by Kekla Magoon
Crown cut him off. “Technology serves a function. Progress. Advancement.” He stroked his mustache. “They can’t operate in the real world, because I control that world.”
“That’s true, sir. However, that doesn’t mean we can dismiss—”
Crown waved his hand. “Their pitiful efforts will die, just like the outmoded technology they’re using.”
Pillsbury felt himself being dismissed. The governor’s attentions were rapidly turning to other things. “Sir, I must impress upon you the power of this method as an organizing strategy.”
Crown said nothing.
“The tone of the broadcasts promises significant unrest,” Pillsbury explained. “We have reason to believe that the citizens of Sherwood are planning some sort of uprising.”
Crown leaned back in his chair, clearly annoyed to have to keep talking about this topic. “The girl, Robyn. Is it her voice on the broadcast?”
“No, but she’s referred to. Shall I play the excerpt for you again?”
Nessa Croft’s throaty alto filled the room. “Crown will feel our rain. The storm is coming.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Crown spoke over the voice. “Unless you’re saying you are unequipped to take care of this minor inconvenience for me.”
Pillsbury stopped the recording. In the wake of the sultry-sounding threats, the silence deafened.
“I can take care of the radio problem,” he said confidently. “We can try jamming their frequencies and things like that. It needn’t occupy any more of your time.” Pill pocketed the recording and headed toward the door. Over his shoulder he offered a final piece of advice.
“You might consider a more diplomatic approach to the Robyn situation. They have the power of numbers. We may not be best served by strong-arming our way through this.”
“I am in charge here,” Crown said. “They’ll yield to me soon enough.” He waved his hand at the recording device. “Lip service.”
Pill nodded thoughtfully. “The real problem isn’t the broadcast itself, you understand. It’s the question of who might be listening and ready to respond. It’s the conviction with which she promises the storm.”
The door closed firmly behind Pillsbury, leaving Crown alone with his thoughts.
Mallet also listened to the pirate radio broadcast recording. When it finished, she braced herself for the call she was going to have to make.
It was time to show Crown she was one step ahead of him. Like always.
“I’ve determined the identity of the girl,” she reported. Crown didn’t need to know that she’d been sitting on the information for several days. “Her name is Robyn Loxley, age twelve. Daughter of—”
“Robert Loxley, of Parliament.”
Mallet’s heart skipped. “Yes, that’s correct.”
There was a long silence.
“You wanted the name,” Mallet said finally. “And I’ve delivered. Now I’d like to discuss—”
“This girl was to be brought in on the first night,” Crown reminded her. As if Mallet could ever forget. “Your failure is compounded.”
Mallet said nothing. She knew this to be true.
“Your services are not needed at this time,” Crown continued.
Mallet fumed silently. If they knew the rebels were arming themselves, they wouldn’t be so quick to ignore her. “We really should consider—”
Crown cut her off. “Sherwood seems about all you can handle.”
“We will catch the hoodlum,” Mallet promised.
“I will catch the hoodlum,” Crown thundered. “You have failed.”
The line went dead.
Crown rammed his fist into the End Call button on his screen. He missed the days when you held a phone in your hand and could slam it onto a table or throw it across the room.
Robert Loxley, the insufferable defender of Sherwood County. Of course his daughter would turn out to be the troublemaking girl. It would bring Crown a great deal of pleasure to see Loxley’s head in a vise.
Mallet sat still and listened to the vacuum sound of disconnect. It filled her office. It filled her mind. It tried to make its way into her heart, but the door was already closed. She would not let Ignomus’s insults get to her. Not anymore.
Crown was a fool if he didn’t take the threats against him seriously. If he thought that Robyn’s success was indicative of Mallet’s incompetence.
How short-sighted could he be? How drunk on power, to imagine himself so infallible?
Did he not realize what effort had gone in to putting him in the governor’s chair? What she had sacrificed on his behalf?
Soon he would realize her true power. And then he would be the one forced to bow and scrape and beg.
Mallet stormed out of her office and took to the elevators.
The underlings quivered when Mallet walked in. The head lab tech sensed their discomfort and stopped doling out instructions. He turned toward the door. “Hello, Sheriff.”
“A word?” she said. Her gaze flicked over the room.
The tech signaled a “wait” motion to his staff and stepped toward the sheriff.
The lab tech hesitated. “Sheriff,” he said finally. “You do realize you could message these tasks to me.”
“Yes,” she said. “I prefer there not be a record of the request.” She showed him the list of library books. “I need to know who checked these out.”
The tech nodded. “So be it.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I do appreciate your efforts.”
As she strode out of the room, she swore the men in the room sat a little taller. See? How hard was that? To show a little appreciation for those who helped you get the job done.
In the elevator, Mallet reflected on her own situation. It would be nice, wouldn’t it, to hear for once that she was doing something right in Sherwood.
The fact was, apart from the nuisance of the hoodlum, she was taking care of business in a major way. Who else could have rallied the MPs to lock down Sherwood and Block Six in this short window of time?
She pulled her shoulders back. That’s right. She was killing it in Sherwood. Crown should be able to see her for what she was. But he couldn’t.
He wasn’t seeing her. He wasn’t even looking anymore.
Mallet’s throat tightened. All of these efforts to prove herself to him, and he wasn’t even looking. All he could see, all he wanted to see, was her flaws.
Well. When the time was right, she’d show him. She’d show him it was a mistake to underestimate Marissa Mallet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
No Road Map
Laurel knelt beside the fountain in the park, clutching the biggest tube of toothpaste she had ever owned. It was almost as long as her forearm. She cradled it there, like a baby.
The toothbrush was also special. It had different colored bristles of different lengths. They fanned out to touch more parts of your tooth at once.
She rinsed the brush under the flowing water, then tucked it carefully back into her new bag.
Laurel knew one thing for certain: life in the Castle District would be easy. It was scary here, because she didn’t know where she was, but in a bigger way, it wasn’t scary AT ALL here. There were no MPs to hide from, no checkpoints making her fear being caught or questioned. They had very comfortable parks. And big fancy stores full of people who wouldn’t notice the cost of an extra item or two in their shopping basket. Stores so big and so fancy, she didn’t even need to borrow things from them. She could just stay inside. She could have dinner every night, up on top of the shelves in aisle 24. It would be magical.
But it would be lonely.
All her new friends were far away. Sleeping in the store had been easy enough, but waking up and knowing there wasn’t anyone nearby to watch her back? That was harder than she’d expected.
Laurel had always managed on her own. She didn’t even remember ever having a family. She must’ve had one, a long time ago. Before she was able to fend for herself. Som
eone had fed her bottles and changed her diapers and rocked her to sleep. But all she remembered was orphanages and homes, snippets of memory that took the shape of crib bars and institutional sheets with company names stamped across them in brown or gray ink. White walls and windows that didn’t open, and other kids clambering to share the small pool of toys.
She had run away as soon as she figured out it was possible. The streets of Sherwood became her home. They still were, she reminded herself. Everything she had now was temporary. It was always going to disappear. Someday.
The thought twisted up inside her and made her reach for the toothbrush again. She held it in her hand, thinking.
It had only been three months, but it seemed she had gotten used to having other people close by her. She had gotten used to waking up in the same bed morning after morning, even if it was an old mattress on the floor. She had colorful sheets now, ones she had picked out herself on one of the crew’s supply runs. They were orange, dotted with small paintbrushes spilling out rainbows. There was no such thing as toothbrush sheets, apparently, but these had been close enough to delight her.
She missed those sheets. As the sun sank over the city, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in them. It was scary, to feel attached to something that lived in one place. Normally, she kept stashes of her stuff all over Sherwood. But in the last few weeks, the Nottingham Cathedral had become something she counted on. A place to think of as home.
It had been twenty-four hours already. The seventy-two-hour deadline loomed large in Robyn’s mind. Now it was only forty-eight. And she was no closer to a solution. Not from the Crescendo, and not from the moon lore.
She turned Bridger’s round box over in her hands. There was something important inside it, she was sure. Dripping a little oil on the hinges hadn’t helped. The clasp was fixed fast. It had a little keyhole in it, not even big enough for her pinky finger.
“Tonight is going to be great,” Scarlet said. “Did you hear the broadcast? Nessa made you sound like some kind of goddess.” Her usually wry voice took on a tone of awe.
“Nessa’s voice would make anything sound good,” Robyn murmured. She knew she was no kind of goddess. Far from it.
Key bounded into the room. “We got a text back.” He read it aloud. “M OK FOR NOW.”
“For now?” Robyn echoed. She allowed herself to feel relief at the knowledge that Merryan was safe. Texts from Pillsbury were few and far between, but usually carried important information.
“What else should we ask him?” Key wondered. “It’s maddening, how little he’ll say.”
“He doesn’t want to get caught,” Scarlet said.
“How would he get caught?” Key argued. “This thing is so old. That’s why we can use it at all.”
“He probably doesn’t know that much,” Robyn suggested. But she did wonder. Did he know where her parents were being held? Did he know how, when, and where Crown planned to kill them? “Try asking for prisoner information.”
“WHERE IS IT BEING HELD?” Key typed. As press secretary, Pill would have heard Crown’s threat. He would know “it” meant Robyn’s parents.
They all stared at the TexTer for a few moments.
“It could take hours for him to respond,” Scarlet said, spinning back toward her monitors. “I have work to do.”
Robyn and Key didn’t move for a while. “We’re all worried about her,” Key said finally. “About all of them.”
“That’s not what I was thinking about,” Robyn lied. “I was just trying to imagine what will happen in forty-eight hours. If we don’t—If we can’t—”
Key gazed at her sternly. “You’re not turning yourself in. What would even come of that? He hasn’t promised us he’ll release them. We’d just end up with all of you behind bars. No one wants that.”
“I’m not turning myself in,” Robyn agreed. “My parents would want me to keep fighting for everyone, not just for them. But every minute we waste, they’re running out of time.”
“The plan is good,” Key said. “We show them that ‘Robyn’ is more than one girl. You’re an idea that everyone in Sherwood will stand behind. If he hurts your parents, we only make things worse for him. That’ll be clear after tonight.”
Robyn nodded. It had sounded like a good idea yesterday. It was a good idea, she insisted to herself. But Crown didn’t seem likely to give up his threat against her parents that easily.
The seconds kept ticking by. I’m running out of time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A Message on the Books
The MP lab boys came through, as usual. The moon lore library books had been checked out by a seminary student named Tucker Branch.
Mallet sat behind her console and typed his name into the search field. When his profile came up she smiled.
The system showed he was a student at the nearby seminary. A man of the cloth. Or, at least, potentially. That made him honor bound to respect law and order, she supposed.
She scrolled down. A red flag popped up at the edge of the screen: INCARCERATED.
Well, well, look at this.
It wouldn’t matter if Tucker wanted to cooperate. He was already in the system. He would cooperate. And his books could be confiscated as part of whatever investigation was underway.
Mallet punched a button on the console. “Coming down to the car. Warm up the engine.”
“Yes, Sheriff,” her assistant responded.
Minutes later, Mallet’s motorcade streamed east on the Cannonway, toward the seminary.
Tucker Branch was a lazy housekeeper. His dorm room, which was barely the size of a walk-in closet, was covered with a thin layer of lived-in clutter. Socks and T-shirts and undershorts, newspapers and term papers and cereal boxes—most of his few belongings appeared strewn about in plain sight. There was a narrow, unmade bed, and a small desk with piles of homework and a used coffee mug on it.
Few books of any kind. No sign of any computer or tablet. Either Tucker Branch was a terrible student, or he was doing his studying someplace else.
Mallet pulled up his prisoner record. Arrested … in conjunction with—Well, well. Things just got more and more interesting. Time to have a little chat with Tucker Branch.
Merryan retreated to her room immediately after school. There was no point in trying to get out of the house today, either. Guards at her door and under her window. She was trapped.
She clicked into her messages, hoping maybe Scarlet had found a way to reach out to her through normal channels. It should be possible. In fact, it was frustrating that the others hadn’t thought to try to contact her. Didn’t they care at all?
She opened a message from the administrative director of the Sherwood clinic:
We’re so sorry to hear that you won’t be able to volunteer anymore. You’ve been such a help around the clinic. Please do stop by and visit us, when you have a chance! We’d love to have a moment to say good-bye and thank you for your hard work.
Merryan leaped out of her desk chair and pounded out of the room, startling the guard stationed in her hallway.
“Uh, Miss Crown? Is everything—” Clearly everything was not all right. He swept along after her as she stomped her way toward the governor’s office.
“Oh, hello, Merryan—” Her uncle’s assistant got about halfway through the greeting before Merryan had blown past her.
She wrenched open the door to her uncle’s office. He was sitting behind the desk, perusing a stack of important-looking papers.
“HOW LONG?” she demanded. “HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP ME TRAPPED IN HERE?”
Crown furrowed his brow. “Trapped? I think that’s an over—”
“Trapped,” Merryan insisted, rudely speaking over him. Something she would never have dreamed of doing a matter of days ago. “You told my volunteer job I was quitting? Without even asking me? You have guards outside my door. I feel trapped.”
“The guards are there for your protection. We had a breach, you understand.�
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“Are you going to blame me for that forever?” she cried.
“I don’t blame you.”
“I made one mistake. The mistake of trusting people. And thinking that they liked me for who I am.” Her eyes welled up. The real sorrow over not being able to connect with her new friends took over. “The truth is, I liked them. I thought we were going to be … something.” She pushed away the fresh bout of tears and crossed her arms. “But I screwed up. And now you’re punishing me. So, how long?”
“I won’t respond if you continue to raise your voice to me,” Crown said coolly. “If we can speak in rational tones, we can have this conversation.”
“This isn’t a conversation,” Merryan shouted. “This is a FIGHT.”
“I will not—”
“People fight!” Merryan continued. “Families. When other people do something that hurts them. Like you, trying to take away everything I love.” She knew she should dial it back, to avoid sending her uncle over the edge, but really, why should she act like everything was fine? Wouldn’t that be weirder, under the circumstances?
Crown sat silent.
Merryan sucked in several breaths and tried to speak more calmly. “You want to know me? The real me? I’m someone who likes to help people.”
“I know that about you already.”
She swiped at her tears. “I’m best at helping. If you take that away, I have nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
“You could help people, too,” she cried. “But you don’t want to.”
Crown cleared his throat. “I want to help you,” he said. “Look, there is a lot going on in Sherwood right now. I can’t expect you to understand, but it’s not safe for you there. At least for the next couple of days. We can revisit this conversation next week, when things are calmer all around.”
“Next week?” Merryan echoed. “You promise?”
Crown sighed. “I promise. Everything will be better in a couple of days. Sherwood will be safe again soon.”
Merryan breathed. That did not sound like good news for Robyn. “Thank you,” she whispered, then stalked out of the governor’s office.
