Bray hurried down the alley. Around him, slaves carried buckets of water to or from their houses, or cleaned up from lunch. A few children played games with stones in the alley, stacking them and knocking them over. Relief crossed his face as he found Kirby.
"I saw you pulled from the line," Bray said. "What happened?"
He looked her up and down, thinking she might have an injury he couldn't see.
"Ollie took me from harvest duty," Kirby explained. "He took me to his house." Seeing the worried look on Bray's face, she added, "He did not touch me, though that was his intent."
Kirby told him about being brought to Ollie's quarters, as well as the task she was assigned. She also relayed Esmeralda's story about a vicious attack she had suffered. Bray's anger roiled as he heard about Ollie's demeaning words and his searching hands.
"If his family wasn't there, things might have gone differently," Kirby said.
"I will slit his throat before he touches you again," Bray promised.
"You will not have to," Kirby said. "I will kill him myself."
Bray cooled his anger. Kirby had never needed his protection, as much as he wanted to give it.
"I know men like him," Bray said. "He will keep trying, until he succeeds."
"You think I do not know that?" Kirby's eyes filled with the same rage he had seen that first day in the courtyard, when a guess had become a stinging reality and they were enslaved. "I will deflect him as long as I am able. I have dealt with many men like him. When the day comes that he touches me, I will kill him."
"You will die if you fight back," Bray protested.
"Would you have me submit?" Kirby's eyes moistened with an anger that could quickly turn on Bray, if he pushed.
"I'm not asking you to let that happen," Bray clarified.
"If I let him do what he wants, I have already lost," Kirby said, her voice wavering. "I will not let it happen. A beating, maybe, but not this."
"I understand," Bray said, and he did. "I will find a way to work nearby. Perhaps The Shadow People can get me into the metal shops."
"If The Shadow People had that power, don't you think they would have offered?" Kirby asked, shaking her head. "Obviously, the guards will not help us. Such favors are beyond our reach."
"Maybe I can—" Bray opened and closed his mouth as no good answers came.
"We have no control over where we are. We both know that." Kirby's eyes showed her internal struggle. "I will handle myself for now. In the meantime, we will keep working on the topics we spoke about last night. It is the only way." Shifting the conversation to a potential plan, she said, "I am already getting ideas from my day in the machine shop. If I can figure out a way to ferret some scraps from the shop, we might have a solution to our weapon problem. Or at least something that will help."
"Shanks, to fill in our weaponry," Bray caught on.
"It is not a solution, but a start. Taken over time, some pieces of metal might add up. Perhaps we might even have enough so each person's hands are filled, when the time comes."
"I have some ideas, too." Bray briefed her on some of his thoughts from the fields.
"You are thinking of an escape route, if the worst happens," Kirby summarized.
"I remembered what James said," Bray commented. "If we have a better idea of the terrain, it can only help."
Kirby nodded. "Certainly."
"These slaves are not fighters, like us," Bray continued. "Or at least not all of them. If we start a revolt, we might succeed for a while, but at some point, we might have to flee. A few moments' lead can mean the difference between living and dying. We both know that. We need an alternate route to freedom."
"What does that mean for William?" Kirby asked, raising a topic that had plagued Bray.
"Unfortunately, it sounds as if we will have to help ourselves before we help him," Bray said.
Looking up at the shimmering tower, Kirby said, "We will do what it takes."
Silence came over the conversation. Something else was on Kirby's mind.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"I am thinking of the others in New City, like Esmeralda," Kirby admitted. "For every one of the two hundred Shadow People, there are many more that remain silent, scared to leave, or trapped in a position where they cannot run. Hopefully, we can help them, too."
"You think they all deserve a golden palace in the clouds," Bray inferred.
"Everyone does," Kirby said.
Bray fell silent a moment. "We should get back to lunch and to our afternoon duties."
Kirby nodded as she looked around.
"Be careful, Kirby," Bray said, touching her arm.
Kirby watched him for a moment, anger and sadness in her eyes. He squeezed her arm.
And then she broke away, walking off down the alley.
Bray lingered until she was out of sight, fearing it might be the last time he saw her.
Chapter 23: William
William sat on one of the long, soft beds in his room. Amelia had suggested he read through a pile of books she had given him, but he was disobeying. It was a small act of defiance that probably didn't help him, but it felt good. Looking out the windows at the bright sunlight, he allowed himself to remember what it was like hiking through the forest, Bray and Kirby at his side. They had so many memories that too many blended together.
But one particular memory came back to him.
He recalled a bright, spring day when the leaves were budding on the trees and the sting of winter had gone. The weather had been perfect.
William had sat next to Bray and Kirby on a mountaintop, surveying the crumbled spires of a distant city they had yet to explore. With the sun hot on his face, a warm belly full of rabbit, and a flask full of water, William thought that city could contain anything. William had listened as Bray told exaggerated tales of the wild. He and Kirby had laughed, poking holes in Bray's stories, making lighthearted fun. William remembered never wanting that moment to end. It was a simple moment, memorable in its happiness.
It was so easy to take those days for granted when you didn't know they were ending.
But now he had hope.
He had a plan, even if he didn't know any details.
A knock at his door reminded him that Amelia was coming for him. She had told him they would continue practicing letters.
"Come in," William called, broken from his reverie.
Surprise hit him when he saw Barron standing there, his bulbous head tipped to the side. He trudged in, his robe swaying around him. "It's been a while since I've been on this floor," he said, nostalgically, looking around.
Fear lodged in William's throat as he recalled the hairpin underneath the dresser. Not wanting to prolong a visit, he crossed the room. "Where's Amelia?" he asked, in an innocent tone.
"She is upstairs. I offered to take you to the drafting room. She thought you might benefit from my explanation of what I am working on. Later, she will work on your letters, as she promised."
William nodded through the lump in his throat. "Okay." He took a step toward the door, hoping Barron would follow.
"You seem intrigued," Barron said.
"I am just excited to hear your explanations," William said, keeping his expression innocuous.
"Of course. Come with me." Barron waved a hand. "Perhaps you will get bitten by the same bug of knowledge as I have been."
**
William stared out the third-floor windows, overlooking the balcony and the crop fields beyond, Barron at his side.
It seemed as if Barron could speak about the plans forever, audience or not. His eyes sparkled with an energy that William had only seen a few times—while they ate dinner, discussing their books.
Or when he watched Cullen die.
William wished he could disappear into his head, like he did when he read upstairs. Instead, he gazed out the window, past the balcony and out into the crops.
"What do you think of my revised plans?" Barron asked, snapping William to attention.<
br />
"I like the pontoons," William said, repeating the funny word that Amelia had told him.
"They will help us set the plane on water, when no other option is available," Barron repeated.
"I understand," William said.
His attention drifted outside, where a string of strangely-clad men emerged from the distant woods, pulling a caravan of covered wagons. He watched as they toted their goods through the grass field at the forest's edge, heading toward the dirt path between the crops. A few demons clustered by the edges of the path, watching the approaching newcomers. If only he had a way to harness the twisted men's power.
Of course he couldn't, while trapped in a building.
Mistaking William's silence for reflectiveness, Barron said, "It is an adjustment, living with our intellect." Smiling at William, he asked, "Have you found it so? You are learning things at a rapid rate."
Considering his answer, William said, "Yes."
"Too many thoughts enter our heads at once. Sometimes, we have to choose which ones to follow. But we pick things up much faster than any human. We have intelligence of which they can only dream. Much more than The Plagued Ones outside."
William made a show of his smile.
"I get ideas at the strangest times," Barron said, evidently enjoying hearing his own voice. "Sometimes I read something in The Library Room, and it will hit me days later. Other times, I will get an idea in the middle of the night, while I sleep. I've worked some long hours on my projects." Barron's tone was reflective. "In any case, the bug for knowledge is a strange thing. Perhaps you should pick up some books on aviation and see if you have a passion for it. You will not understand all the words just yet, but in time, you will."
"I will try them," William said. Looking over at Barron's smiling, repulsive face, he said, "Perhaps I will even check some out this afternoon in The Library Room."
But William already had a passion, and a goal.
He would check out those books. But the only thing he would think about while he stared at them was how he'd destroy The Gifted.
Chapter 24: William
William sat at one of the smaller desks by the window, staring at a page he wasn't reading. Bright sunlight splashed across the page, illuminating some of the simpler sentences that he was starting to grasp. Across the room, Amelia perused the bookshelves, taking out a few worn tomes, compiling a new stack for him to study, based on Barron's recommendations.
If he weren't so afraid of her, he might have thrown her books in her face.
Instead, he steeped himself in thought.
Tech Magic. That had to be his answer. But where could he get it? It was possible The Gifted had weapons in their rooms, but it wasn't a certainty. Guards were stationed at the building's entrance, and on the seventeenth floor, beneath The Library Room. All of the other floors were inaccessible without an enormous risk. The only time he might sneak into a room unsupervised was at night, when The Gifted were in their quarters, or in the afternoon. But opening the wrong door might lead him into a vicious encounter. He'd learned where a few of The Gifted's rooms were, like Tolstoy's and Amelia's, but not all of them. And neither of those floors promised weapons. He certainly hadn't seen any weapons in Tolstoy's room.
Frustrating thoughts.
He considered what he knew. The square, secure box on the ground floor had once contained their confiscated swords and Tech Magic guns. But who knew to where those weapons had been relocated? The box had been empty when they'd arrived; certainly The Gifted had moved them. If there were a storehouse past the guards, he'd never make it without a weapon to get him there.
One weapon, to have a chance at getting more.
William's circular thoughts led him nowhere.
The only weapons of which he was certain were those in the glass cases.
William shook his head as his gaze drifted over the desks and out the windows. His eyes roamed back to Amelia's desk.
A thought struck him.
Amelia's gun.
He'd forgotten about the old, sentimental relic.
Even if that gun was still there, it was empty. Amelia knew better than to keep ammunition with it. It wasn't loaded before, and she certainly wouldn't have armed it so that a desperate, captured boy could get a hold of it. It would be foolish to risk his safety for an empty gun, which would be just as effective as the microscope, or any other weapon only good for hitting someone.
But some hope returned as he considered something Amelia had said: "It should work. I keep it clean, even though I no longer have the need to use it."
If it worked, she must have ammunition.
And where might she keep the ammunition for a sentimental gun?
In her room.
William's heart pounded as an idea solidified. Perhaps William had found the first secret to his escape. Rummaging through one room was much less risky than fruitlessly searching through several. If he could find ammunition, it would be worth the risk to go to her floor.
William had hope, now that he had a destination.
He just needed to figure out how to get there.
Chapter 25: Bray
All around Bray, workers dispersed, splitting off to their homes, grateful for the only reprieve they got in this hellish place: dinner and a few hours with their families. Those brave enough to leave their homes after supper spent their time by the bonfires, after the demons had fed.
He looked down at his dirt-caked fingernails. He needed a wash. Returning to his house, he found Teddy using a bucket in the corner.
"I got our water," Teddy said, cleaning himself with a rag.
"Thanks," Bray said, shucking off his sweaty shirt. "It seems as if the dirt always finds a way to our skin, regardless of what we wear."
"Isn't that the truth?" Teddy asked. Finished cleaning up, he passed the bucket to Bray. "I saw Kirby in the metal shops today."
Bray nodded. "They pulled her from the fields this morning and gave her a new role." He kept his answer brief.
Teddy said, "It is hard work, as all the jobs are. Her hands will get used to a new ache."
"How were the sewing rooms?"
"The same as always: too much clothing to finish, but never enough time to do it. The guards treat each day more urgently than the last."
"They're pushing us harder with the crops, as well," Bray muttered.
"It will get worse, as the season ends," Teddy said empathetically.
Bray cleaned in silence for a few moments as workers outside hurried to their homes. With a few moments before the demon bells started ringing, Teddy sat back on his bedroll.
With a sigh, he said, "Back in the earliest days, there were far fewer jobs in New City." Teddy wiped some water from his face. "Most of the earliest people spent their days clearing the rubble from the crop fields, or planting seeds that didn't always take. Some spent time building the wall, or constructing the houses where we now live. Others lived in The Learning Building, serving The Gifted."
Bray nodded. He looked out the door and up to the tall building, as if he might see the past in the glistening windows and find William.
"Back then, The Gifted kept swarms of The Plagued Ones nearby for protection, while they let out the rest to hunt in the forests," Teddy said, looking out at the guards carrying bells toward the gate. "They didn't hand feed them the way they do now."
"That life seems more suited for an animal like a pig or a cow," Bray grumbled.
"It is an unnatural life," Teddy agreed. "The Plagued Ones might listen, but they are always on the edge of hunger. They fight their instincts by living this way."
They watched a few more guards pass by.
Shifting on his bedroll, Teddy said, "Life was simpler back then. Not as many machines to keep up, or guards to make our tasks harder."
Bray asked, "How do you know so much about those first days?"
"When I used to go out to the bonfires, I'd hear stories passed down from the workers' families." Teddy averted his eyes. "The
Gifted also used to tell tales when they came down here years ago. Now they stay up in the tower. They're more secure in the life they've built. Or maybe they value their safety too much."
Bray nodded. He knew the safeguards all too well.
Looking at Teddy, Bray said, "You know a lot, for someone who mostly keeps to himself."
"I might be quiet, but I pay attention," Teddy said. "I hear many things."
"In the shops, I imagine," Bray said.
Teddy nodded.
The bells started ringing. With too much commotion to talk, they turned their attention out the doorway.
Chapter 26: William
"I can't believe how much better you've gotten at writing, in only a few weeks," Amelia marveled at William, as the daylight waned through the windows. "Your letters are more legible than some of The Gifteds'."
"My name looks different than I ever would've expected," William said. Not for the first time, he marveled at the strange symbols for the word he'd been saying all his life.
Amelia pointed to the word she'd written underneath his, which started with the symbol 'A'. He compared both names.
"My name is a little longer than yours," William said.
"Only by a letter," Amelia clarified.
"I still don't understand why some of these letters appear twice," he said, frowning as he looked at the middle of his name.
"The language can be complicated in its rules," Amelia said. "In fact, our language is one of the most difficult to learn. But you have done it correctly."
William stared at the strange symbols, wondering who had decided those rules, and why everyone else had agreed.
"Are you ready to go downstairs for sleep?" Amelia asked.
William looked around. In the time they'd been writing, most of the other Gifted had left for their quarters. Thinking back, William recalled a few goodnights he hadn't acknowledged.
"I'm ready," he said.
Finished with the lesson, they put away their materials.
"You are fortunate to have such a library," Amelia said, gesturing at the bookshelves, as they put some books away. "The price of some of those books was steeper than you might imagine."
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