by K. C. Lannon
As she listened to him show off the different features of what was basically a camping for morons book, she realized he had no idea what he was talking about. The thought of him out there alone, only knowing how to make a fire with matches (which could get wet) or a hand drill (Deirdre had done this a couple of times and hated it), was suddenly much more urgent than any long-term goal of finding long-lost parents.
Even if I find out what I need to back at the orphanage to make sure this whole magic thing won’t keep happening, maybe I should keep traveling with him… or at least convince him to stop and go home. He’ll be completely at a loss out in the country alone.
She interrupted his spiel about using moss to tell which way was north, asking, “Did your family ever forbid you from leaving the city? Will you be breaking a rule?”
“Uh…” Clearly taken aback, he pondered the question for a second before replying, “Now that you mention it… I mean, no one ever actually said that.”
“Good. In that case, let’s do this. Let’s go tomorrow!”
For the first time, James beamed without reserve or shyness. “All right!” Dragging out the map of the city again, he pointed at the street they were to meet on. “So the parade will be starting at noon tomorrow, at the beginning of the street to the east. We’ll meet here, on the north side, at quarter past twelve, so we’ll leave just before the parade reaches us. Everyone will be so focused on it, even the few guards, that we’ll slip out easily.”
“Wow.” She smiled at him. “You’re really smart, aren’t you?”
His only response was to blush lightly and stutter and mumble.
When no clear words were forthcoming, she asked, “What are you packing?”
Immediately James launched into his list of things he had planned to bring. She forced the smile to stay on her face even though she was sharply reminded of the times she helped groups of thirteen-year-old girls at the orphanage prepare to go camping overnight. Thirteen was the age when they began to pack many useless items, but James honestly topped them all. Deirdre spent the rest of their time at the café trying to convince him to pack fewer books and notebooks and more changes of clothes and practical equipment. When James had to go home in the late afternoon, she felt only partially successful. As she waved goodbye to him, she prayed he didn’t show up tomorrow with a wheelbarrow full of heavy tomes.
For a while she wandered around the block, thinking of the supplies in her suitcase. She was covered when it came to clothes, but many essentials for surviving in the wild were missing. And so, after bugging a few random people for information and directions, she headed toward the enormous outdoor market that was open on fair-weather weekends.
The market was in the heart of the city, near a small park. First she headed to the park’s borders, relieved to see some green again. She spotted a few people walking their dogs and realized this was the first time she had seen any animals since coming to the city. After watching them for a while (and wishing for the hundredth time that she had a dog of her own), she headed toward the markets.
They had nothing of the verve and color of Ferriers Town, but the large maze of stalls and booths were packed with people and just about anything she could ever think of buying. To keep herself from impulse purchases (a lasting flaw of hers), she used a strategy Sister Teresa had taught her. First she walked through the entire market briskly, taking account of the stalls, their wares, and their prices, and then she returned only to the ones with the best deals.
She purchased an absolutely hideous neon-purple-and-snot-green rain-proof backpack (discounted because no one else would buy it), rope for climbing (discounted because no one really needed it), a small torch (discounted because it only had a green light), first aid equipment, and some dried food (even though James said he would get their food, she didn’t entirely trust him to bring enough).
Her last purchase was flint and steel. In the same booth, she spotted several pocketknives. But when she leaned over to touch one, she flinched back; the handles all seemed to be inlaid with iron.
“See something you like?” the stall owner asked. He was a tall, wide man with a thick white mustache despite his bald head. He reminded her of a walrus.
“Everything here is really nice,” she said with a smile, pointing at the knives but not touching them. “Do you have any knives without iron?”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes grew lighter. “Ahh, got a faery boyfriend, do you?”
Mouth falling open, she whispered, “Girls have those in the city?”
“Some of ’em do.” He picked up one of the knives farthest from her and handed it carefully to her. “This one’s got pewter instead of iron. Normally it’d cost more, but iron knives are in such demand, this is the cheaper option.”
She held the handle in her palm, unfolding the knife. The steel blade was bright and sharp, and the handle fit perfectly in her grasp.
“I’ll take it.”
As she headed toward the market’s exit, her purchases stowed in her backpack, she fought the urge to skip. She had gotten everything she needed, and she still had a couple of coins left over. They weren’t really worth much at all, but the jingling noise they made as she walked buoyed her spirits even higher.
As she went to slide past someone, the figure turned abruptly, knocking her off her feet.
Immediately she bounced back up. “Watch where you’re going!” she snapped, dusting her skirt off.
The man had stopped and turned, his expression apologetic. “Excuse me, young lady. I didn’t notice you. Shopping for school, are you?” His unsmiling eyes lingered on her backpack.
“I’m all done,” she replied shortly, her upbringing discouraging any direct lies. She cocked her head; the man was wearing a military uniform, though it was different from anything she’d seen in the city so far. Plus he looked remarkably familiar, though she couldn’t quite place him. “Have we met before?”
“You may know some of my family, perhaps. It’s a small city.” He frowned at her change purse, shaking his head. “Such a small purse… and schools demand so much from students these days, even from poor orphans. Let me buy something for you, as an apology for knocking you down.”
“Well, I—” His words clicked and she stepped back. “How did you know I’m an orphan?”
“Your outfit, of course,” he replied with a thin smile.
She glanced down; the vested blouse and long belted skirt was a standard uniform for Trinity, but how many people in the city would know that? Elaine sure hadn’t yesterday. She looked back up, unsettled.
“Don’t worry about it.” She began to walk away from him. “I’ve got to go.”
The moment she turned her head, he called after her, “Young lady, you dropped something.”
“Huh?” She looked back; he was pointing to a small, dark grey ring on the ground.
“I don’t have any jewelry,” she said, though she crouched down to grab it, thinking it must have fallen from one of the nearby booths.
When her fingers brushed the ring, it felt like a snake bit them. She flinched away. Feeling the man’s eyes on her, she tried again; she managed to grab it, but it felt like warm pins were digging into her fingers. Just as the pins began to get white-hot, she tossed the ring onto the outer table of the nearest booth.
The man did not say anything but simply watched her as she stood back up and walked away, nursing her fingers. She glanced back only once; the man was still there, his gaze fixed on her like a terrier that had spotted a rat and was about to pounce. Feeling chilled, she hurried away toward the exit of the market.
“Are you Deirdre?”
A small group of soldiers approached her. The one leading them was tall and spoke with an Irish accent as he repeated, “You are Deirdre, right? You’ll have to come with me.”
After blinking a few times, she asked, “Why?”
“Suspicious activity. Staying out past curfew. Possible conspiring with rebel faeries,” the soldier said like he w
as reading off a list in his head.
“I…” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Maybe I was out a little late yesterday, but I was with a soldier. I… I didn’t do any of those other things.”
The soldier sighed, gesturing forward. “Look, this might just be a misunderstanding. Come with me and we’ll clear it up as fast as we can.” He even broke a small grin. “You might be out and back in your dorm in less than an hour.”
She agreed reluctantly, though as she began to follow him, she asked, “I still don’t understand. Is this because I went to the faery town yesterday? Or is this because—”
“Stay quiet until we ask a question,” the soldier said, his voice suddenly sharp.
She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out; when she slackened her pace, one of the other soldiers pushed her onward.
If this is just a misunderstanding, why are there five soldiers here? She considered running away but pushed the idea from her mind; before now, she had never had a reason to mistrust an authority figure. So despite the nauseating anxiety rising inside, she stayed optimistic.
But when they reached the headquarters of the Iron Wardens and one of the soldiers closed the iron gate behind them as they stepped inside, her weak knees were the only thing stopping her from bolting.
This might not end well…
Chapter Eleven
As James made his way back home after leaving Deirdre at the café, he was still buzzing with excitement from all their planning; well, it was his planning, really. Come to think of it, James realized that Deirdre hadn’t said very much. (Why was that?) However, he was certain she was just as eager as he was to discover and explore the world beyond Neo-London. He wondered what sights they might see, what creatures they might encounter that he’d only seen in illustrations or imagined vividly in his mind.
It’ll be even better with someone to experience it all with!
James had just started to get used to the idea of traveling on his own. He figured there were many scholars and field researchers who studied wildlife on their own and that he might have a go and see what that would be like before he pursued it as a profession. He’d managed to convince himself that spending his days quietly documenting his surroundings and his nights quietly surveying the stars, with only nature as his company, would be fulfilling enough to keep him occupied. Now that Deirdre was on board, he threw those fantastical notions to the wayside, assuring himself that there would be plenty of time for a solo adventure later in life.
While he knew that having Deirdre as a companion would not be anything like having his brother with him, like he’d always envisioned, he knew it would be infinitely more fun than being alone. She won’t be nearly as annoying as Iain, at any rate, James thought, sounding more cheerful about it in his head than he felt.
As he neared his building over the road, he saw that there was a unit of Iron Wardens with their backs to him who were walking up his street toward the abandoned lot a little ways beyond.
That’s unusual. They don’t normally patrol around here unless there’s been a report.
Certain that the Iron Wardens would not stop him or even notice him, but aware of the books he carried with him, James picked up his pace. He headed to the crosswalk past the small park across from the housing. Right as he was walking past, he saw an elderly looking man emerging out of the park.
As James drew closer, he noticed that while the man had neatly kept dark hair and a trimmed beard, his clothing looked a little worn, and he supported his weight with a walking stick, which had made James mistake him as older than he was. Something about the way he looked stirred familiarity, though James did not recognize him from the neighborhood.
Wait. He can’t be—
“Jal?” The man turned to look at him, his face lighting up in a huge, bright grin.
James gawked. “Káko Marko?”
Marko chuckled and spread one arm wide as if to embrace him. “My goodness, it has been a while since I’ve seen you, boy. You’re looking fit as a fiddle!”
James’s face flushed. “Um, thank you,” he mumbled.
The few times Mum had introduced Marko to Iain and James when they were children, when Marko used to work at the hospital with her, she always had them call him Káko Marko—Uncle Marko—even though they had no blood relation, though Mum and Marko were practically raised together in the same community growing up. Now he just felt silly calling a practical stranger “uncle” without being prompted.
The last time James had seen Marko, the visit had not been a pleasant one. He’d been there the night Iain was sick on Pan. James had called him, not knowing what else to do. His mother left them with a number to contact Marko before she left if they needed anything, but they’d never thought to call upon some man they hardly knew. After the incident three years ago, however, the number had been disconnected when James tried to call again.
“What happened to you?” James asked tactfully, noticing the way Marko favored one leg. He hadn’t needed a walking stick before. Realizing he was being impolite by not addressing him properly, James quickly said, “I just meant that you look, uh, different.”
Marko just kept smiling. “Times have been hard, that’s all.”
“Do you, um, need anything? I mean you’re in the area for a reason, aren’t you?”
“Actually”—Marko cleared his throat—“I was hoping to visit with you and Brishen.”
James blinked. He was unused to hearing his brother’s Romani name spoken. Hearing it now felt like a bad omen, like invoking the name of someone long dead.
At James’s silence, Marko clarified, “I just wanted to see how you are doing. Last time I saw you both—”
“Iain doesn’t remember it,” James said quickly. “You, um, helping.” It was not something that either of the brothers really wanted to talk about after, so James hadn’t elaborated when Iain had expressed that he didn’t remember a thing from when he was ill.
“Ah. I expected as much. Most users have some memory loss. I suppose we can be grateful for that, Jal.”
James supposed he was grateful. Iain had been completely out of it. Marko had said his body was shutting down, like he’d overdosed. James was certain Marko hadn’t forgotten being shouted at so viciously by someone he was trying to save. He would have died if Marko hadn’t been there to stop him from choking on his own vomit while unconscious.
James was still stunned by how their father reacted. James was eleven at the time and considered himself far too old to cry, but he had been nearly inconsolable. Marko had patted him on the shoulder, graciously ignored his tears, made him a cup of tea, and told him that everything would be fine. Their father, in contrast, was cold.
Alan argued with Marko, ordering him to leave their home at once. James had been afraid that their father might be angry enough to hurt Iain. But he hadn’t seemed upset. He was indifferent, calm.
Marko had protested that he needed to stay to make sure Iain would be okay, adding that he wanted to come back every few days to make sure Iain was recovering, ensuring he got the help he needed.
When Alan threatened to call the Iron Wardens on Marko if he didn’t leave, Marko had shouted at him, “I just saved your son’s life!”
“You shouldn’t have bothered. There’s no place in the world for people like him.” That’s what their father had said right outside their room for Iain to hear.
James remembered it ringing in his ears, stinging worse than a slap ever could. He had decided to never forgive his father for saying that, even though things between them had improved somewhat since then.
I wish I didn’t remember it either. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, suddenly cold.
Looking back at Marko, he asked, “Where have you been all this time?” He did not want to admit that he’d tried to call Marko’s number after he’d seen him last, but he wanted to know why he hadn’t answered.
“I’ve been around, in and out of the city.” Marko shrugged.
“You two are doing all right, huh?” Marko asked. “I hear Iain’s joined the Iron Guard, and you’ve been doing well in school. That’s pretty good to hear.”
James nodded absently.
Marko reached out and placed his hand on James’s shoulder, jolting him slightly. He leaned in and offered a warm smile, asking, “Is your brother home? What about your father?”
James rubbed at his nose absently. “Iain should be awake by now. Dad’s at work.”
“Good. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you and your brother. Something important.” Marko picked up the plastic bag by his feet. “Shall we?”
James led Marko over the road and to the gated entrance to the building.
The guard peered around and squinted at them from his booth. “Have a guest?” he asked gruffly, giving Marko a wary glance. It was the same kind of look that he saw the guards give the homeless when they passed by.
Marko merely waved in response.
“He’s, um, my uncle,” James said uncertainly. “He only looks like an old hobo.”
He hadn’t meant to sound impolite. He’d meant to clarify the situation. But now that he thought about it, maybe the words had come out wrong. He could almost feel the smack Iain would’ve given him if he’d heard, as if he’d been classically conditioned.
Luckily, Marko did not seem offended.
“Have I seen you around here before?” the guard asked, leaning toward him.
Marko shrugged. “Not likely. I haven’t visited this part of the city in a few years.”
Wordlessly, the guard opened the gate.
When James led Marko inside the house, they were greeted with the thrumming sound of music on the radio and the smell of garlic and tomato that hit them like a wave. The house was warm from the stove being on a while.
