“I don’t think whiskey is the cure for pneumonia.”
“But then again, you don’t know that it isn’t,” Ray says, tilting the bottle once again and winking.
Lee shakes his head and tidies up the rags beside the bed that have overflowed the can he placed there. He tries not to think about the cold wetness in each one, the fluids that continually run from the old man when he coughs and hacks at what’s condensed in his lungs. When Lee is finished picking up, he stacks the dirty dishes on a serving tray and carries it to the kitchen sink that’s full. Another task that needs doing. He might as well stay here tonight on the cot in the laundry. He won’t be done until midnight anyway. When he returns to the bedroom, Ray’s settled back into the pillows, chin tilted up, eyes closed, ragged breathing loud in the small space.
“How do you feel?”
“Waterlogged,” Ray says without opening his eyes. “But the fever’s gone.”
Lee places a hand against his brow. “You’re right.”
“’Course I’m right. I’m in my own body, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Stow it. I do feel better. Cough comes and goes.” He cracks an eye. “How about you?”
“Fine.”
“You look wore down. Between your shifts and looking after me it’s too much.”
“I said I’m fine. And besides, it wasn’t too much for you when you took care of me.”
“See but I’m a man.” Ray grins, light twinkling off a gold tooth in the corner of his mouth.
“Well since you’re feeling well enough to give me hell maybe you can walk down to the pub to get your own whiskey,” Lee says, snagging the bottle from his hands.
“Come on now, I was only kidding. ’Sides, got something here I’ll trade you for that bottle.” Ray holds out a folded piece of paper.
“Not falling for that.”
“Seriously, it’s for you. Take a look.”
Lee takes the paper and hands him the bottle. Neat handwriting covers half the paper and he reads it three times before glancing up at Ray. “What’s this mean?”
“The hell you think it means? He wants to see you this morning before your shift. Can’t you read?” Ray releases a chuckle that becomes a wheezing cough.
“But why?”
“You’re smart, son. These days that doesn’t go unnoticed. Tyee’s plugged in to the city, sees most things that go on. That’s the only way he turned this place around after the last bastard tried to burn it down. You should’ve seen the coup he staged. I got to see part of it, but the ones who were close to him said he was like a man possessed. Got shot three times and didn’t quit until the dust had settled and his men had the city.”
Lee reads the note again and folds it, a quiver of nervousness running through him. “What do you think he wants?”
Ray sips from the whiskey and eyes him. “That’s something you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
8
Lee jogs through the morning air, thick with moisture and the smell of scorched steel from the smelting plant a dozen blocks to his left.
He glances to the south as he comes to an intersection, utterly devoid of activity at this hour, which gives him a clear view of the cityscape below.
Hundreds of blackened skyscrapers rise up out of a faint mist spilling from the impenetrable wall of fog in the harbor. Their towering forms are like charred logs stood on end in a fire, ruins of what they once were. The floors are open cavities, glass fronts shattered and gone. Some have toppled in the years since the fire and crushed lesser buildings into formless humps of debris. The beginning of the new port is the distinct boundary where the flames were halted and eventually extinguished by the coup Ray had told him about.
Lee imagines the scene as he runs: the fleeing men, half burned and screaming as the city erupted into flames. Gunshots and the resounding booms of grenades being lobbed from either side of the fighting. He mentally shivers, deeply glad he wasn’t here a decade ago to witness it. Visualizing it is enough.
The street he’s on empties out into a network of buildings overlooking another inlet that reaches a dozen or more blocks into the city. The glass facades here are whole and don’t climb as high as some of the burnt husks farther south, but they still possess an imposing air. He slows in a cracked concrete pavilion between two of the largest structures. Ray had told him the mayor’s headquarters used to be an international company called Amazon that sold nearly everything from bandages to books.
The entrances to both buildings are guarded by teams of six men, all hard eyed and wary of his approach. One of the guards steps forward holding out one free hand, the other clutching a rifle.
“Stop. What’s your business?”
“I was sent for by Mayor Tyee,” Lee says a little breathlessly. He digs in his pocket, terrified for a moment when he can’t find the note. Then his fingers close on it and he hands it to the guard. The man reads it quickly and nods to two other guards who come forward and roughly pat down Lee for weapons before opening the door.
“Up to the second floor. Take a right and go straight ahead.”
Lee steps into a silent lobby with granite floors that echo his footsteps to the towering ceiling above. Pendant lights illuminate the staircase to his left, and as he climbs, his heart rate, which was coming down from the run, rockets again at the thought of speaking to the single most powerful man in the city.
At the second floor Lee is stopped by two more armed men who pat him down again before showing him through a door set into the side of a partition that doesn’t quite reach the ceiling. Inside is a wide expanse of concrete flooring broken here and there by large rugs. Two of the four walls are floor-to-ceiling glass that look out over the encroaching bay where several fishing vessels bob in the gray light. At the far end of the office is a compact desk, behind which stands a very tall man who faces out in the direction of the ocean, hands clasped behind his back, a long braid of black hair trailing down between his shoulder blades.
Lee walks toward the desk and stops, unsure of what to do. The man hasn’t moved or made any indication that he’s registered his presence. Lee’s about to clear his throat when the man speaks in a smooth baritone and turns to face him.
“Mr. Asher. Thank you for coming.”
Daniel Tyee is perhaps i
n his early sixties but could pass for a dozen years younger. His skin is like dark leather and without wrinkles save for two small patches of crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, which are so deep brown they appear black. His prominent features are serene and a stillness surrounds him, as if he is a fixture in the constantly moving world.
Lee fights for the proper thing to say and finally settles for “You’re welcome.”
“Please sit,” Tyee says, motioning to a chair opposite the desk. Lee settles himself, taking in the desktop and the papers it holds as well as a birdlike wood carving balanced on a small pole. He waits for the other man to speak, uncomfortable that the mayor has remained standing. In the back of his mind he tries thinking for the fourth or fifth time since reading the note if he could have done anything against the city’s decrees.
As if reading his thoughts Tyee says, “You’re not in any trouble, if that’s what you’re wondering. We deal with people who break our laws in a much more formidable manner than sending them a polite note inviting them here.” The mayor gives him a small smile.
“Okay. That’s good,” Lee says, a knot of anxiety loosening in his chest.
Tyee examines him for a moment. “How long have you been here, Lee?”
“About seven months.”
“I’ve been told you were in very rough shape when you were found.”
“Yes. I was.”
“Would you like to tell me how that came to be?”
“I was attacked in the mountains and I escaped. Barely.”
“I see.” Tyee steps around the desk and faces the opposite windows overlooking the small bay. “And before that?”
Lee reviews the story he’s relied upon since leaving Ian’s cabin. As much resentment as he harbors for Zoey and the others, there is no way he’d ever willingly give up their location or even existence. “I grew up in a small town on the eastern side of the mountains with my father. He got ill and died almost a year ago. I left and decided to come here.”
“What was the name of your town?”
“Bristol.” Lee shifts in his seat, trying to recall any facts he’d gleaned from the atlas in Ian’s library about his cover story before leaving.
Tyee faces him again. “I know of the place but have never visited. Did many people live there?”
“No. A hundred or so.”
“Any women?”
“No.”
This seems to satisfy him and he moves to his desk again and picks up a sheet of paper. “This is an incident report from a shipping vessel, the Sara May, from three weeks ago. It says here the vessel hit an unmarked, submerged object and partially ruptured the hull and damaged the fuel pump on its way into port. The crew had mostly evacuated, and the ship’s engineer, along with a small team, was still trying to save it when you appeared and helped them devise a method to seal off the breach as well as repair the pump. Is that correct?”
Lee swallows. Tyee had lied to get him comfortable. He was in trouble. “Yes sir.”
“You weren’t on shift at the time, were you?”
“No sir.”
“Can you tell me why you boarded a sinking ship that most others had abandoned?”
Lee looks down at the floor, wanting to stand and get out of the office, out of the building where he can drink in the sea air and cleanse the panic that’s threatening to consume him. “Because I thought I could help.”
Tyee sets down the paper and grasps another one. “Here I have a note from Abraham Butler in the transport division saying you stayed late one evening helping redesign a troublesome carriage bolt assembly that would’ve delayed two major shipments. He said your design was nothing less than ‘brilliant.’” Tyee drops the note and holds up another handful. “I have nearly a dozen messages here from various station managers and they all have one thing in common. You.”
“Sir—”
“Be quiet.” Tyee looks at him for a long moment before pointing at the wooden carving. “Do you know what that is?”
Lee examines it. “A dragonfly?”
“That’s right.” Tyee sits behind the desk and laces his fingers together. “The dragonfly was an important symbol to my people. Since it lives its life both in the water and air, it is a creature of change and adaptability. The one thing my predecessor lacked was vision for the future. He believed there was nothing to fight for other than power, since almost all the women are gone and those left only bear male children. But he was wrong. Order can be brought out of chaos. Good can still be done, even in a world such as this.”
Lee licks his lips. “I apologize, sir, but I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”
Tyee smiles. “A city is like a clock. If one of the gears is broken or stripped, the entire system stops. Time stops. We have industry here: loggers bringing in truckloads of trees, ships entering the harbor carrying supplies from distant places, even the Red District serves its purpose. You are familiar with the Red District?”
Lee nods. “I mean, I’ve never been there, but yes.” He’s heard the stories of effeminate men dressing so convincingly as women that it’s hard to tell they’re not until you’re close enough to touch them. He’s heard how many of the dockhands, Connor included, will spend half their wages on an hour with one of the men in the district. Just close your eyes and imagine anything you want, his friend had told him once.
“Tolerance and cooperation. That’s the two things that keep the cogs oiled. Seattle was a progressive city before the Dearth. Acceptance of gay and transgender people was very common. In the years since I came to sit in this chair, we’ve restored some of that tolerance, and the city has thrived. Even the Fae Trade is useful in some respects. When it makes its yearly rounds, the men release the pent-up steam they’ve been building. Some compete and die for the chance to win one of the women. The ones who have broken laws can join the trade or face exile. Almost always they choose the trade.”
Lee can’t help the look of disgust that crosses his face. From what he’s heard, the Fae Trade is much worse in some respects than NOA.
“You are young,” Tyee says, sitting back in his chair. “And I see the righteousness in you. In a perfect world the trade wouldn’t exist but in this one we must utilize what is offered to us to keep the wheels turning. And that is why I wanted to see you today.”
For a split second Lee is terrified the meeting has something to do with the Fae Trade since he’s gathered the traveling auction is only weeks away. “Sir, I—”
“I’m an observant man. I have to be to keep tabs on a city such as this. You have a gift, Lee, it’s obvious to anyone who isn’t blind, and your quick thinking and innovation haven’t gone unnoticed. There’s a reason you were assigned to engineering beneath Loring. He’s not a young man anymore, and until now there hasn’t been anyone who has shown enough promise to someday fill his shoes. I believe you have what it takes.”
Lee opens his mouth and it seems like forever before the words come out. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I don’t know what to say.” His head spins with the implications of what Tyee’s hinted at. If he were to someday be promoted to the head of engineering, it would mean more pay, more opportunities to attend to Ray’s health. His eyes moisten.
“You don’t have to say anything. I simply wanted to meet you and see what kind of person you are. If you continue on your path, I think you’ll accomplish great things here in the city.” The mayor holds out a folded piece of paper and Lee takes it, finally standing. “If you would, hand this to Mr. Weller down at the pier on your way to your shift.”
“Of course.”
“It was nice talking with you. I know you won’t disappoint me, Lee.”
“I won’t, sir. Thank you.” Tyee nods and Lee understands he’s been dismissed. He is at the door, feet moving quicker than he means to when Tyee speaks again.
“Oh and Lee?”
“Yes?”
“I have a scouting team traveling to the ot
her side of the Cascades in two weeks. They’re going to be visiting Bristol. If they return with a story that doesn’t match your own, you will answer to me.”
9
The streets descending toward the port are beginning to course with life as exhilaration and fear propel Lee in equal parts through them.
The knowledge that he’s next in line for the head engineer position hasn’t set in yet. It’s hard to fathom that someday he’ll be in charge of the engineering sector, doing what he was meant to do. Born to do.
He swallows the lump that forms as he hears his father telling him he’ll create great things someday. The pride that would consume his father’s gaze when looking at him used to make Lee so embarrassed he would fidget with anything he could get his hands on to distract himself.
After he watched Reaper murder him, after fleeing from the only life he’d ever known, he’d come to terms with the fact that he’d never design anything again.
But now, with his old life gone, with the first kind and encouraging words about his talent coming from the mayor himself, the yearning to create is overshadowed only by the need to see Zoey again.
Lee pauses at an intersection, narrowly avoiding a logging truck that rumbles past. No. He wasn’t thinking about Zoey. He was remembering what it felt like to take apart a problem, the thrill of discovery at finding the solution hiding within its folds. He hadn’t been thinking about the feeling of her hand in his. Or how her lips tasted the last time they’d kissed.
He shakes himself back to the present, gulping down the moist air before crossing to the next block. There’s no time for contemplating those things. They’re part of his old life, and that’s gone, burnt and dead as the portion of the blackened city to the south. Besides, he has something more pressing to worry about. Like what he’s going to tell Tyee when the scouting party returns and no one in Bristol’s ever heard of him or his father. Maybe he should turn around now, go back to Tyee and tell him the truth. Tell him about NOA, the women, how his father really died. The women are all gone. There would be no reason for Tyee or the men of the city to venture to the ARC.
