by CM Raymond
He cast his eyes into his lap. “Dear Saul. I wish he could see us now. You know Arcadia was as much his dream as it was mine.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t think he would be able to believe how much we’ve done since his passing. Really is quite amazing.”
She smiled in response and the two chatted for a few more minutes, passing pleasantries about the start of a new term and the nervous first years. But as the conversation began to wane, Amelia was impatient for the other shoe to drop. Adrien wasn’t known for his social calls.
“Can I help you with something today, Chanc… Adrien.” His first name felt foreign and almost mechanical rolling past her lips.
“Oh, right, that.” His smile was all teeth. “Well, I am here for something. This year, as you know, our enrollment has grown. Which is a good thing and also comes with it some, shall we say, challenges. The classroom has always been my primary concern in the Academy, and I am hoping to maintain the integrity of instruction.”
She nodded. “That’s refreshing to hear. I was worried that my faculty would suffer from the new ratios.”
“Yes. That’s why I hired you. You’re their voice.” He paused and looked at the painting hanging over her desk. It was one as ancient as the magic they studied. In it there were men standing, talking, and even lounging to study.
The center point was a younger man and an older one. In their robes, they looked like ancient sorcerers. The younger pointed to the ground, the older toward the heavens. Adrien couldn’t help but wonder if it was an original. Art from before the Age of Madness was difficult to find, but with the right magician, it was relatively easy to replicate.
He continued. “I’ve actually been missing teaching myself, and I think I’ve figured out a way to do it again without ruining your system. My plan is to start a special program for the students that show a strong proclivity for the arts. An honors college of sorts—with me at the helm. They will work on magic, but also assist me on a special project. I think this could be a key element of advancing, not only the best of our students, but also Arcadia itself.”
Amelia said, “Shouldn’t be a problem. How soon do you want the group to form?”
Adrien thought back to Doyle’s timeline and the needs of the Chief Engineer. “We have some time. Let the first years settle in, then start to assemble the group.”
“Of course. I’ll start making a file of the upperclassmen today.”
Adrien rose from his chair, pleased with her response. “Excellent, Amelia. But I expected nothing less from you.” He reached out his hand, his toothy grin still plastered on his face.
She rose from her desk, hesitated a moment, then grabbed his hand. Before letting go, she asked, “Adrien, what exactly is this project?”
His smile faded, and a hungry look crossed his eyes. “Amelia, something you should know about me. When I am being vague, it is always intentional. But I can tell you this, those chosen to work with me will help change Arcadia—help change the world.”
****
Parker kicked a loose rock down the street leading toward the Queen’s Boulevard. He’d spent days trying to find work outside of the factory, and he hadn’t had much luck. Sure, he’d probably be able to land a job building some shit for the Governor and the Chancellor, but he’d prefer not to be a part of whatever they were working on. Parker knew full-well that they were not necessarily above board, and he considered contributing to the two of them as contributing to the unjust systems of Arcadia that kept he and his neighbors in the Boulevard.
All he wanted now was a bath and something to eat. By the end of the day, he finally found some work mucking out the horse stables just outside of the gate. It was the place where the Capitol kept their horses for the Guard that went out on missions, and where the nobles kept their damn show animals. A day's worth of shoveling shit, with shit for pay, led him to head home with only a few coins in his belt.
What took him half the day to earn in the horse stalls, he and Hannah would have earned in a few moments of serious hustling in the market square. But he had to do what he had to do, and with security on high alert, and the Prophet’s freak-show disciples running everywhere, he couldn’t risk getting pinched.
Parker’s mother needed him, and even a month in the clink could lead to her doing some very unsavory things. He’d seen too many women in that position get forced into working the streets.
“Pay up, maggot.” A weaselly voice broke through Parker’s musings.
The man sitting on the stool at the toll that led into the Queen’s Boulevard was completely unfamiliar to Parker. On the night that Hannah nearly burned the place down, he had had an altercation with Monte, the last goon that collected coins for Horace—the Boulevard’s manager.
It took Monte weeks to get out of the infirmary from their run in, and Parker had heard he’d lost his cushy job.
“Not today, friend. Only got a few, and it was through honest work.” Parker grinned, hoping he could warm the newbie.
“Not on my watch, dipshit. Nobody enters Queen Bitch Boulevard without dropping coin in the offering.” The man kicked the wooden box, which all of the residents cursed as an entirely unfair system. “Don’t make me ask again.”
A grin spread across the guy's greasy face, and Parker wanted nothing more than to knock it off of him. But he knew this was the way it goes in Arcadia—not for the nobles with their horses, but for people like him just trying to make it day by day.
Justice needed to come calling—and it needed to come fast. He only prayed that Ezekiel and Hannah were already orchestrating its arrival.
“Sure. Here you go.” Parker poured his purse into his hand and dropped in three of his nine coins.
“The toll is half, numbnuts. I might be new on this stool, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Parker’s face burned, and he considered messing with the guy, but he knew that Ezekiel and Hannah might just need someone still standing on the inside. And for that, the government would receive his obedience, but never his loyalty. He dropped two more coins in.
“Horace thanks you for your support. Have a nice day,” the bouncer said with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Parker turned his back on the man and continued into the Boulevard.
He walked toward home, imagining exactly what would have happened if he had sucker punched the man. Of course, as it played out in his mind, everything went according to plan. He grinned as he pictured straddling the oaf’s chest and dropping punches onto his fat, greasy head. Just as he was getting to the good part, a sound dragged him from his fiction.
Sobbing. Loud sobbing.
It was coming from an alley. Compassion for the people of the Boulevard flared up, and Parker turned down the dirty alley toward the sound of misery.
****
A tiny body under a green cloak heaved between its sobs. Parker quickly moved forward to help the poor person.
“Hey, kid,” Parker said, “you OK?”
The face of a little girl glanced up at him, then away. She was unfamiliar, but so were many in the Boulevard. It was a transient place and foreigners would end up there often, after coming to Arcadia for the chance at a better life.
“I’m looking for someone, and I can’t find them.” She stuttered out the words between her chokes of sadness.
“Who are you looking for?”
Without warning, the girl stood and pulled back the emerald green cloak. As she rose, Parker realized that his estimation was all wrong. Not a girl, but a young woman, a little older than him stood in front of him.
Her name was Jez, and Parker knew she wasn’t messing around. She wore a white cloak under the green one; an eye, completely black was burned onto the front of it. It was the symbol of the Prophet, and of his fanatics.
“I’m looking for you, you Unlawful-loving scumbag.” She sneered with distaste as two men in white emerged from the shadows, each of them holding clubs stained with dried crimson.
<
br /> “Ah, shit,” Parker said. He raised his hands and took a step backward. “Really, I’m not an Unlawful. You guys need to do better research.”
One of the men spoke up. “We know who you are, and what you did with the old witch. I watched you pull her body down myself. If you help them, you’re one of them. And the Prophet has called on us to do the work of the Matriarch and the Patriarch, which includes scourging the Unlawfuls from this city.”
Parker laughed, slapping his thigh with his broad palm. “Ah, now I get it. You guys think because I pulled that old bag of bones off the stick, I’m friends with those apostates.” His eyes darted around to each of the Disciples. “You’re not really that stupid, are you?”
Jez was confused, and Parker could read it all over her face.
He continued. “Come on, guys. It’s all about presentation. We need to make sure that we don’t freak people out with the barbarian bullshit. Now, the Prophet, he knows better. He’s able to do his work without getting his hands dirty, draw people in without scaring the hell out of them.”
“Wait you’re—”
“Hell, yes I am.” Parker really didn’t know who or what she thought he was, and he didn’t care. He had to get the hell out of there and hoped it wouldn’t come to blows. Those clubs looked like they could do some damage. “Listen, I admire your passion, really, I do. But like I tried to tell you the other day, you have to be more careful than just accosting anybody you think might be a little off. It’s not going to work like that.”
A bead of sweat ran down his temple, and he hoped that the Disciples didn’t see the tell of his nerves on edge. Although his stomach was churning, Parker was, for the most part, cool on the outside.
“Prove it,” the woman said.
“Excuse me?”
“Prove that you’re a true follower.”
He laughed. “If I had to spend all of my damned time showing you freaks that I actually work for the Prophet, I’d get nothing done. But if you insist, let me grab my credentials.”
Swinging his leather bag off his back, he reached inside. His fingers worked their way past the red juggling balls, played the lock-pick set that he always had ready, and finally found what he was looking for. The glass bottle was cold to the touch, something to do with the contents, which he didn’t quite understand. Hannah had gotten the potion from Miranda, but if anyone knew they carried this kind of thing, they’d be in deep shit.
The fluid came in handy when they were doing sleight of hand cons in the market. A few sprinkles and the liquid would create sparks and puffs of smoke. The dear old woman had given it to them with a long list of precautions. And he was about to ignore all of them—although, considering the circumstances, he thought she would have approved.
“Ah, here it is,” he said.
Pulling the bottle out, he wasted no time whipping it toward the ground. It smashed on the ground at the feet of the club-bearing men—at the same time Parker shielded his eyes with the edge of his cloak. The glass shattered and a thundering snap filled the alley. Smoke filled out the space in the narrow corridor, giving Parker plenty of time to escape.
“You son of a bitch,” he heard Jez yell behind him. “We’ll get you and your Unlawful scum friends, in the name of the Matriarch.”
As he pushed his legs to go faster, he thought of Hannah and Ezekiel. It was better for them that they were outside of the city walls. Now, he just had to keep himself in one piece until they were ready to return.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It had only been a week back in the Heights, and Karl already started to feel like himself again. Being amongst his community, which shared his perspective on the world and his physical stature, brought life back to his weary soul. Far better to be in the Heights than doing mindless work in the lowlands.
He finished his pint of ale and motioned for Morgan, the barkeep, to toss him another round. A good beer buzz is what he needed to end the day’s work. The ale house was nearly empty. With the increased demand upon the mines to get as many resources to Arcadia as possible, most of the rearick were pulling double shifts.
The company was paying a premium for overtime, so the men were happy to go underground, tired and hungry as they had become. Karl was glad that his last several guard runs gave him plenty of cash to not be seduced by the offers from the mining company. Nevertheless, he feared for his bearded brothers that were working long hours digging out the mines to precarious depths.
Garrett, a youngster by rearick standards, walked up to the bar and took the empty spot next to Karl. The kid had a stupid grin on his face, and as he motioned for Morgan to bring him an ale, Karl knew it was about to get a lot stupider.
“Bring another for Karl, too, on me!” Garrett shouted.
“Why, that’s awful kind of ye, Garrett,” Karl said. “But what the hell is the occasion?”
The kid beamed with pride. “Yer looking at the newest guard for the company.”
Karl looked him up and down. He had been swinging his hammer long enough to know when someone was prepared to fight and when they weren’t. And Garrett was greener than a newly mined gemstone.
“Is that right? Well, good for you. But I’d hold off on the beer. Yer better off spending your money on some better equipment. That armor is dog shite. I could take a piss through that thin leather brigandine if I pushed hard enough.” Karl smacked Garrett’s chest with the back of his hand. “It ain’t pretty out there in the the lowlands. There’s evil lurking behind every bush, and you’re more than likely to get your ass handed to you. And dead men drink no beer, kid.”
Garrett took a long slug of his ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I ain’t worried.”
“That right? Then you’re even dumber than you look. Either that, or you’ve got something you ain’t telling me.”
“I’ve been assigned to travel with you.” The kid looked up at the older rearick, his stupid grin getting stupider by the minute. “And around here, you’re a freaking legend. I’ve been listening to stories about you all of my life.”
Karl grunted and turned back to his cup. “Ah, don’t be so swift to count yerself safe, kid. Half of them stories ain’t nothing but shite.”
“And the other half?” Garrett asked.
“Just damned lies.” Karl laughed to try to lighten the mood. He was, overall, happy to have Garrett along for the ride on his next trip. The journeys were long and often hard, and he liked the kid, though Karl knew his confidence could end up being a liability.
And Karl had seen enough dead men on his watch to know how ugly the world really was.
“Morgan,” Karl called to the barkeep, “two more. One for me and the other for me new boss here.”
The kid perked up next to him. “Thanks, Karl that’s—”
But Garrett’s words were cut short as the bar started to shake. Ripples formed on the surface of their ales, and a mighty grinding sound, like a hundred rearicks bearing their war hammers against the earth, followed.
The room shook like hell.
“The mine!” Karl yelled, as he jumped to his feet.
He knew the damned company men were making a huge mistake of continuing to push the current shafts to their limits. They should have opened a new hole, and now lives were on the line.
The world really could be an ugly place. “Beat feet, kid! They’re going to need us if there’s even anybody alive down there.”
****
Hannah slumped on the couch in the drawing room.
Her head was spinning, and she wasn’t sure if it was from sheer exhaustion, from the training that Hadley was running her through, or from the elixir she pounded back throughout the day.
