Twig

by wildbow

  “Was it that they wanted us to think the Infante was going to reach out and guide us as the chaos unfolded, to leave us reeling when he didn’t?” Hector asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ensbury said.

  The closer they’d drawn to the sealed cell, the more Ensbury had drawn into himself. Hector had taken it to be a resignation to his fate, but—

  He reached out, seizing Ensbury’s shoulder. He spun the man around, thrusting him against the wall.

  He saw the terrible sadness in his old superior’s eyes.

  “No,” Hector said. “What is this?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ensbury said.

  The questions and the reactions of the others in their group were drowned out as cell doors opened down the length of the hall.

  We’ve already been infiltrated.

  For infiltration at this level, Ensbury would have had to cooperate. To share the layout of the building, the security measures. He would have had to urge the vat-grown to allow enemies through without issue.

  All of this would have had to be done before the letter even arrived.

  “Don’t touch those guns,” a voice said.

  The owner of the voice stepped into view. His hair and eyes were wild, in a way that reminded Hector of when he’d seen the homeless urchins who’d been up for sale on his visits to the auction blocks in New Amsterdam, Crown London, and Elbitz. The ones who hadn’t been socialized enough by humans, or who’d been socialized once and then seen that learning stripped away by dark experience. The lad wore fine clothes, a vest over a buttoned shirt, slacks, and boots. He was no older than eighteen, to look at him, but his green eyes looked far older.

  “I think it might be better to do as Ensbury should have done,” Hector said. “And given my life out of patriotism.”

  “Maybe if it were life that was on the table. But it’s not, Hector,” the lad said. “You should know as well as anyone that the Academy can inflict far worse punishments.”

  “Oh lords,” one of the widows whispered. Hector reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.

  “You are not the Academy,” Hector said.

  “You might be confused. It was certainly the plan. The letter, the crisis, all intended to get the wheels in your head spinning in one direction. I’ll explain. Chedglow is ours, Professor. Like Hackthorn is. Like Peachtree and Atlantica. Like the city of Wetwood and the town of Tyessex.”

  Hector felt his entire perception of the world shift as the names were rattled off, as if he’d missed a stair on his way down, and now teetered on a brink. Too many. He found his bearings at the same time he gathered his courage. His hand went to his gun. If he removed one of them—

  Pain lanced through his hand and fingers as they tried to close on the grip of his weapon, then redoubled as whatever adder or scorpion had stung him repeated its assault. Blood wept from his fingers as he pulled them away, trying to see what it was that had struck him. A solid, deep impact to the back of his knee knocked his leg out from under him, and his initial effort to bend his knee and go with the impact only brought him pain. He teetered and ended up falling sideways into one of the widows, his leg going straight to avoid repeating that pain.

  A knife. One had slashed at his fingers even though nobody stood near him. Another had appeared in the back of one of his knees, going deep.

  He cried out in pain.

  “You’ve bought yourself an ugly fate, Professor Hector,” a girl said, from behind him. “I wouldn’t try anything else, or you might buy something equally grim for these people you have with you.”

  He stole glances at the widows, at the Doctors who had served him so well, the Professors who no doubt hoped they would run an Academy one day. Ones very much like he had been not very long ago at all.

  He looked at Ensbury, who stood with downcast eyes, looking like a man who’d died inside.

  “Now,” the boy with the dark hair spoke. “My name is Sylvester. And I’m going to explain how things are going to work now…”

  ❧

  “…The letter? You’re going to play along. As far as we’re concerned, the warning is real.”

  “Play along?” Sir Warthon asked. He stood a little straighter. “Listen here—”

  “You’re going to play along, professor,” Helen said, very gently. “Your family will be in our custody, and we’re going to take measures with you, specifically.”

  Warthon scowled.

  “You’ll muster an army. You’ll gather your forces, and you’ll lead them. You have doctors in your employ. You’ll put them to work. Your little fort town may end up a point other armies have to fall back to. We’ll need to be ready for them.”

  “You’re mad,” he said.

  “I don’t get mad,” Helen said, smiling.

  “You have to know you’re calling the King’s attention down on you.”

  “If we happen to upset him, you’ll be caught in the devastation that follows,” Helen said. “Something worse than black wood and red plague. I really do think you should cooperate.”

  Warthon clenched his fists.

  “Let’s outline the particulars first, sir, and then you can decide how much you want to object, and I’ll answer your objections.”

  “Not with words, I imagine,” Warthon said.

  Helen tittered, her eyes alight with fey mischief. “I do hope you object. If you do, will it be an objection to—”

  ❧

  “—calling a state of emergency,” Duncan said.

  “I don’t have the authority,” the debutante said. “It’s not my city, it’s my father’s, and he’s away.”

  “You can call the state of emergency. You saw what unfolded when the local government reacted to the letters. Without your father here, with communication between cities being so spotty, they’re adrift in a storm. You’ll take authority.”

  “We’ll help you,” Ashton said. He sat beside the young lady. She wore an ankle-length dress, who had a wisp-light scarf around her neck, while her hair was so short and so oiled down it looked sculpted to her head. As casual as the scene and her posture might have been, something in her eyes betrayed a trace of the alarm she should have been feeling in the moment. Ashton added, “We’ll tell you what to do.”

  She nodded, even as the vague impression of alarm grew more poignant. Slowly, it eased away, but then the alarm became apparent in how her hands moved. Ashton reached up and took one of her hands, holding it.

  “You’ll coordinate with the others. Your father’s company supplies raw chemicals to Academies. You’ll propose joining the effort at Franklinton.

  “You’ll want to do that,” Ashton said.

  “We’re not soldiers.”

  “But you can supply a war effort. There’ll be debate and discussion on what to do. When and if you have a voice, you’re going to spread information for us.”

  “Information?”

  “Just one clue,” Ashton said. He stroked her hand. “You’ll give them one clue, won’t that be easy?”

  She nodded, numb. Her feelings were all over the place, she’d never experienced a crisis like this before, and she couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to know how she should act. It was always her father who’d made the hard decisions.

  It was so much easier to sit, to listen, and hear Ashton’s soft, pleasant voice telling her what to do. It made the anxieties slip away, gave her assurance.

  “One clue,” she said.

  “It will have to do with the movements of rebels, and the odd patterns of birds,” Duncan said. “That will—”

  ❧

  “—be your cue,” Lillian said.

  Emily and the two aristocrats Lainie and Chance were Lillian’s support as she faced the rest of the room. She had lieutenants, but it was so hard to shake the notion that the rebel soldiers were Sy’s. Something being Sy’s was always a cause for a sort of anxiety. Emmett was with her too, but Emmett had his hands full with Gustav, a local aristocrat who’d augmented himself.
r />   Her soldiers encircled her, standing on the ground while she stood on a table. Their guns were raised, while the ten guests at the evening dinner were sitting stock still, frightened for their lives. Plates still steamed in front of them. The dishes had been lightly poisoned, enough to take the fight out of them.

  Lillian found some comfort in that touchstone, that it reminded her of meeting Mary, of the bad seeds poisoning the cafeteria. There was too much to do, so she hadn’t had any Lambs come with her. Ashton had needed a babysitter and was most familiar with Duncan. Sylvester had needed someone to watch him and Mary was most able. Helen was content to operate alone.

  It was nice that Mary was with her on some level, even if it was a reminder of a poisoning half a decade ago.

  “You’ll provide the second clue, and others will connect the dots. The movements of rebels tie to a series of events in nearby towns. You’ll name the Lambs, and you’ll name the towns, and I’ll provide the particular details shortly, but the key element is that Radham comes up,” she said.

  ❧

  “Radham?”

  “Radham,” Davis said. “And all you have to do, Professor, is speak out on just how much trouble has come out of Radham. The Lambs, Mauer, and Fray. You’ll be sure to mention that last name.”

  “Fray?” the Professor asked. He eyed the young rebels who stood in his bedroom.

  “You just mention that name,” the Treasurer said.

  “I don’t suppose I have much of a choice, do I?” the Professor asked.

  “If you think you have any choice at all,” Bea said. “You’re gravely mistaken.”

  Red paced at the back of the room, watching, her trusty hatchet in hand. She gave it a lazy swing through the air, as if to demonstrate what the Professor might be in for.

  ❧

  Sylvester closed his eyes. The wind was strong, and it seemed like no matter where he went, the air smelled like charcoal ash or death. Plague and blight.

  Pierre approached him, coming to stand beside him.

  “All good?”

  “Define ‘good’,” Pierre said.

  “The others are alright, I hope?”

  “Messages from the others indicate they’re on track. Duncan’s group was slowed by an incidence of plague in their ranks.”

  “You don’t seem alarmed in a way that suggests they’re dead and gone.”

  “They say they’ll heal, but it will mean recovery time, and it will slow them down.”

  “We’ll make do, I suppose,” Sylvester said.

  “And the ones who didn’t want to participate in the battle are on their way to Sternwick.”

  “Sternwick?”

  “We’ve talked about this. West Corinth had to evacuate. The orphanage has expanded beyond its considerable frame, we control a share of that city, with accommodations for everyone that’s presently headed there. They should be reasonably safe and out of the way there.”

  Sylvester nodded, taking that in. He vaguely recalled something along those lines.

  “Our contacts are saying there’s a hint of movement from others,” Pierre said.

  “A hint, you say?” Sylvester asked. “It wouldn’t be Mauer. Fray?”

  “Genevieve Fray’s colleague Warren Howell and her stitched Wendy were spotted in the company of a creature that matches Dog’s description.”

  Sylvester smiled. “Too big to stick to the shadows very well, it seems. She had to have caught wind of what we’re doing. She’ll know her name came up.”

  “The reports came late. Communication is hard, when even the phones and wires are affected by the black wood, and the waypoints beset by plague. But, difficulties aside, the forces you’ve recruited are making their way here. All seems to be reasonably on track.”

  Here.

  Sylvester stood on the balcony. The sun was setting, and the sky was on fire. Franklinton carried on its business, unawares of the role it would soon play as a staging ground. On the horizon, a city sprawled. Plumes of smoke rose from buildings and cast out a gentle spiral of clouds that each rained endlessly on the city below.

  “Good news, then, Duncan’s group excepted.”

  “Not all so good. The upper nobility might have a sense of what’s going on.”

  Sylvester nodded slowly. “Did the Infante leave?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Communications, again?” Sylvester asked.

  “It seems so.”

  “Well, that might be more problematic. Thank you for all of this, Pierre.”

  “You’re welcome, Sylvester. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “So do I. So do I,” Sylvester said. He didn’t admit to such doubts with many people.

  He leaned against the railing. He watched the city, as people started to retire for the night, packing up shops, loading up carts and carriages, and taking to the streets. A group of children ran along the street with an Academy-created doll, flesh bound in a case like porcelain and fancy clothing. It had an ungainly, floppy run that made it look as if it might collapse and smash itself to pieces at any step. The girls took hold of its arms to support it and bring it along.

  He looked away from that and looked at the sky. It was turning from orange to red.

  “Jessie,” Sylvester said.

  He heard footsteps behind him.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  Pierre gave him a sidelong glance. He ignored it.

  He ignored the three young women who were in the room that backed the balcony. Shirley sat with Mary and Helen.

  His focus was on Lillian’s muscle-suit, which empowered a stitched with the frame to comfortably and perpetually carry a reclining young lady. Jessie was propped up, half-sitting, while the ten foot tall figure held her in its arms.

  “Look, see? Radham,” Sylvester said, his voice soft.

  Pierre retreated.

  He brushed his fingers through her hair, watching her more than he watched anything else.

  She slept on. An endless dream, sorting through memories.

  He hoped he’d given her enough good ones.

  “We’re back,” he said.

  Previous Next

  Crown of Thorns—20.1

  I spread my arms to embrace the rain.

  Radham wasn’t home. I barely recognized the view of it as I looked at it from afar, frankly. That wasn’t that my memory was slipping, but the fact that it had changed to adapt to plague and the press of war. Where the Academy had once had tall fortifications surrounding it, now the city was ringed with them. One tall wall lanced out into the distance, blocking off the view. Fields, orchards, and grazing areas, secluded from the rest of the world.

  So very strange to see walls of stone and mortar on that scale without the wood interlaced through it.

  The rain ran through my hair, down the back of my neck, and soaked into my shirt.

  Helen, walking a few paces behind me, was humming to herself. I changed my pace, took one grand step back, and swept up her hand with mine, turning myself around to wrap her arm around my shoulder. In the doing, I pulled her a little away from Shirley.

  “Careful now,” she said. “I don’t know if I trust myself to let things go nowadays.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a way to go.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” she said. “Play nice, and I’ll hold back.”

  “I’ll try,” I said.

  She squeezed my shoulder with her arm, walking with me.

  I glanced over at Shirley, who was putting her hood up, covering her short hair. “How are you getting on?”

  “I’m mostly marveling at Helen,” she said.

  “That would be justifiable, given how I’m a marvel worth marveling at. I’m sublime, even. The professor I keep chained to the desk and cot in my room ensures it.”

  Shirley looked like she needed a second to get her bearings, her conversational stride broken on a few levels by Helen.

  “Anything in particular?” I asked.

&n
bsp; “The lessons you taught me are very evident in a very natural way for Helen. Poise, framing.”

  “Entirely learned,” Helen said. “But I learned it early on. One of the first things I learned, I’ll have you know.”

  I let the conversation continue, as Helen and Shirley had their talk.

  Radham loomed in the distance. It was enshrined in walls and soaked in a perpetual rain. We were getting a trace of that rain, or perhaps we were getting the rain that Radham would’ve been due if it wasn’t generating its own. It really wasn’t home. We’d grown up and away from it. But it was where we had set our roots. Some of our brightest, most genuine, and saddest moments were founded there.

  It was fitting, then, that we made it the first of the surviving major cities that we would seize. It would, all going well, be our base of operations.

  This was our staging ground. The city was choked with soldiers and the creations that needed to be housed indoors. They were trying to keep on the down-low, with primarily officers, major divisions and key experiments stored in the city, but it was still a lot of people. People were gathered in the streets where there wasn’t enough room indoors, and while fires had been prohibited, the distribution of food and leash-free water was an ongoing process.

  The manors atop the hill were the nicest in the town, and they were where we had settled. They were where the officers, top Professors, and our other key ‘converts’ were staying. The only people to come and go were our other converts.

  Well, them and the scattered few enemies who made my heart jump in my chest, before I realized there was no conceivable reality where they could be here. The Primordial Child. Ferres outfitted in the suit that had enabled her to walk and use her hands again. Sub Rosa, as both the child and the adult.

  The Snake Charmer was staring at us, sitting with a girl I didn’t recognize.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, palm hard against my head, squeezing the water out and back. The streets were full enough that carts and carriages had a hard time passing through. There was a variant Crown States flag on a pole by one of them, waving slightly. It was one of many, signaling for gates and checkpoints to let the carriage through, but the key difference, with the crimson background to the flag, was that it was meant for us.