Arlow scanned the ring of faces, thirty or so in total. They were a varied bunch, aging from early twenties all the way up to a man at least eighty years old. Plenty of them had the crowned fist tattooed on their necks, but not nearly so many as Arlow would have thought. He was surprised, too—though perhaps he should not have been—by the number of women. It would seem Mae was not an exception, but one of many.
The Pauper’s King, seated on a crate like Arlow, did not elevate himself in any way. Yet when he cleared his throat the warehouse went silent, every man and woman wholly attentive. A shaft of light highlighted his sharp cheekbones.
“You know why we are here,” he said, soft voice ringing in the large, bare space. “Quade Asher has declared war on those who have not blindly followed him. He has threatened innocents.”
“Only Chisanta. What concern are they of ours?”
Arlow stared at the enormous bald man who’d spoken, studying his lumpy, oft-broken nose and bulbous eyes. His lips compressed in recognition.
“This,” Linton continued, his tone cutting at being interrupted, “after he abducted our own youngest members and forced them into slave labor.” The sound of shifting feet and murmurs met this announcement. “That we must oppose this man is, to me, clear. But in what way and at what time, I should like to hear your opinions.”
“Be bearing in mind,” Mae added. “He’s killed a lot of people, including the royal family.”
The bald man shrugged. “So? We was always against them anyway.”
“The point, here, Cline,” Foy said through clenched teeth, “is that the man is willing to use violence to attain his goals. Should he deem us a threat, he will undoubtedly use similar means.”
“I’ve heard he’s done a lot to help Accord, too,” said a young man with a long face and a lopsided haircut. “I heard things are better because of him.”
“You can’t trust what you’ve heard,” Mae said. “Arlow?” She looked to him across the circle, and the gazes of the rest soon followed.
Arlow swallowed. “You know, I presume, that Chisanta have unnatural abilities? Well, Quade’s makes things…difficult. He’s persuasive, to the point that, after enough time, he can change a man’s mind against his will. And it spreads from him like an illness, which is why all of Accord is so certain he’s their savior despite all of the obvious holes in his story. You can’t trust yourself around him. If you want to keep your own will intact, avoid hearing him speak and avoid others under his spell speaking of him.”
“It’s really like that, then?” Rinny, sitting cross-legged on the floor not far away, asked in a soft voice—confidentially, as if to confirm between Cosanta.
Arlow dipped his head in confirmation. “I, myself, have been under his influence. The danger of it is that you don’t feel as though you are not in control.”
“Like how?” the thug, Cline, asked, whether challenging or curious Arlow could not say. Around the room, thirty-some sets of eyes awaited an answer.
Arlow sighed. “Quade had two good friends of mine locked up, chained, starving, and filthy. I promised I’d help get them out. Then I went to speak to Quade and, somehow, he had me convinced it was right. I believed him, that these two men, who are more family to me than even my actual family, deserved to be treated in such a way. I left, just left them there to suffer, got on a train.” Arlow hung his head. “It wasn’t until several days later that I woke in the middle of the night with a clear head, horrified at what I’d done.”
The group broke into even louder whispers at this, many expressions betraying uncertainty—as well they should.
“Ko-Jin?” Rinny asked, all the humor gone from her face.
Arlow gave a solemn nod. “And Yarrow.”
A muscle twitched in her jaw and her blue eyes turned icy. She and Ko-Jin had been close since they were all young. Arlow had always suspected some unrequited love on her part. “Even a man with a silver tongue can be killed.”
The Pauper’s King cleared his throat, ending all side discussions. “We do not kill, Rinny, as well you know. If you wish to remain in the fold, you will abide by our rules.”
“But, Majesty, how’re we supposed to fight him if he’s got whole cities under his spell?”
Arlow had to agree. No matter how often he turned it over in his head, there seemed to be only one solution. Quade had to die. The trouble was, when around the man, it was hard to remember that truth. If Arlow were stronger, he’d have done the deed himself already. My hands are already bloody.
“We could cut out his tongue,” Cline suggested.
Linton’s lips thinned. “By organizing such a large event, Quade has presented us with an opening. He will be there, as will a large audience.” He wheeled a direct gaze on Rinny first, then Arlow. “What we need is a way to combat this…gift of his. You are Chisanta, surely you must know. Can it be somehow stopped or lessened?”
“Some gifts don’t work if the person is unconscious. We could try knocking him out,” Rinny said.
Arlow’s brows dipped thoughtfully. His own gift did not work that way—he’d once won a game of lottery while passed out cold on a bar stool. He strongly suspected Quade’s would be the same. If sleep were a liability, he’d have suffered for it already.
“I do not think it would be possible to alter him,” Arlow said, reaching for the mug that still held the cold dregs of his tea. “But possibly we could have an effect on the crowd. This tea promotes mental clarity, perhaps we could…” he rubbed his chin, “open concession stands with free refreshments? And pass around pamphlets explaining Quade’s gift. It’s easier to fight if you understand what is happening in your own mind.”
Mae grinned at him. “Brilliant. Then, maybe, you could address the crowd,” she said to her brother. “They love you here. If anyone can sway ‘em, it’s you.”
“He’s called out the Chisanta by making it a public execution,” Foy said. “He must have some measures in mind to apprehend them.”
“Yes,” Arlow agreed. Quade would not make such a bold move if he did not have a strategy. “I will do my best to find out just what those measures are between now and then.”
“Who is this bloke?” a young man sitting near the King asked, speaking in a carrying whisper. “Is he even one of us? What if he’s working for Quade?”
Mae rounded on the lad. “Since all the ideas were his, that don’t make much sense, does it?”
“Unless it’s all a trick.”
“Shut it, Al.”
Linton held up a hand. “Arlow has proven himself. He helped free our street runners, and has passed each test he’s been given. He is one of us now, and should be treated accordingly.”
Arlow felt rather undeserving of this praise. He’d not been sure whose side he was on for much of that time. Ultimately, Quade was right about him—he was on his own side. Mae was giving him a look, though, that made him wish he were the kind of man who merited trust.
“I have more of this tea,” Arlow said. “But not the recipe. I don’t know if the person who gave it to me can be trusted if I should ask.”
Linton shook his head. “Give us what you have. I’ll have someone take it to an herbalist who owes me a favor.”
“We dipping into the coffers for this?” Cline asked, eyeing Arlow beneath unfriendly brows. “That amount of tea’ll cost us a fortune. We don’t know it even works.”
“You got a better idea, Cline?” Mae snapped.
Linton stood, the simple motion cutting off all conversation. He studied Arlow. “You will go back in?”
“Yes. But it is important that Quade not know we mean to act against him. He has a friend of mine still. If he learns of my betrayal…”
Linton waved this concern away. “Do not worry. Every man here is loyal. Even old Cline, despite his complaining, can be relied on.” He bowed his head in Arlow’s direction. “Good luck, brother.”
The meeting at an end, the Pauper’s men set off in small groups, a coordinated exit. Arlow o
bserved them, hoping he’d done the right thing. If any one of these thugs reported what he’d said this day, Yarrow was as good as dead.
Hold on a little longer, old friend.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Rinny asked.
Arlow smiled. He was sincerely glad she was there—a small piece of his old life. A person who did not hate him. “Not at all.”
“I’ll be around,” she said. “If you need anything, get a message to the King and he’ll get one to me. I gotta stay low, though. My name’s on the rebel list.”
Arlow grasped her forearm again. “Stay safe, then.”
She left, and at length Mae was the only one remaining. “You did real good.”
“Did I?” Arlow asked, heaving a sigh. He wasn’t so sure. He would much rather have his involvement be known by a smaller group of people.
“Yeah,” she said. “And you’ll have to think so too, since I’m your judgment now and all.”
“That’s true.” He laughed, and the knot in his stomach eased. “What ever would I do without you?” He’d said it as a joke, but it had come out sounding rather sincere. He shuffled his feet and looked away.
She smirked. “Whatever it was you did before, I’m guessing.”
She made towards the door, and he took a hasty step to catch up, hooking her arm in his own. “Sounds dull.”
22
Peer paced the upper deck of the ship and stared at the skyline, willing their port to emerge from the misty horizon. Storms had greatly delayed them, but once they reached Dalyson it would be a short journey to Accord. If they pressed hard—as they no doubt would—they would arrive in the capitol with a few days to spare. Spirits willing.
“Blight it, Peer. Could you sit still for two seconds?” Bray said.
He spun, brows raised at her snappish tone. “Sorry.”
She glanced up from her notebook, all of the information she had gathered about Quade. She ran a hand over her face. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just…” she shook herself and made a sound like “blagh,” gazing up at him with weary eyes. She hadn’t slept much since leaving Jedoh, he knew.
He sank down beside her and draped his arm along the back of the bench. “Not to worry.”
She reclined against him, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “We’re going to make it in time, right?”
“Mhmm.”
She yawned. “And everything’s going to be alright?”
“Sunshine and daffodils.”
She snorted, then smacked her lips sleepily. “Liar.”
Her breathing slowed as she fell to sleep. She clutched her notebook to her chest, her feet drawn up on the bench. Peer leaned back with a sigh.
The sail of the ship whipped in the wind above them, cordage groaning. The cold sea breeze felt, to him, more bracing than unpleasant. A peaceful moment, likely the last to be had in a while.
Peer slipped into the warmth and comfort of memory, thinking of happier days; he imagined brighter futures, impossible things. It was a bad habit he’d developed, but he couldn’t make himself stop. His mind could craft such beautiful lies. One day he would have to cease lingering in fantasies, but not just yet.
He detected soft footfalls behind him and turned his head. Su-Hwan approached, her pin-straight hair flowing around her face. She took a seat beside him, but perched on the edge, like a bird prepared to take flight.
“It is good she sleeps,” she whispered, with a long look at Bray.
“She’s needing the rest, for sure.”
Su-Hwan licked her lips, dark eyes on the horizon. “I have been thinking…”
“Dangerous pastime,” he said. “Why don’t you sit back, you’re making me nervous like that.”
“Oh,” she said, and scooted back on the bench. She twined her hands in her lap. “I have been wondering what will happen if we succeed, what will happen afterwards.”
“Don’t follow you.”
She swallowed. “I mean, what will happen to the Elevated. I am Cosanta, but I do not feel like Cosanta. My brothers and sisters, we are something else. With no Quade, with no Elevated, what will we be? Nothing. Like pieces crafted for the wrong puzzle.” She shook her head. “We are not like the Chisanta. We were not raised to pursue scholarly interests, or to even make our own choices. How will we fit?”
Peer exhaled with puffed cheeks. “Hadn’t even thought of that, to tell truth.”
“I am used to not fitting, that has always been the case for me. But for the rest of the Elevated, I foresee a crises of identity.”
“You fit just fine with Bray and me, you know. Even Bray likes you, and she doesn’t like a lot of people. Don’t have to, of course, but you’re welcome to stay with us, even after.”
She regarded him with eyes that gleamed wetly, her smooth face, even in its expressionlessness, evoking gratitude.
Peer cleared his throat and glanced away. “Ah, and as for the rest of ’em, I have a feeling things are going to change. I’ve got this sense that we’re all on the cusp of something, like we’re turnin’ a corner—one of those moments that end up in history books.”
Peer smiled as he spied the shape of the shoreline in the distance—still a good few hours off, but an encouraging sight none the less. Bray would most likely want to be informed of their imminent arrival, but he’d let her sleep a bit longer.
“On the cusp of what, I wonder,” Su-Hwan whispered.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, as the coastline grew sharper through the fog. Deckhands scampered about, preparing for landfall. Peer began mentally to review all that they must do upon disembarking: find a newspaper, eat, figure out transportation to Accord…
Bray jerked awake. “Yarrow?” Her head shot up, disorientation clearing from her features. “Oh.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he said.
She shed her sleepiness in an instant, fierce eyes focusing on the approaching dock. “Almost there,” she said under her breath.
Within the hour, they made anchor. Peer exhaled, more at ease as soon as his boots hit the dock—glad that their travel should no longer be dictated by the weather.
The port in Dalyson was not large, nor densely packed, yet it felt as though many hundreds of eyes were upon them as soon as they disembarked. Peer couldn’t tell if this was paranoia on his part, or if they were indeed recognized. It set his teeth on edge, the way Quade seemed to be everywhere. The way he sometimes fancied he saw flashes of the man in other people’s eyes.
Bray wasn’t bothering with disguise or circumspection. She strode with purpose, notorious face unhidden, seemingly unaware of the crowds around her.
The people of Dalyson parted before her march, scurrying away.
A little boy pointed. “Ma, ain’t that the lady from the posters?”
The woman hushed and pulled the boy aside, clearly fearful. Peer grimaced. No doubt, there would be telegrams to Accord within minutes.
Peer reached for Bray’s arm. “Bray, maybe we should—”
“There isn’t time, Peer,” she bit off. There was such uncharacteristic fear in her eyes. “We have to find Yarrow. I’ve got this terrible feeling…”
Peer frowned. They had a strategy, and this was not it. “Quade’ll know we’re coming.”
“Good.”
Peer jogged ahead and made her stop. She set her jaw, but he held up his hand. “You’re worrying about Yarrow, I understand, but don’t forget we’ve got a plan. This can all be over.”
“He already knows we’re coming, Peer. That was the whole point, he wanted to draw us out. Well, mission accomplished. Here we come.”
“She is right,” Su-Hwan said. “He will know.” Bray gave a sharp nod of thanks. “He no doubt has Whythe with Yarrow at all times.” She added for Bray’s benefit, “An Elevated who shares the same gift. Quade will believe we are playing into his trap, but we will not.”
Bray bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut.
“We’re not even sure Quade’s got Yarrow,�
�� Peer added. “For all we know, Yarrow’s with Ko-Jin. And if we miss this opportunity, there mightn’t be another.”
“Alright,” Bray said at last, through gritted teeth. “I’ll wait to look for him until afterwards.” She puffed out her cheeks. “Sorry, I lost my head. I’m just…”
Peer squeezed her shoulder. “I know. I get it.”
“We should move, I think,” Su-Hwan said.
“Agreed.”
Peer pulled his collar up and they resumed their progress. He supposed it would not much matter if they were seen, as Bray said. Quade was drawing them all to Accord. He must be confident, to put all of his cards on the table in such a way.
They’d make him regret it, that confidence.
Arlow pulled his rough coat closer and muttered as he felt wind penetrate a ripped seam in the shoulder. What he wouldn’t give to have his own clothing, to feel silk against his skin, to smell of cologne rather than—his nose wrinkled—body odor. Such luxuries would have to wait, however.
Arlow led the way up a bustling street in downtown Accord, scanning the crowds for familiar faces and finding none. Mae walked quietly at his side.
“Where were you this morning?” he finally asked her, then feared the question sounded too demanding.
She appeared unfazed. “Linton had Poppy Seed brought up for me. Went to the mews for a visit.”
“Spurned for a mule; how cruel is fate.”
She laughed through her nose. “Not to worry, Poppy and me are just platonic.”
A smile quivered on the corner of his mouth. Was she implying that their relationship was something other than platonic?
“Let’s try here,” he said, pointing.
He stepped up to a small pub with the promising moniker etched into a hanging slab of wood, The Sloshing Pint. He searched the occupants: several elderly gentlemen hunched on stools, a barman in a snowy white apron painstakingly shining a stein. Arlow shook his head at Mae and trudged back out onto the street.
They strode further up the road, Mae clutching a tattered shawl tightly around her shoulders, the mist of her breath floating up from her mouth. Arlow surveyed the shops and restaurants, but didn’t pause until he came to another drinking establishment that seemed likely to have gambling, The Tap House. Again, he stopped inside just long enough to search the faces within—a party of rowdy young men, university students, he suspected—before exiting.
Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) Page 30
