The City on the Sea (City on the Sea Series Book 1)

by Heather Carson

  *

  “Where were you?” Meghan asks sharply after I enter the house. Her face is a shade of red that I haven’t seen since Zander was born. My nephew clings to my side. I’m not sure if he’s trying to protect me or hide himself. Her voice sounds so much like our mother’s that I’m unsure how to respond. She hears it too and her face contorts as tears fill her eyes. Rowan quickly crosses the room and wraps his arms around her.

  “I told you she was sleeping in the boat,” he whispers.

  “But you said she’d be here in the morning and now it’s the afternoon.” Meghan rolls her eyes as the surge of emotion passes.

  “You made me worry.” She turns to face me. “I don’t know why you couldn’t sleep here.”

  I sigh in relief and set Zander down on his feet. He hurries away to play with his toys. “I need to do this for me. It’s time to live my life on my own terms. I stayed in the boat last night and got a room for rent at the tavern this morning.”

  “The tavern?” Her eyes widen. “No. You can’t stay there. It’s not a safe place.”

  “It’s fine,” I groan as I place my hands on my head. “I promise I’ll be okay.”

  “We can find you some other place to stay since you don’t want to be here.” The hurt flashes so quickly across her face that I’m not sure if anyone else can see it.

  “I said that I’ll be fine.”

  Meghan takes a step back. I don’t know that I’ve ever spoken this directly to her but I’m not about to stop now. She opens her mouth to argue and I interrupt, “Listen. I’m staying at the tavern and that’s final. But I have something I really need to tell you before I go to work.” Rowan reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

  “Okay,” she sighs in defeat. “It’s your life.”

  “Thank you!” I rush forward to the table and place my father’s bag on top of it.

  “Is that?” she gasps.

  “It is.” Happiness widens my smile. I hurry to open the bag and pull out the tablets. “Look at this, he wrote down all the instructions to his machine.”

  “Oh dad.” A sob escapes her lips as she inspects the intricate plans. The room is silent, and I hold my breath, bouncing foot to foot, waiting for her to jump into fiery action. I know she’ll come up with a plan to help our father complete his work.

  She sets the tablets down on the table. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to have these.”

  “What?” Confusion deflates me. Of all the things I expected to hear, that was certainly not one of them. “Why shouldn’t I have the plans our father left for us?”

  Thora begins a high-pitched wail from the sleeping room. Meghan gives me a regretful look before running to get the baby.

  “I think she means,” Rowan clears his throat, “that this project wasn’t safe. Your father died working on this machine. She doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m not saying I’ll do it.” I look from Rowan to my sister emerging from the room cradling my niece. “I just think we should find someone who can.”

  “It’s too dangerous.” Meghan runs one hand through her knotted hair while cuddling the baby against her chest with the other. “Why don’t you leave these here? I’ll take care of them.”

  “What do you mean take care of them?” I scream in frustration and Thora begins to cry again. “If you’re not going to help me with this then I’ll find someone else who will.”

  “Brooke, please wait,” Meghan pleads as she rocks the baby from side to side. But I can’t listen to this anymore. I shove the tablets into the bag and hoist it onto my shoulder.

  Rowan stops me outside the door. “Listen.” His gruff voice comes out a whisper and I do as he says because I owe him so many things. “We need to talk about this some more. In the meantime, you should either leave the bag here or promise to keep it a secret until we can figure this out.”

  I nod weakly, not looking at him and unsure of how to respond. Minutes ago, I’d felt so full of purpose and now they are taking it away. I don’t know why she is so protective and worries so much, maybe it’s the pregnancy thing. She acted strange after Zander’s birth too.

  “Alright.” I look at Rowan’s face. The sleepless nights and conflict from the day are written plainly in his eyes. “I won’t bring it up.” I shift the bag higher on my shoulder and head down the wharf to where the spinners sing.

  *

  The watchman is already there. I lower my head as I hurry past. The faintest glimmer of hope lightens my steps. Maybe if he’s here before me then it’s not me that he is watching. I chance a look in his direction as I sit beside Lena. The intense stare he’s giving me kills that hope fast.

  “How’d Meghan take it?” Lena asks as I set my father’s bag on the rocks by my feet.

  “She’s upset.” I pull the strips of plastic into my lap.

  “Is she going to let you stay with me?” Lena sweeps her hair to the side and turns so I can see her face.

  “About that.” I smile in excitement. “I got my own place to live.”

  “What?” Her eyes light up. “Where?”

  “At the tavern,” I laugh. A cloud passes over her face and I inwardly groan. “Not you too.”

  “Did Meghan say it’s a bad idea?” she asks. I answer her with a nod. “Well she’s right you know. I don’t understand why you can’t live with me. Ma said it’s fine. Plus, Zoe lives at the tavern and so do people just passing through. I don’t think it’s safe.”

  “But you work there.” My forehead creases as I try to work out this puzzle. “And what is so wrong with Zoe?”

  “Nothing is wrong with her,” Lena says. “She lives a different kind of life. Not one that you would like.”

  An exasperated sigh escapes me. “How do you know what kind of life I want anyway? This is the first time I’ve ever had a choice.”

  “Of course I know what kind of life you want.” Lena drops her rope to the ground. “A boring, simple life. You want to work, paint, and retire.”

  The soft notes of the music have quieted, and I blush realizing the women are staring at us. Margaret motions discreetly toward the watchman and the singing begins again. Lena and I lower our voices as we return to our work. The muscles in her back are tense against mine.

  “That’s not all I want from life,” I whisper as I twirl the plastic around my finger.

  “Yes, it is,” she fires back quietly.

  “No, it’s not.” Angry tears well in my eyes. “I want to live my life in my own way. The same as anyone else.”

  “Yeah well not all of us get that choice,” she mutters under her breath.

  I can’t find the words to respond so I busy myself with the work in front of me and do my best to ignore the watchman’s trained stare.

  *

  Lena is silent as we walk down the main wharf. My thoughts are racing, but I stay as quiet as she is. Normally I’d say anything to stop her from being mad, but I feel so strongly this time that I have nothing to apologize about. She casts a sideways glance at me as I turn toward the tavern. As much as I want to solve this fight, I can’t do that without giving into someone else’s demands.

  “See you tomorrow?” My voice catches in my throat and I softly cough to clear it.

  “There’s no work tomorrow.” Lena shrugs as she walks away. Pain rips my heart in half. We always spend our days off together. I feel guilty and I almost reach for her. Almost, but I don’t. Pride, or maybe it’s frustration, keeps my hand clasped to my father’s bag at my side and my feet moving toward the tavern entrance.

  *

  The tables are full of customers laughing and eating tonight. Up in the loft the off-duty watchers sit joking amongst themselves. Their uniforms blend them into the shadows, but the subdued energy of the tavern reflects their presence.

  Zoe climbs the steps to the loft carrying pitchers of beer. Gertrude stands at the bar refilling glasses.

  “Did you need extra help tonight?” I ask, motioning to Zoe’
s careful ascent up to the loft.

  “She volunteered,” Gertrude explains softly. “We have enough staff though, thank you. Why don’t you get the cook to fix you a plate of dinner? I don’t want you to wither away before the morning.”

  “Alright.” My voice is lost in the commotion as a fresh wave of customers come to the bar.

  “Got anything for a girl to eat?” I ask the cook as I enter the kitchen.

  Rupert looks me up and down before slapping a whale steak on a plate. “The best I can do.” He winks.

  “And it’s absolutely perfect,” I laugh.

  The aluminum seat between two old men is cold under my dress. The man to my left has a peppered gray beard and is bald. The one to my right has gone completely white.

  “One day I’ll retire,” the bald man sighs as he sips from his mug.

  “You and me both.” The other man raises his cup in solidarity.

  Me too. I smile to myself and cut into the fatty steak. The men continue their intermittent banter. Gertrude keeps their cups full. The noises of the tavern and heat from the bodies wrap around me in a cloud of comfort. My eyelids are heavy as I carry my plate back to the kitchen.

  “Excuse me,” I say as I almost crash into the back of a watchman who is beginning to climb the staircase up to the loft. He turns startled and we lock eyes. It’s the watchman who is following me.

  My heart leaps out of my chest. I force myself to steady my breathing, not knowing what to do next. I want to run to the safety of the kitchen or get upstairs and hide in my room. Maybe staying at the tavern was a really bad idea. Oh, why didn’t I think this through?

  “You’re excused.” His voice lacks the anger from our earlier encounter but there is no warmth in it.

  It takes me by surprise. I stare into his eyes trying to figure him out. His gaze travels down to the bag at my side and I instinctually move it behind my back.

  “I’ve got to get this to the kitchen,” I stammer as I step back. He moves aside to let me pass and I rush out of the room. With the kitchen door shut behind me, I take a second to breathe.

  “Are you alright?” Rupert asks as he flips over a crab cake on the grill.

  “I’m fine.” I nod a little too earnestly. “Just tired.”

  “Well go get some sleep,” he says. “You have the morning shift tomorrow.”

  I walk slowly to the sink and take my time washing the plate. There are watchmen here every night. Of all the places I could decide to live, why on earth would I choose this one? I don’t have to stay here. Except, Lena and Meghan are mad at me right now. Where else am I going to go?

  “I think it’s clean,” Rupert arches an eyebrow. “What’s really going on?”

  “Nothing.” I shake my head and hastily dry the dish.

  It is nothing, isn’t it? I convince my feet to carry me out of the kitchen and into the tavern. If I have nothing to hide, then I shouldn’t be worried. I have just as much right to be here as they do. I refuse to live my life in fear anymore.

  When I reach the top of the steps, I boldly look over to the loft where the watchmen sit. There are only a handful of them tonight. The new watchmen who is following me is gone. Good riddance, I think as I lock the door behind me.

  ‡ Chapter Eight ‡

  Zoe’s eyes are red rimmed this morning and she yawns leaning against the kitchen wall while continuing to dry the same plate.

  “Late night?” I ask. She shrugs and reluctantly reaches for the wet plate I’ve been trying to hand over. Her face says she’d rather not talk to me, but I want to get to know the person who lives next door.

  “How old is your daughter?” I venture to ask.

  “Four,” she says softly.

  When I look up again from the soapy water, Zoe is gone, and I’m left alone with the towering stack of dirty dishes.

  *

  The morning shift is over. I retrieve my father’s bag from the room and slip quietly out the back door of the tavern. The wharf is packed with people shopping. Weekends always breathe life into the city. A simple reprieve in the daily trudge of survival.

  The rusted bell chimes above me as I enter Thomas’s repair and parts shop. The sage old man looks up over a broken pair of spectacles. They must have cost him a fortune, but with his job specialty he’s able to afford it.

  “Brooke.” He smiles warmly once I step into his field of vision. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How have you been?”

  “I’m good.” I nod enthusiastically, clutching my father’s bag to my side.

  “What brings you in here today?” He eyes the bag suspiciously, but he was never one to pry.

  “Honestly, I was wondering if you knew anyone who worked with my father on his machine.” My words are carefully measured. I might not agree with my sister, but I respect Rowan enough to keep my promise.

  “Your father’s work.” Thomas sighs as he leans back onto his stool. “It was a foolish grand scheme and you shouldn’t waste your time on it. Besides the drifter who worked with him one time, there was no one else who he could even hire to touch it.”

  “Where is the drifter?” I cautiously ask, ignoring the warning in his voice.

  “Where is any drifter?” Thomas chuckles. “They just drift away.”

  As much as I try, I can’t recall ever seeing any drifter helping my father. It doesn’t matter. There has to be someone who can do this. “Well, I know my dad talked to you about the machine. Is there anyone you know who is smart enough to continue his work?”

  He waves a dismissive hand in the air. “You mean is there anyone reckless enough. No, I don’t think I do.”

  “Please,” I beg stepping closer to the counter. “I have so many questions and I need help finding the answers.”

  “You won’t be able to find any answers. No one is going to help with this.” He narrows his glossy eyes as he speaks.

  “Maybe you won’t.” I shake my head and turn to leave. “But I’ll find someone else who will. I’m sorry for bothering you. Of all the people I could think of, I thought you would be the man who cared. I guess I was wrong.”

  “Wait,” Thomas calls out as the bell chimes above me once more. “Just wait. Lock the door and come here.”

  Confused and intrigued, I do as he requests and slide the latch into place.

  “I asked him to bring me a part to inspect. It’s a metal gear used in the topmost pulley. Is it in the bag you are carrying?” His voice sounds like a lifetime of exhaustion and I’m struck by a depth I can’t comprehend.

  “Yes, it is.” I carry over the bag and remove the gear to place on the counter before him. He adjusts the broken glasses on the bridge of his nose before lifting the gear to his face. With shaking hands, he turns it around slowly in a circle eyeing each little tooth.

  “It’s what I thought.” He hands it back to me and refuses to look at it again. “He said this piece kept breaking. Three times I made him a new one, but my work was not to blame. Those cuts were deliberately made.” Thomas is quiet as he stares at the door.

  “My father would never trick you.” I shove the gear back into the bag.

  “No, he wouldn’t.” The old man turns to face me. “Your father was my friend. He was a good man. Someone else destroyed that piece.”

  “But why?” My heart beats wildly in my chest.

  “So that his machine would never work.”

  *

  Anger clouds my vision as the door to Thomas’ shop slams behind me. I hate my mother. She is the only person who is cruel enough to do something like this. I know I should go to Meghan’s and tell her what happened, but I can’t control myself right now. Instead, I run to the only place where I can be truly alone. Except I’m not alone.

  At the end of the furthest docks where my father’s sabotaged machine sits, the watchman is there waiting for me.

  “You’re predictable,” he smirks at his own private joke as he leans against the rock. I resist the urge to scream. “What do you have in that bag there?�
�� I clutch the strap tighter and step around him. I’d panic at this bold interaction if I wasn’t this bone deep mad.

  “That’s none of your business.” I return his smirk with my own. An intrigued amusement lights up his eyes. It disgusts me so much I could spit.

  “What is so funny?” I stand my ground and a chuckle escapes his lips.

  “I didn’t believe that you were all this emotional.” He shrugs.

  “What?” I shoot daggers at him with my eyes. “Have you never met a woman before? I mean, you do look young, but I’d at least expect you to have a mother.”

  The amusement fades and a cold, calculated glare tightens his heavy brows. “Never mind that. Why don’t you tell me what’s in the bag you suddenly began carrying everywhere.”

  “Like I said,” I cross my arms over my chest, “that’s none of your business.”

  “It is if it will hurt you.” He mirrors my stance and the muscles on his biceps flex against the green fabric. This ill given concern from a complete stranger worried about how I’m living my life brings to boil every last wisp of my self-control.

  “Listen here, you smug prick. I didn’t ask you to watch me. I don’t need your help. In fact, I would prefer it if you left me the hell alone.”

  “You really are feral, aren’t you? Homeless and rude, scavenging off the water like a seagull.” He clenches his jaw after he speaks and the repulsion in the air is palpable.

  “As opposed to what?” I scream. The sound of my voice shocks me but pride doesn’t let me stop.

  “Do you think that just because you put on some stupid uniform that you are somehow better than the life you came from? All of you watchmen are the same as us, but you feel powerful because you have the threat to make people disappear. You are supposed to be here to help. Instead you stand there high and mighty looking down on the rest of us. I bet you didn’t have a mother. If you did then you wouldn’t be this rude!”

  “A mother like yours?” The venom rolls from his tongue. “Who wouldn’t want that?”

  It takes everything in me not to slap him. Hitting a watchman is an offense worse than murder. I inhale deeply and turn to leave.