She smiled and shook the offered hand. “Same, Mayor.”
Mayor Riley’s smile vanished as he turned toward Vermen. He must know who he was already. Was the entire network aware he’d dogged Seraphin for years? Flushed, the captain strode forward and grabbed the elder’s hand before it was even offered.
“Hans Vermen, at your service.”
Seraphin tensed, but Riley chuckled and squeezed his hand with surprising strength. “You’re one brash young man, to impose yourself like that despite your reputation.”
Vermen struggled to find a proper answer, uncertain if the mayor had meant to compliment or insult him. He didn’t want to start a fight, but he wasn’t going to let this old man disrespect him.
Maniel came to the rescue. “He’s the reason we’re alive at all.”
“He could’ve done a better job. You all look half-dead.”
“We’re starved,” Seraphin said. “It’s the main reason we came.”
Riley frowned, but Joshua popped in from the kitchen. He held a tray with a teapot and empty cups. White steam swirled from it and a minty scent spread through the living room. The mayor leaned forward and grabbed Joshua’s forearm.
“Boy, would you two cook some real dinner for everyone?” He paused, then added as an afterthought, “I’d understand if you’d rather stay to hear the news, but—”
“No, not at all, sir. I’m sure Seraph will tell me everything later.”
This time, Vermen smiled with the others. Even about games of chance, Joshua had never shown so much eagerness. He suspected they could ask him to sit in complete silence for an hour and, if it was with Martin, Joshua might agree. Nothing like young love to make a man forget the most serious situations. Vermen risked a glance at Seraphin, now serving the tea, and forced his gaze away. This wasn’t young love. It was a kiss. And they didn’t have to make a big deal out of it. Riley tasted the tea before he turned to Seraphin.
“So you have no provisions. Is the entire group with you?”
“Yes. The nine of us left,” Seraphin said in a hushed tone.
“Tell me what happened. I’m sure the Union left the juicy parts out of their account.”
The Regarian leaned forward, put down his cup, and clasped his hands together. His voice quivered when he began the story. The cracking fire and clank of pots sometimes covered the words, but no other sound disturbed his tale. Mayor Riley remained motionless until Seraphin mentioned the first volley of explosions. His ice-blue gaze turned to Vermen, who felt the heat in his cheeks but refused to cast his eyes down.
Halfway through, Joshua arrived with their meal. He was followed by a man with silky brown hair, deeply tanned skin, and a shy smile. His bare feet made no sound as he distributed their plates. Vermen thanked him but received no reply, only a nod before Martin hurried onward. He didn’t say a word, in fact, only kissed Joshua on the cheek as the Burgian sat with his dinner. He seemed about to flit out of the room but Joshua caught his forearm.
“Stay with us, please. You don’t have to talk.”
Martin hesitated. He pressed his lips together, nodded his thanks, and pushed Joshua over. The Burgian squirmed to give him enough room on his sofa with a laugh.
“Glad to have you with us, Martin,” Seraphin said.
“Thank you.”
He said the words slowly, with a singsong lilt, the second at a higher pitch. The rebel leader nodded, solemn, and picked up his tale where he’d left it while they ate. Vermen didn’t pay him a lot of attention. He wolfed down the chicken pie, savoring every salted bite. When Seraphin mentioned traveling straight to Elmsfield after exiting the tunnel, Riley raised a hand to interrupt him.
“Are you saying I’m the first person you’ve talked to since the bombing?” He rose, agitated, and turned to Maniel. “Then you don’t know about—” Before he could finish, the radio screeched and whirred. Riley sat back with a relieved smile and gestured toward it. “About this.”
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to The Noodle Show’s third broadcast!”
Andeal’s voice burst from the speakers, warm and healthy. Maniel gasped and her fingers tightened on Vermen’s leg. He set his hand on hers and squeezed it, smiling. He couldn’t remember such unbridled joy breaking her cool composure. Andeal was alive and had somehow gotten his hands on radio broadcasting equipment.
“It’s a cold evening tonight but don’t worry, we’ve got some flames to keep us warm. Now, I know I say this every night, but tonight is an important broadcast and I’ll give you a few minutes to gather your friends and family and settle down with a drink. Here’s some music to keep you busy. If I believe the inscription on the disc, it’s some traditional jig from Regaria, but I make no guarantee.”
He fumbled for a moment then the tune started up. Violins filled the air, their quick melody completed by an accordion. Martin picked up the tune right away, humming it to himself. Seraphin turned the volume down. His expression alternated between incredulity and amazement.
“How long has he done this?”
“He began about two weeks ago, though there was a week-long pause after the first night,” Riley answered. “Started with quite a bang, too! They hijacked the National Radio broadcast to announce their own and slipped out of the guards’ grasp.”
Maniel shook her head, but she was smiling. “That stupid, lovely ass. If he doesn’t get himself killed before I reach him, I’ll do it myself.”
They waited for the jig to finish, holding their breaths.
“Seems the writing on the disc didn’t lie. You folks all ready? Because tonight we bust up a myth perpetrated by the Union these last two months.” He paused. Everyone in the room perched on the edge of their seats. “You already know about the destruction of Mount Kairn, and I wager most of you have seen the terrible pictures of the defaced mountainside in newspapers. For weeks now, the Union has repeated that we planted hand-crafted bombs in tunnels to attack an icon of the Union’s glory. I find that quite a curious statement. First, because I’ve lived in those very caverns for six years and I don’t know a single sane person who’d blow up his home like that.”
A strong wind blew across the microphone and Andeal interrupted his speech. He had a short background exchange with another voice, which they all immediately recognized. Joshua grinned and lifted his teacup in a false toast.
“Henry’s with him! They both made it out.”
The duo’s whispered conversation ended quickly and Andeal cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. It seems I won’t be broadcasting for long tonight. Where were we?” A slight pause. “Ah, yes, Mount Kairn, home of the Annual Races. Another tradition we should be blamed for destroying, according to them. And yet if you can find any of Ferrea’s old residents—don’t look in the town itself, they all left, unable to make a living—they’ll tell you the Races had been canceled by the Union months before the attack. What I want to tell you is simple. They discovered our home and came in the night with a bomber blimp to rat us out. Union explosives defaced our beautiful mountain. You can blame us for living there, but they made the final decision to destroy it and you deserve to know as much.”
There was a short silence. The fire crackled, its tall flames down to glowing embers. No one moved to put another log in.
“That’s it for tonight! Don’t forget we expect to see you on Union’s Day in Reverence for our most important broadcast and a fireworks show to die for! The 22nd’s celebrations will have never been so glorious.”
The radio clicked and screeched, then returned to its initial static. Vermen stared at the small receiver through which their friend had suddenly come back to life. He had an educated guess about where Andeal broadcasted from. The sound of flame and strong wind suggested a location only the rebels would figure out. Henry and him hadn’t wasted time since their first flight to further customize the already ridiculous balloon.
Maniel fell back into her sofa with a happy sigh, removing her hand from Vermen’s thigh. “I
can’t believe he…” Her voice broke and she rubbed her eyes. He couldn’t tell if she was about to cry or laugh.
“Mayor, would it be possible to take your radio with us?” Seraphin asked.
“I have a spare,” Riley answered. “It’s an old crumbling device, but it’ll work. We’ll add it to your supplies.”
“Thank you.” Seraphin closed his eyes and joined his hands, his index raised and touching his forehead while his thumbs rested near his lips. He remained in this deep thinking pose for a while, and none of them dared to speak. “I assume they have Henry’s recording and will play it on Union’s Day. Let’s roll with Andeal’s plan. We must convince as many people as possible to listen to him and travel in time for the Union’s anniversary celebration. If they trust us enough to do that, they’ll trust us enough to believe in the recording and act on it.” He turned to the mayor. “What of your village? Could you get them on the road?”
“Half the residents have already tuned to the broadcast. We were hit hard by the Plague—almost every single family suffered a loss—and if your story’s true, if you can convince the men and women here that the man who made the Threstle Plague might be preparing another pandemic, they’ll travel as far north and east as you need them to.” He pushed up his glasses and put on a solemn air. “I intend to lead them on the road, old bones not-withstanding, and demand justice for Susan.”
Seraphin rose, his jaw set with determination, a hand on his skeptar. A strange light burned in his eyes, giving the pale blue an unnatural glow. He was in control now, confident. Gone were the doubts. Andeal had salvaged the rebels’ purpose from the disaster at Mount Kairn and offered them a clear path to follow.
“This is it,” Seraphin said. “We won’t have the resources to start over, or a better occasion. If they don’t listen now, they never will. Elmsfield won’t be alone, though.” He turned to Joshua and Maniel. “We’ll split into two groups and cover as much land as we can, compelling others to answer this call and relay the signal. People are harder to deny than a disembodied voice. Joshua, you’ll go with Stern and try to cover most of Ferrys’ western regions, along with Mikken to the north. We’ll travel east and into Regaria. Our story must spread faster than Galen’s virus. By the time the first firework launches, I want Reverence’s streets to be packed.”
Vermen pictured the great city’s snaking avenues invaded by a black moving mass and his heart sped. Would it work? Times were hard and the Union’s army would control the solar-powered bus system. Civilians had never recovered individual means of transportation when Galen Clarin’s oil-eating bacteria deprived their cars of proper fuel. Fast and safe travel had turned into a problem, isolating communities, making radio broadcasts and newspapers the main source of news.
The Threstle Plague had left scars of its own, however, and betrayal worked as a powerful motivator. What would happen when thousands learned someone had killed their family on purpose, lied to them about the Plague’s origin and was prepared to repeat it all? He wondered if it’d be enough.
One thing was sure, however: he would be there, even if it meant walking beside Seraphin Holt.
Or, perhaps, especially if it meant walking beside him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The chill night might’ve killed Henry’s good mood had he not flown thousands of feet above ground. A month had passed between the moment he’d bade goodbye to the Lenz Balloon and the one he was allowed to launch it back into the skies. It had felt like years. After Kinsi had abandoned him in that tasteless courtball pub, time in Reverence seemed to stretch on, endless and unforgiving. He could not go out unless necessary and he spent most of his time in idle thumb twirling.
He used to waste entire days sitting around in Ferrea, staring at the ceiling and reminiscing about his father or the Races, but he could no longer bear it. He grew restless, paced through the numerous tiny rooms of Treysh’s apartments, and sought a task to accomplish. Anything to busy himself and fill his mind. At first he tried to help Andeal repair the transmitter, but it ended with the engineer snapping at him, disgruntled and annoyed.
Treysh noticed, however, and invited him deeper into her dangerous world. Every day after breakfast, Treysh locked herself in a room and disappeared until dinner. They only knew she was alive by the occasional small explosion, the repeated curses and, once, by the foul-smelling fumes that’d slipped out the crack under her door. Henry had sworn never to go near that place. He preferred to remain in one piece.
She asked him if he wanted to see her projects one afternoon, after Andeal had suggested Henry glue himself to a chair and stop disturbing his work. The gleeful glint in her eyes as she offered to show him killed his resolve. He agreed, eager to see his painful boredom come to an end, but as a large grin spread on the chemist’s face, he realized the full extent of his mistake. The last time she’d smiled like that, she’d blown up a door.
She led him into a full-blown laboratory, lit by a series of white neons. In the middle stood a huge wooden table where beakers and vials shared the space with alcohol burners and a dozen petri dishes. Each of the latter contained a different metallic powder, some dark gray while others had a brownish tint. An old sink lay against the left wall and a second, long table occupied the back of the room. Gift-wrapping paper had taken over its surface while long rockets and cone-shaped fuses rested beneath. Posters with weird symbols and equations plastered the right wall.
“This,” Treysh said with a grand gesture at the room, “is my fireworks factory! Here, let me show you.”
She hurried to the closest alcohol burner and lit it as Henry examined the crazy setup, slack-jawed. Wasn’t such an installation illegal? Like that would ever stop Treysh.
“Come on, come closer. It won’t explode, I promise.”
“I bet you always say that.”
He stepped forward anyway. Amusement danced in her eyes.
“Near enough. My favorite times are when I don’t have to say it, though. Nothing like a good boom to pep up your day.” She tapped the petri dishes with her fingers, her excitement barely contained, and selected the one marked with Cu. “You know what’s marvelous about nature? How colorful it is. This is copper, you see, and it looks rather dull. But watch.”
She picked up a curved metal spatula, dipped it in the copper powder, and brought it over the burner’s flame. In an instant it turned from warm orange to emerald green. Henry let out a soft whistle.
“Is that how you dye your hair? Copper?”
Treysh’s bright laughter filled the room and she extinguished her burner. “No. It’s what I put in the fireworks, though. I’m afraid my hair’s green color is nothing so fantastic. I buy it as is.”
“Here I thought everything about you was extraordinary.” He’d meant to tease, but the words escaped his lips with a serious and complimentary tone. She smiled at him and set her spatula down as heat rushed to Henry’s cheeks. What was he thinking? And how had he ever found the courage to let that slip? He cursed himself for a blundering fool and cast himself upon the first other topic he could find. “How did you know so much about the Radio Tower?”
“I used to sneak inside all the time. I dated Kevin, their main announcer, and visited him when he worked late. At first I got caught but since he always defended me, I used the occasion to really explore.” Her grin reappeared, and she added: “Getting in and out unseen was more fun than he ever was!”
Henry mumbled a smattering of words then stopped, too stunned to continue. The announcer? The man with a drawling voice who droned on for days, repeating the same insipid news without a trace of energy? Poor him. If he liked his life as tranquil as his tone, Treysh might’ve scared him out of relationships forever. She noticed his astonishment and waved it away.
“I know. I was silly at the time.”
He tried not to laugh, but as he pictured his green-haired, explosive companion with the most dull, commonplace man he could imagine, a wild fit of laughter took over. Treysh joined in and soo
n they both held their pained ribs, one hand on the table so they wouldn’t fall. He forgot about his worries—the recording, his disheartening reunion with Kinsi, his continuous boredom—and had, for the first time since landing in Reverence, a moment of true respite.
Once they recovered their seriousness, Treysh proceeded to explain what kind of fireworks each rocket held. He remembered little of it, had been more absorbed by her than her words, but even today, as a chill wind pierced his coat and pushed their balloon around, he snickered at the thought of Treysh dating the radio announcer.
A stronger gust forced Andeal to interrupt his current broadcast and brought Henry back to reality. He hated to waste fuel, but they couldn’t remain at this altitude.
“Give me a sec,” he told his friend as he pushed the gas levers and bright, warm flames burst into life.
Andeal sat cross-legged at the bottom of the balloon, microphone in hand. He turned and scolded him. “You ought to be quicker. You can’t let wind interrupt me all the time.”
Henry bit back a remark as they reached a higher altitude and the wind stopped. Andeal returned to his broadcast without another word. Henry waited, tapping the basket with his fingers in an attempt to contain his frustration. They’d left Treysh once the receiver was repaired. Ever since, his friend had been ill-tempered and prone to snapping. It had lasted long enough. Henry had no intention to endure his moods and, when Andeal hung up, he stepped forward.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
Andeal cast one piercing glance up then wrapped the microphone in its protective waxed paper. “What’s wrong? What makes you think anything is wrong?”
Henry had to fight not to laugh. If he could see it, it meant something was obviously, terribly wrong.
“Since we’ve left, you’ve been in turn angry and brooding and…and mean!”
“Mean?” A smile reached Andeal’s lips, but it curled into a sneer. He assembled his broadcast gear, put it back into their protective bags, and sprung to his feet.
Viral Airwaves Page 23
