"Rudyard directs them from the other side of the entrance, of course, but I think they would line up, even without him," Teddy added. Noticing the expression on Bray's face, he said, "Have you thought of something?"
An idea gelled into a hope as Bray said, "I think I might have another plan."
**
Bray walked through the alley. Pots and pans clanked through the open doorways as people started dinner. A few children peered cautiously from their homes, as if the demons might be waiting to pounce, even though they had already gone. Bray kept developing his idea in his mind as he walked down a few more paths, reaching the row where Kirby's house was. Passing the squalid, stone hovel, he saw Esmeralda—her roommate—inside, preparing supper. No Kirby. Esmeralda met his eyes, but he looked away. He didn't need to draw any more attention to himself by asking questions.
Frowning, he turned past the house, headed toward the nearest well. Perhaps Kirby was fetching water. He reached it to find a line of waiting slaves, holding empty buckets as they chatted. Kirby wasn't there, either. Worry overtook him as he scoured a few more alleys, without luck.
Perhaps Ollie had snatched her away to a dank, putrid hole.
Bray's fear intensified as he walked in the direction of Ollie's house. Approaching carefully, he saw the door closed. Numerous voices, including Ollie's loud, raucous voice, came from inside. It sounded like his family was home. Assumedly, Kirby wasn't there. Fruitless alley turned to fruitless alley, as the last rays of light left the sky and everything turned dark. Every time he heard a laugh, he spun, as if he might find Kirby at the center of a circle of guards, but he couldn't find her.
He was heading back to Kirby's home when he thought of something. Taking a shortcut, he headed to the end of her alley.
Deep shadows surrounded the cracked, flooded house where they had met before. He approached carefully, looking over his shoulder. A thin scrape from inside echoed and died. Ducking, he made it through the threshold to find a silhouette inside, kneeling on the floor. The person turned in his direction.
"Kirby?" Bray identified her silhouette in the moonlight. "What are you doing?"
Ambient light struck Kirby's face as she stood and backed away, as if she were hiding something.
"We weren't supposed to meet here anymore," Bray warned.
"You need to go," Kirby said, with a quiver in her voice that told him more than words.
Putting two things together, he whispered, "Ollie."
Kirby turned away, but not before he caught a glimpse of her face through the moonlight. He couldn't see the details, but he saw enough. Bray clenched his fists.
"What did he do?" he asked.
Kirby stuck her face in a spear of moonlight, jabbing a finger at her swollen, bruised eye. "There. Do you see? Now leave, before you are discovered and killed."
Bray fought against his rage. He wanted to march to Ollie's house, pull him from inside, and kill him in front of the other guards. He wanted to unleash a pent-up anger that had been building since the first beating he'd received in New City.
"When did he do that?" he asked.
"Earlier, in the machine shop. He did it before I could defend myself. Someone in the machine shop stepped in. Otherwise, I would've killed him." Kirby's voice trembled with anger.
"I walked by his house looking for you."
"He is there," Kirby said, with enough certainty for Bray to know that she had been there, too. "He is eating with his family, with the door closed."
Bray looked down, catching a glint of the piece of metal in her hand. Even a dim-witted guard could see what she planned. "You will die, if you go after him," he said, trying to contain his own rage. "You will die for a moment of revenge."
"I will die regardless," Kirby said. "I would rather it be after I put a shiv in his neck."
"It will be a last choice," Bray warned.
"Perhaps so, perhaps not," Kirby said. "Maybe I will get lucky and kill him without others around. But I will not let that stop me. Whatever it takes, he dies tonight."
"It won't be hard to figure out it was you, after what happened today in the machine shop," Bray protested. "Even if they don't put two things together, others will pay for your actions. When the guards find Ollie dead, they will penalize the other slaves. Some might lose rations. Some might even be killed."
"I will give myself up, then."
Bray threw up his hands. "You will die for a single moment?"
"What would you have me do? Wait for a revolt that might never come? Spend my nights planning, while Ollie takes my dignity during the day, or whenever else he decides?" Kirby's voice was laced with venom he seldom heard. "I haven't, and I won't." Kirby drew a deep breath. "Ollie will act before Drew and the others do. And then none of our planning will matter. Perhaps my actions will save women like Esmeralda from his abuse."
"For every Ollie, there are many more guards like him, ready to touch women with their filthy hands," Bray said. "And then what will your death be for?"
Kirby smeared tears from her eye. "For me."
Her words hit Bray like a punch to his stomach. He opened and closed his mouth, robbed of words. He wished he could take away all the things that haunted her.
Of course, he couldn't.
Bray looked over his shoulder, as if someone might be there to back up his argument. He needed to find a way to reach her. "A while ago, you told me you worried for the people who had no voice, who were beaten down and unable to make a decision. You regretted leaving those people behind. Do not leave them behind now."
Kirby fell silent.
"Your death—your life—is worth more than a pig-headed man's blood. If you are going to die, make your death matter."
"When we were first in those cells, all those weeks ago, you asked me to give you some time," Kirby whispered. "I did that."
"I know," Bray said. "And I am sorry we are still in this situation. This is my fault."
Shaking her head, laboring through a weighty sigh, Kirby said, "No, it isn't."
Bray stepped toward her, embracing her in the moonlight. She trembled with rage as he squeezed her gently, hoping to defuse some of her anger. In a voice strong with a resolution he had every intention of keeping, Bray said, "If you go after him, I'm coming."
"Foolish man," Kirby said, but he could hear her admiration.
They stood quietly in the dark room, until some of the raw, fresh emotions of her attack passed, and Kirby stopped trembling.
"I came to find you for a reason," Bray said, as he held on to her. "At least let me explain it, before we both run out to our deaths."
Kirby laughed through the silent tears on her face. "Another plan?"
"This plan might be different," Bray said, his original purpose for finding her resurfacing. "Let me convince you that a revolt might work."
Kirby stepped back, but he could see her hesitation in her stance.
"It is worth discussing, before we throw our lives away," Bray said.
Kirby nodded silently in the dark, waiting for him. She was obviously thinking about other things. But he had to get through.
Putting his thoughts into words, he said, "Teddy and I spoke about the demons tonight."
He relayed he and Teddy's concern that The Gifted would command the horde to kill the slaves.
"It is something all The Shadow People fear, of course," Kirby said. "And it is certainly stopping them from acting."
"What if we could eliminate the threat of the demons? Then we would only have to deal with the guards and The Gifted."
Kirby laughed softly, but he could tell she was intrigued. "I don't see how, without slaying them."
"The guards have ingrained a routine that might help us," Bray suggested. "They use their words, and their bells, to herd the demons into the Feeding Pen. What if we could do the same?"
"I do not understand," Kirby said.
"The demons react to the bell, not the people," Bray guessed. "At least, that is what I think. If we c
an keep close enough to the same ritual, we might be able to get the twisted men inside the Feeding Pen, away from the commands of The Gifted. We might be able to contain them before they can harm us."
"Why would we let them in?" Kirby seemed dubious.
"Outside the city, the demons are an uncertain threat. The Gifted have control of them. Even if we barricade the front gate, The Gifted will find a way to let them in. Teddy mentioned that some parts of the wall are crumbled. The Gifted might know that, and order them over in the unstable areas, or they might use Tech Magic to break down the walls. We will not know which points to defend, or when. We will have no visibility." Bray watched her a second, more of his idea solidifying. "If we trap the demons in the Feeding Pen, they will be contained in a much smaller area than outside the walls of a whole city. And they will be away from their owners. We will not have to worry about The Gifted commanding a swarming mob to kill us. Even if the demons get over the wooden Feeding Pen walls, we can station our people by the walls and take them a few at a time. Or we can feed them corn and keep them subdued while we enact the next part of our plan."
"Which is?"
"We storm the building," Bray said, with a firm nod. "We will have the keys. Hundreds of us slaves can certainly take down ten Gifted. We might suffer some losses, but once we kill them, we will have the power of their Tech Magic to fight the demons. And we can rescue William. The shimmering tower will be ours. We can use it as a base, a place of refuge, or however we see fit."
"It is a brave idea, but it is risky," Kirby said. "And you are forgetting about Rudyard. He helps control the mutants during the feeding. Assuming we kill the guards before the feeding, once we open the gate, he will command the mutants to kill us."
"We do this in the morning, before he wakes," Bray clarified. "Rudyard does not come down to New City until just before the count of the Field Hands. If we do this before daybreak, he will not hear much, from so high up in the tower. At least, that is my hope. We kill the guards in the morning, after first light, as we planned. We take their bells and weapons. And then we head to the main gate, before Rudyard is outside. If we time it right, we lure the demons into the pen before he catches on to what's happening. By the time he or anyone else in the tower hears the bells, it will be too late. The demons will be confined."
"Do you think the mutants will listen to the bells in the morning? That is outside their routine."
"No animal I've seen in the wild will refuse an easy meal," Bray said. "They will follow the bells because they mean food. We can feed them in one large shift, herding them all in at once, instead of in two shifts. I was inside the Feeding Pen. It is large enough to hold all of them. I do not think any of them will stop moving, once they see corn on the other side."
"You hope," Kirby reminded him.
"If something goes wrong, we will have the escape route we talked about," Bray finished.
Kirby was silent a moment.
Finally, she admitted, "It is a bold idea."
"It is worth taking to The Shadow People. It is worth waiting on our deaths. What do you think?"
Kirby looked around the dark house. She didn't agree. But she didn't rush past him, either.
"If we are going to die, let it matter," Bray said, pushing his words into a final argument. "Let us spend our last moments fighting, instead of facing death at the hands of a few cowardly guards. Let us find that golden palace in the clouds."
Kirby sighed again. She said, "I will have Drew set up a meeting, as soon as he is able. It won't be tonight."
"The soonest we can meet, then," Bray said. Feeling the weight of her anger and pain, he said, "We will get revenge for what they have done, Kirby. I promise you. Just hang in a while longer."
Chapter 41: William
William's breath heaved as he pressed his ear against the door of his quarters. He'd waited several days before risking another escapade. In that time, Amelia had only come by once or twice, but his cough had scared her away. She didn't want to risk her own health, or the wellbeing of the others. Instead, she had sent two of the scrawny, stone-faced guards to bring his food and take his empty trays. He already had the ammunition for the old, sentimental gun.
The next time he saw The Gifted, he hoped to have the Tech Magic gun in his possession.
Letting that thought drive him, William opened the door to darkened hallway, peering out onto a stairwell he couldn't see. He slowly made his way to the landing, clung to the rail, and climbed upward, counting the stairs. He passed the sixteenth floor without incident. Quiet conversation made his heart beat loudly as he passed the seventeenth level, where the guards watched. He imagined they had a dull task, waiting and looking out the windows. Occasionally, he had heard laughter coming from behind that door, when he passed it going to The Library Room, but he seldom saw them.
Still, at any moment, they might step out and find him.
He kept going.
Reaching The Library Room, he picked the lock.
He left the door open to a crack, just in case he had to depart quickly.
The odor of succulent meats and vegetables—smells he recognized from his tray earlier, which he'd taken in his room—wafted into his nose. The moon shone enough light to illuminate the outlines of the grand table and chairs. Operating on muscle memory, William skirted around the furniture, past the bookshelves and the looming, metal devices called fans, heading for Amelia's desk. Looking at the shadowy shelves on the walls filled with books, he recalled the many lessons he'd received.
If his plan went correctly, he would never have a lesson again.
Reaching Amelia's desk, he slid open the drawer and searched for the gun. The panicked thought hit him that Amelia might've moved it, but he found it, sitting idly, as if it had been waiting for him. William felt the power of Tech Magic as he picked up the heavy weapon held it. The long, metal barrel gleamed in the moonlight shining through the windows.
The gun was freedom and power.
Tears he hadn't expected stung William's eyes as he ran his hands over the gun's smooth surface, thinking he might have the answer to his predicament. Perhaps he'd even see his friends soon.
But not if he wasn't careful.
Returning the way he came, William cautiously made his way past the furniture. He couldn't allow his excitement to make room for a mistake. He'd left the caps, balls, and the flask of black powder in his room. He didn't want the clanking, small pieces of metal making noise and giving him away. Nor was he foolish enough to think he'd have the time to figure out how to load them in the dark Library Room.
He would do it when he got back.
With his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, he moved at a quicker pace, ready to get back to the relative safety of his room. Reaching the door, he eased it open.
The light of a lantern splashed on the stairs.
The person holding it took a step.
Barron.
Barron stopped moving as he saw William.
A moment of uncertainty passed as two people processed an unexpected meeting. William's mouth opened and closed as he thought of an excuse that would save him. Before William could speak, Barron's eyes roamed from William's face to the gun in his hand.
Barron's wart-covered lips twisted to anger.
He lunged up the stairs.
Barron grabbed for William, but William leapt backward and turned. Barron reached again, catching hold of the back of William's robe and pulling. William fought for balance, grabbing for the doorway to avoid being tugged back onto the stairwell. He found a handhold, jerking free.
A pained cry rose from Barron's direction as he lost his balance, falling.
Loud thuds reverberated through the building.
The lantern bounced and shattered.
A small flame erupted as the oil from the lamp caught fire, creating a glow of light on the stairs.
A cold panic coursed through William as he saw Barron's silhouette, lying on the seventeenth-floor landing near the smashed la
ntern. He wasn't moving. William glanced frantically behind him into The Library Room, about to flee and find refuge there, but the image of that last, frantic standoff panicked him. He wasn't ready to die.
In his terror, all he could think was to get to his room.
William darted down the stairs, rushing as quickly and quietly as he could. He jumped over the small fire and kept to the wall as he reached the landing, skirting around Barron's body, certain that his greasy, infected hands would clamp his ankles and trip him. He didn't. Loud voices emanated from some of the floors above and below. William had just reached his room when doors on the other levels crashed open and shouting filled the stairwell.
He shut his door and sprang for the bureau.
The rounds, the rounds!
He managed to get the supplies and sink to the floor behind the bed as more voices echoed from the stairwell just beyond his room. He fumbled fruitlessly with the gun, the rounds, and the flask.
Even if he knew how to load the gun, he couldn't see what he was doing.
It was over. All of it.
Once Barron awoke, he would expose what he saw. Or he was dead, and The Gifted would connect it to William.
"What's going on?" Tolstoy shouted in the stairwell, to the exclamations of the guards.
Electric lights winked on, illuminating the crack beneath William's door. His nervous hands slid over the gun. More voices echoed as more of The Gifted joined Tolstoy. William heard Amelia's voice, intertwined with the sounds of the guards. Confusion bled through animated voices as people put out the fire and tried to determine what happened. The Gifted and the guards spoke loudly enough that William could hear the words, echoing down the two flights of stairs and to the landing just past his door.
A pronouncement froze William's frantic hands.
"Barron's dead."
William felt a small relief through his icy chills.
"Dead?" Amelia said from the stairwell, in disbelief.
"His neck is snapped," Tolstoy announced, to the grumbles and murmurs of the others. A few of The Gifted talked at once, inspecting the body, or making sense of what must be a gruesome scene.
The Ruins Book 4 Page 13
