Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2

by Justin Blaney

CHAPTER SEVEN

  I didn't make a sound when Yesler took his belt to my back. The buckle cut my skin, but even the crack of metal on bone faded under the crashing waves in my mind.

  I sat on the front porch of my cottage by the sea. A ship bobbed in the distance, ready to take me to a new world across the ocean. And when the whip tried to cut through my dream, I heard only the sound of a wave breaking upon the rocks.

  The lashes weren't for stealing food. I was being punished for climbing the tower with Pike five years ago. Every punishment went back to that. I started sneaking Dravus inside the gates four years ago—he taught me about science. Physics. How little changes can add up to the difference between life and death. A thousand seemingly inconsequential events caused us to fall just the way we did. A soft breeze. The turning of the earth. The way our bodies moved, and how we changed our paths through the air without even knowing it. The result was a ten foot distance between where we each landed.

  Crack. The belt stung my skin. But it wasn't a lashing. Just a row of white towels whipping on a clothes line in the wind.

  The night we fell, I hit a pile of longgrass. Broke a dozen bones. Dravus said my leg would never heal properly. Said I would have pain the rest of my life.

  Pike wasn't so lucky.

  He hit the cobblestone path. Dravus said a body can bounce six feet into the air after a fall like that. I've fallen hundreds of times in my dreams, but I've never kept my eyes open long enough to know if Dravus is right.

  Crack.

  "That's enough," a voice said. Ballard ripped the belt from Yesler's hand.

  Yesler shrugged. "I was done anyway. Any more and he'd be worthless."

  "The Caldroen," Mazol said. "Ten minutes."

  Yesler added, "Don't be a hero. Just forget about Henri."

  I heard Yesler and Mazol's footsteps disappear down a hall as Ballard untied my hands from the hook on the wall. I limped after them, wondering how I was going to save Henri without either of us getting caught. Ballard walked with me.

  The Caldroen gets its name from the boiler that sits in the center and rises up four levels. At the base is a furnace with openings that looks like eyes and mouth. At 1550 degrees, it's hot enough to turn me to ash in seconds. The heat powers the boiler which sits on top: a tank of boiling water that makes steam for the clankers.

  Our job is to keep all forty-eight clankers running—copper and iron beasts, they rattle and hiss and moan and creak and pop, caught in the web of platforms and walkways that hang from the Caldroen's walls. Pipes go in, and pipes go out. We don't know what the clankers do, but Mazol says it pays for food and supplies to run the orphanage.

  Ballard and Yesler worked for a year to get them all working. They'd been out of operation for decades. I used to stare up at them, my eyes wide at shiny copper and spinning gears and levers and gauges and pipes. The fun didn't last long. Not once I realized I'd be working those clankers from sunup until sundown, six days a week.

  Ballard offered an arm to lean on as I limped down the hall. He was funny like that—might hold you down under Yesler's whip in the morning and sneak you a sip of Mazol's beer an hour later when no one was looking—as if that made up for anything.

  Under his other arm, Ballard carried one of the smaller chests that the Rosling infants were found in. Instead of transporting Roslings, now the chests carried the stuff we processed day and night. I wondered if even Ballard knew what's inside them.

  He gestured to a bench. "Don't run off. I'll be right back."

  He set the chest next to where I sat. I realized the door that led to the entrance hall was just a few feet away. Henri could hear me if I yelled her name. Was this a test? I focused on the door handle. It seemed to be calling me, begging me to open it. I limped across the hall. My fingers closed around the cool brass knob. I started to twist the handle, then stopped.

  Henri would suffer even more if I was caught.

  I returned to the bench and slumping down, focusing on the window in front of me. On the horizon, a ship turned into the harbor. Where was it coming from? Was there a little chest on that ship bound to be delivered to our gatehouse, filled with who-knows-what? Dravus made deliveries every Sunday morning. The chests had to come from somewhere. Why not across the ocean?

  Dravus's armored guards, runners they were called, earn more money than the mayor of Queen Anne. They had to be fearless, ruthless and talented with a spear. Intelligence wasn't required. Of course, runners don't much live past thirty. If they survive that long, they paint their skin green as a mark of honor. But the jungle gets them all in the end, even the greenskins. Because the jungle is patient. She always wins.

  When the runners are unloading and resting up for the return to Queen Anne, I sneak Dravus into the city. For about an hour each Sunday, he teaches me whatever I want to know. I thought about last Sunday. Dravus seemed standoffish, like he knew something bad was about to happen. Could he have known about Little Saye? As I stared at the South Gatehouse, I saw movement. I stepped to the window. Pearl stood at the gates. She threw her weight against the latch that released the weighted locks. Chains shook. The doors swung open.

  Six armored warhorses and a fortified cart flew through, screeching to a halt by the grim iron lamppost that stands lonely in the center of the courtyard. Pearl jumped back, barely avoiding being crushed under the horses' hooves.

  Three men jumped out of the cart, two of them greenskins. This was all wrong. They're supposed to come on Sunday. They're supposed to drop the goods in the gatehouse. Where's Dravus?

  The men took turns with a jug of brown liquid as they pulled canvas sacks off the cart and stacked them on the road. One man, at least 7 feet tall with arms as big around as my legs, threw his jug into the air as another shattered it with a whip. Another pulled a second jug from inside the cart and took a long drink.

  Pearl cut a wide path around them, but the greenskin with a thick red beard spotted her. She headed for the longgrass. The man dropped a sack to the ground and staggered after her. He yelled something. Pearl changed direction. The other two cut her off. She tried to shove past them, but they pushed her back. The red bearded man caught her. She screamed.

  I limped toward the nearest door.

  Ballard appeared, holding a steaming loaf of banana bread. "Look what I found."

  My stomach turned over from the sweet smell. I kept moving.

  Ballard took a bite. "Aren't you hungry?"

  I passed him.

  "Where are you going?" he said.

  I shoved open the door to the courtyard. Stumbling toward Pearl, I picked up speed—pushing the pain from my mind.

  "Whaz your name, litt'l girl?"

  Another yanked her arm. "Be a good girl now."

  The bearded man covered Pearl's mouth, stifling her screams. She bit his thumb. He yanked back, cursing. He never saw me coming. I barreled into him. We crashed into the cart. He hit his head on the cart's iron wheel and fell motionless to the ground.

  Huge sticky arms wrapped around me from behind. I smelled sweat and beer and pipeweed. A fist flew at my face. I ducked, wriggling free. One of the men lost his balance and fell. He rolled onto his back. I jumped on his chest. The first thing he saw was my fist crushing his nose. I got in four punches before the third man pulled me back by my hair. I swung my arms, but he held me easily out of reach. The other two men rose to their feet. One grabbed a shovel from the cart.

  "Hold him still for me."

  He aimed at my face and swung.

  I winced.

  A crash. I opened my eyes and saw the man with the shovel flying through the air. The one holding me by the hair let go. I spun around. Ballard stood behind me. He caught the other two men and knocked them together.

  The bearded man ran toward the gate. The other two pulled themselves up, managing to jump into the cart. Circling around, they whipped the horses into a gallop.

  The bearded man yelled, "You can forget 'bout the rest of this delivery."
Blood dripped from his face where I knocked him into the cart. He jumped on the cart as it sped by. "Dravus will hear about this. No one from Queen Anne will ever come here again."

  Pearl ran into the castle. I rolled onto my back, moaning. I heard Ballard slam the gate shut. A flock of ravens circled overhead, cawing.

  A moment later, Ballard's huge face appeared over me, still chewing a bite of the banana bread. "What were you thinking, coming out here all alone?"

  "I had to do something... she was going to die."

  Ballard leaned down and lifted me into his arms. I winced when he touched my back.

  "Oh she was, was she?" He smiled.

  "I should have done more."

  "Don't you worry about that now. Let's get you inside."

  I shut my eyes. In my mind, I watch Yesler, not Pearl, being attacked by the runners. But I have to stop imagining things that aren't real. If I'm not careful, I might start to lose track of what's my imagination, and what isn't.