by Gin Hollan
"It’s nearly impossible to leave your country—they may not believe you did, and the citizens of Vensay aren’t welcome there."
"You seem well-travelled and well-educated. Why did you choose to become a friar?"
He chuckled. "It was chosen for me. A bit of a long story, but it was that or join the military for ten years."
"Ten years as either a friar or in the military," she prompted. When he didn't respond, she continued. "So you chose healing, instead of hurting."
"Sounds kind of noble when you say it like that, right?" he grinned. “Nobility aside, I did have fun doing the Robin Hood thing. I did sell half of it to support my activities, to be honest, but the rest was set as bait for the actual criminals.”
"Sounds like you're a con man who saw a new way to milk an old cow."
He clutched his chest and gasped. "Lady, you wound me."
"With your flair for the dramatic, you'll no doubt try to win off that as well." She laughed. "Why are we taking the long way to the textile district? And don't tell me it's a tour." The disk in her pocket started chirping and he paused.
"A story for another day," he said, hand outstretched.
She pulled the device out and slid the top open. One of the symbols had turned red and was moving toward them at great speed. Suddenly Melanie went by, sitting, tied to a hovering conveyance, looking angry but calm. "Arabeth," she said, motioning that she should follow. "Help!”
// Chapter 19 //
ARABETH RAN AFTER the conveyance but stopped when she saw it go into the police station. It looked nothing like the ones at home, having two tall, narrow, opaque glass doors to pass through and stone walls on either side. Squaring her shoulders, she walked over and pushed the door open.
Inside, the brightly lit room with a white floor and walls was populated only with a single row of white chairs up against the wall and a ticket dispenser on the wall at the start of that line.
Arabeth ignored each of those hints and went over to the opaque white glass doors at the other end of the room. She pulled the door handle but it did not give way. She rattled it again, hoping someone would notice and let her in.
"I'll get us a number," Kennen said, taking a ticket and sitting down.
Sam burst through the first set of doors, followed by Marble. He stopped when he spotted Arabeth, then hurried over.
"Arabeth, calm down," Sam said, picking up Marble handing the fox to her.
"Sam, do you know what's going on?" she asked, worry etched across her brow. "Why was Melanie on that thing, and where did they take her?"
The outer doors swung open again and this time a short woman in her early twenties strode in. She had short brown curly hair similar to Kennen’s, and a dark scar down one side of her neck. She was dressed unlike anyone Arabeth had ever seen before, in loose brown overalls and packing a tool belt that would shame any repairman back home.
"News travels fast," the woman said. "You're the new Barnes I was told about, I'm guessing. You look like one." She stuck her hand out to shake Arabeth's. "I'm another of about fifty cousins-once-removed that you've got, though I'm the only one in Owen."
Arabeth shook her hand. "How did you know we needed help?"
"I've got monitors all over." She turned to Sam. "You. Tell me why that woman thought it smart to bust up one of my cameras."
"She was offended, from what I gather. Where we're from, people don't randomly spy on each other," he said defensively.
"It's safety, not spying. It's dangerous down here. We can't let anything suspicious escape notice. I'll get her out, but you'd better babysit her like she was a drunken monkey with a weakness for shiny objects."
The woman pulled a long strip of thin metal with varying holes and notches out of a bag. Frowning, Arabeth watched as she ran it into a slot and heard a variety of metal thunks. When it reached the bottom, the glass doors opened and the woman walked in.
"No one introduces themselves here," Graham muttered. "Who exactly is that?"
Sam shrugged. "One of apparently many second cousins. But she has a way in."
"I'm Clarice Barnes, but call me Clara," the woman called back. “You'd better follow a little faster.”
The group followed Clara into a small holding area. Like the waiting area, it was empty white walls and floor, and its sole occupant was Melanie, sitting frustrated and tearful on the conveyance. Clara walked over and reached underneath it, flipped a switch, and stood back as Melanie's wrist and leg straps released her. She jumped off and ran to her friends.
"They have crazy laws here. Why didn't you warn me?" She looked pointedly at Kennen.
"I didn't think about that," he started.
"Don't blame him. You're the one that destroyed one of our safety cameras," Clara snapped. She looked at Arabeth. "I know how you came to be here, but not why. What are you doing here?" Looking back at Melanie, she huffed out a large sigh. "I can only imagine the chaos your existence is injecting into our culture. Are you really node responsive?"
"Node?"
"Nodes ... or maybe you'd call them clusters. You must know something about crystals. You're managing the set Sebastian gave you well. The nodes amplify planet magnetics. That's why we can tune them for communication and other uses." She paused. "The crystals are used for communication, not just as a power source."
Arabeth suspected half her confusion was due to the disorganized way this woman communicated.
When they eyed Clara with varying looks of confusion, she huffed a sigh. “First things first—I'm going to have to take you to the centre to have the charges against this one dropped." She jerked her head toward Melanie. "Family," she muttered unkindly. "Dragging me away from...." She trailed off as she stormed away. The others stared after her a moment.
"Are we supposed to follow her?" Sam asked, starting to walk, but waiting for Arabeth.
"I'm guessing yes," Arabeth said with a scowl. "At least she can warn us if we're about to do something stupid here."
"She's going to commute my penalty. I'm going," Melanie said, jogging after Clara. "Not interested in being treated like cargo again," she said under her breath as she went.
The rest needed no more prompting, hurrying to catch up.
Clara moved at nearly a jog herself, and they were all fairly winded when they reached their destination, except for Kennen, who was apparently accustomed to it. Arabeth tried not to envy his composure as she stood trying to catch her breath in a ladylike manner. Normally she wouldn't care, but this place had cameras everywhere. At least she wasn't gasping or wheezing like Graham, which was something to be grateful for.
"Running on a full stomach," he complained. “Not intelligent, you know.”
The new office had the same style of doors as the holding area, but inside the walls and furnishings were made of elaborately etched dark wood and there were deep green padded chairs. It reminded Arabeth of her father's study.
Clara walked to a box and pulled out a thin, leather-bound book. She opened to the first couple pages, then nodded. "This is the most current edition of the Guide to Owen." She handed it to Arabeth. “You'll want to read it, if you're staying more than a day or two.”
Arabeth opened it and looked for an index. Not finding one, she flipped a few pages. "Do not walk near the glass barriers. Do not knock, rap, or otherwise strike the glass barriers." "Keep your hands away from the valve stitches." It was all simple speech, like they were talking to toddlers, and begged a question or two about the average intelligence of their intended reading audience.
Arabeth looked at Clara. "You had to put this in writing? Tell me you're kidding."
Clara broke out in a hearty laugh. "Actually, I am." She went over to a shelf and pulled out a much thinner book. "That was written either as a joke or criticism of our culture here. I'm not sure which, since the author fell off a lift swing a few days after it went to press."
"Not to interrupt, but are we waiting for someone?" Sam asked.
"No, no. I need to wri
te up the incident report and send it to the central office. We'll have our answer within a week or two, so you may as well get comfortable. You have to stay till then."
"Here?" Melanie asked, looking at the room.
Clara laughed again as she sat down. "The hotel will be fine, but consider yourself confined."
"Confined? You don't mean all of us?" Graham asked through squinted eyes.
"Just Miss Trelane, of course. Quiet now, so I can concentrate; you all keep making me want to laugh." She dipped a quill in ink and started writing, but paused a moment later to look up at Graham. "You would be better served by looking out for your companions, over yourself. Then you would have four others looking out for you, instead of only one." She went back to work on her report.
Arabeth glanced at Graham, wondering where that comment came from. He tried to hide his shock by putting the fingertips of one hand on his bottom lip, as though he was thinking.
The door behind them opened, causing them all to turn and look. A group of men walked in, each of them in an expensive suit. They spread out on either side of the door and waited.
When the door opened again, another man walked in alone. He was Arabeth's height and had a bit of a paunch, like he was used to the good life, but hadn't always been. The door shut and he stood back, arms crossed, as though assessing them. The other men formed a line behind him, blocking the only exit.
His grim expression did nothing to encourage Arabeth, but she smiled anyway.
Clara jumped up from behind her desk and ran around to meet him, her hand extended to shake his.
"Sir, I am writing up the report right now. I need a few more minutes."
"Don't bother. I'd like to hear from them with my own ears. I want to know why they openly disrespect my place of business."
Arabeth hadn't been this nervous since the first time she was called in to Harbertrope's office at the police station in Blastborn. This man wasn't a police chief, though, reminding her of a less-than-savoury back-door arms dealer in both posture and speech.
"I am Zebakiah Weatherstone, lord regent of Owen. I see to the smooth and safe operations of this city. There are roughly twenty thousand people who live and work here." He waited for impact, but Arabeth only nodded. "Who is the one that decided that privacy was less important than a public safety camera?" he asked. “And whose brilliant idea was it to bring unregulated crystals in here?”
Arabeth glanced at Melanie. Seeing the colour draining from her face, Arabeth stepped forward.
"I'm sorry, sir. We don't know your laws, being new to this city. Where we're from, privacy is a concern. There is a lot to take in here for the first-time visitor. We're a little star-struck, as it were, and as such, may be a little more reactive than perhaps is wise. Once we—"
"Stop." He cut her off. "Your overprotective nature will get others killed. Let me talk directly to our newest would-be criminal." He looked directly at Melanie this time, glowering.
"Sir, she's—" Clara started, but he interrupted her as well.
"I know exactly who she is. You can go back to writing your report," he said, his voice stern and low. "I know all of you ... but I suspect you do not know me. Am I correct?"
"Sir, I know ... of you." Kennen had his hand raised but slowly lowered it.
Weatherstone pointed at Sam and Graham. "You wait outside."
Sam looked like he wanted to protest but thought better of it. He reached out and gave Arabeth's hand a squeeze. "I'll be right outside," he said.
Arabeth appreciated the gesture, but doubted he'd be able to break through the line of guards let alone get past any technology they had in place. She swallowed hard and fought down the sense of dread, her mind starting to filter through any facts she could use to defend them.
"Ladies, I understand you are exiles and this is your first foray out of your homeland. I'm going to give you a letter of passage, and three minutes after you have it, you will leave my city. My name holds some authority in all regions on this continent, you'll find. Before you feel compelled to thank me, associating yourself with my name will align you as one of my people. Do not use it lightly, or I will have you hunted down and dealt with in whatever form that particular tracker chooses to employ. Many of them are former criminals."
Arabeth looked at Clara for a sign of how she should take this information. The woman sat leaning forward but her head was raised, looking at them. The barest hint of surprise flickered across her brow, but she gave away nothing else.
"I understand. Thank you, sir." Arabeth inclined her head a moment, then lifted it to see him walking out again, through his small line of thugs.
"Take yourselves back to the hotel and wait for the letter," he said loudly enough for them all to hear.
Letting a long breath out, Melanie turned. "That was scary."
Clara walked over to them. "You have no idea. Also, try not to use the letters if you can help it. I wouldn't say this normally, but he's not one of the good guys."
"What do you mean? How is he in charge of this place if that's the case?"
"You think every leader is voted in? No. He stays where he is because he's not above killing. But you didn't hear it from me," she said, keeping her voice quiet. "He will have seen your quiet caution as subservience. That's why you're getting the letter. No doubt his ego is quite puffed right now."
"That's a good thing?" Sam asked.
"It means he'll be looking the other way when I sneak you out of here tonight."
"But I thought the letter was a good idea," Melanie said.
Clara shook her head. "The first town you show that at will label you as his chattel, and the news will spread like a plague. You will be hunted or protected, but you'll never truly be safe."
"And you're doing this because we're related?" Arabeth asked.
Clara smiled. "It's good you don't trust me. My motives are less than pure. I can't talk about why, but you can trust me more than him. Pack up and meet me by your wagon by eight p.m. We're going to pretend you're shopping for heavy things."
Arabeth's irritation flared again. Why were people constantly shuttling them around, never letting them stay in one spot for more than twenty-four hours? Even Sebastian had been ready to suggest they move on.
Arabeth scratched Marble's head gently, thinking it over as they walked back to the hotel. It was as though everyone was assessing their usefulness, then deciding the risk was too great. Or perhaps it was that they couldn't be bothered with people who didn't understand the way things worked there.
And now Clara. Why was she really helping them? And how would they avoid the cameras later that night?
// Chapter 20 //
BACK IN THE hotel, Arabeth waved everyone on to their rooms before going over to the front desk.
"Can you tell me where people shop here? For clothing and the like."
"Yes, Miss. Tell me what you need, and I'll see that it's brought," the young girl behind the counter said.
"I like to choose my own things, thank you." She frowned.
"It's been suggested that we aren't serving you up to the standard we ought. Let us do this for you." The girl smiled. "What do you need?"
Arabeth accepted the pen and paper the girl held out, and wrote down a quick list with sizes and colours preferred. At the end, she added travel food, like beef jerky and dried chicken for Marble.
"I'll wait over by Davin," she said as she picked Marble up again. Marble wiggled in protest of being packed around so much lately, but settled in a moment later.
"Yes, miss," the girl said, looking the list over. "This shouldn't take long."
At Davin's stall, Sam stood talking to the little horse and petting her neck. Clearing her throat, Arabeth walked over and set Marble down.
"Next stop could be home, I suppose," he said, not looking at her.
"That's true. We’ve finally met people who have the capacity to get us there," Arabeth agreed. She didn't want to tip him off that she wouldn't be going back with the res
t of them. She still had to stop whoever had attacked Blastborn.
"I know this isn't going the way you had hoped. We have no clues. There was no trail on the side of the mountain, and the ventilation shafts would have collapsed.”
Arabeth looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "The one person who said he knew was Sebastian."
"You're not thinking about going back there."
"What choice do I have?"
Sam turned and faced her, turning her as well. "You can't believe you'll be safe going back there."
"I don't see why not. I'm no threat to him, but if we can work out an arrangement, he might tell me who we're looking for."
"I don't trust him."
"I know." She leaned forward and stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you for worrying about me."
He looked at her, startled.
"You know me—I can't go back until I know the threat is over," she said.
"Then neither can I."
"You won't be able to trick me onto whatever conveyance they're sending us home on, then go off to track these people down on your own. That's not going to happen. You are a detective, but I am a bail enforcement tracker. Finding people is my specialty and honestly, you guys are slowing me down. I can't ask the questions I need to ask if I know it's going to cause danger to you."
Sam sighed and pulled at his collar a moment. "I've been thinking the same thing. Maybe we should officially team up. Let's get Melanie and Graham safely on their way and start at the beginning."
Arabeth nodded. "No double-crossing, by either of us. A proper team. Agreed?" Arabeth held her hand out to shake his.
"Deal," he agreed, but instead of taking her hand he reached out and took both of her hands, pulling her closer. "Not to pressure you or anything, but have you thought more about my proposition?"
Arabeth didn't want to admit anything just yet. Even thinking felt dangerous. Still, he deserved as honest an answer as she could manage. "I have, but I haven't changed my mind. If I do remarry, you are my first choice. But that's all I can say right now. I can't promise you more."