Currently

by Sarah Mensinga

  My confusion must show because Cressit says, “It’s a number code—the one Douglen used to relaycall your friend.”

  I close my fingers around the paper, wanting it to be the truth. “How did you get this?”

  Cressit isn’t wearing flashy stage clothes today, only a plain shirt and seacotton trousers. He hasn’t styled his hair either, just tied it back. I find it strange to see both of his eyes.

  “The crew likes me,” he says, “so I had a serveman unlock Lord Osperacy’s cabin while everyone dined last night. It took a while to go through Osperacy’s papers, especially in a way he wouldn’t notice, but I found it.”

  Of course the crew likes Cressit.

  “Thank you,” I say stiffly.

  “It’s the least I can do. Tomorrow in Gatreijan, I’d like to help you find a relayphone and make sure your call connects.”

  I don’t want to talk to Sande with Cressit standing next to me, but I suppose Lord Osperacy or Douglen would be worse.

  “That way the two of you can talk freely. You can tell him that I’m willing to help, and then you’ll know where he is and how safe he is. Maybe he can hide someplace until we reach him.”

  I look down at the paper again. “What if Sande says he’ll be in immediate danger if I leave the Osperacy’s?”

  “Then I won’t take Melily,” Cressit says. “I’ll rescue Sande first. Listen, once I’m done performing tomorrow, I’ll find you. We can slip away and make the call. Afterward, you can tell everyone you got lost in the crowd.”

  That’s right, he’s singing tomorrow at the Laeros Light Festival. Melily hasn’t stopped talking about it because somehow she’s convinced Lord Osperacy to let us all attend.

  I nod. “All right.”

  “Tomorrow then,” Cressit says, reaching for the door handle.

  “Yes, tomorrow,” I say, hating that now I feel like I can trust him again, hating that my anger is less intense then it should be. His wavurl really is dangerous.

  “So do you have your gunnerife?” Melily asks. “Father wants to know.”

  “Yes,” I say, touching the weighty holster that’s strapped to my thigh and hidden beneath my clothes. Apparently gunnerifes aren’t allowed in Gatreijan. Lord Osperacy still wants me to carry mine, though, so I’m keeping it well hidden.

  The city looms above us, forming a metallic crust on the spire of steep rocky cliffs that no one would choose to live on if it weren’t for the roaming ocean. Massive stone pillars support ledges crammed with buildings, while other homes and structures jut out from the mountaintop. Winding around it all is a tangle of what looks like flat, metal ribbons that are truly a type of motorliner track. Every so often I see one of the long vehicles race by, and they are so different from the motorliners of Varasay. The ones in the deeplands had big, rectangular linercarts that the uppies used to haul goods in from distant farmlands and then up to the city. The Gatreijan motorliners have sleek and rounded linercarts, with open windows and rows of benches, and they appear to carry people.

  And where there aren’t curving motorliner tracks connecting the city levels, I see large, basket-like devices moving along cables that stretch from peak to peak.

  “Ugh, I wish there was room for automotors in this city,” Melily whines as we approach a group of smaller vehicles on the pier that the Osperacys call triwheels. “Everything is so wet! My costume will be ruined.”

  I look down at my outfit—a dark red gown that shines orange wherever the fabric gathers or folds. The dress belongs to Shara, and it’s so loose and billowy that for once our size difference doesn’t matter.

  Melily isn’t pleased with it, though. During the Festival of Laeros, everyone is supposed to dress like golden celestial warriors, the way she and Jeck have, or in blues and greens to represent water demons, like Shara and Douglen. But since there were no extra Laeros outfits on the Trident, and Melily wanted me to wear something festive, I’m dressed like an avenging spirit from the Festival of Shale.

  I like my red gown, though, and the matching mask and beaded combs that go with it. It makes me feel separate from the others, which seems appropriate today.

  Yet Melily is right about the damp. The waves smashing against Gatreijan’s rocky shore make the air misty and wet. Tiny beads of water even cover our triwheel as if it’s been raining. The little vehicle and its matching cart must have been bright green at some point, but most of the paint has chipped away leaving blooms of rust.

  Shara and Douglen share a second cart that’s hitched to an equally battered triwheel, and Jeck has the third cart all to himself and his gangly legs. Lord Osperacy isn’t with us. Douglen says he’s busy arranging upcoming tasks and reviewing current charts with Captain Gedwick. But I suspect the real reason Lord Osperacy isn’t here is because he doesn’t want to wear a sequined costume.

  For that matter, I’m surprised Douglen put on a glittering tide-green jacket and matching mask. However, I suppose we’ll be watching the musical performances in the high city, and whenever there’s a gathering of wealthy uppies, Douglen seems to have business with someone.

  “Make sure you hang on tight!” Melily cries as the triwheel drivers start their sputtering engines, and we rattle off across the pier. The small, three-wheeled vehicle moves far faster than I expect. It’s also far noisier; although everything in Gatreijan is loud—the waves crashing into the rocks, the motorliners scraping along their tracks, and even the people shouting in the streets.

  I cling to the triwheel cart’s narrow bench as we careen through the lower city—or I suppose I should say one of Gatreijan’s many lower cities, for there are so many different levels here. We shoot past housing towers, tiny shops, and tall, thin storage halls. Between them, I catch glimpses of the festival—gold and blue banners, clumps of people waving ribbons tied to reeds, and cookery wagons that smell spicy and a little daring.

  Our juddering triwheel ride ends with a sudden stop at the base of one of those cable lifts. According to our drivers, the lifts are the quickest and least confusing way to reach the higher city levels. They tell us there isn’t a motorliner that goes there directly. We’d have to switch trundles, whatever those are, at least twice, and one man tells us that the routes are “more complicated than tangled hair.”

  I was already nervous traveling in the triwheel, but the cable lift alarms me even more. Even though it’s essentially a sturdy cage, locked doors and iron bars won’t save me if the cable snaps. So I sit rigidly on a steel bench and cover my eyes as we sway up into the winds and lurch over some very sharp rocks.

  “Oh, Nerene.” Melily prods my shoulder. “Don’t be such a minnow! Just look! The view is incredible! Ooo, I can see the Trident from here!”

  “That’s nice,” I mutter between my fingers.

  “Want me to hold your hand, sludge?” Jeck’s voice warms my ear.

  I swivel away. At least I’m finding it easy to tolerate him today—or well, easier. All I have to do is focus on the folded paper tucked into my shoe, Sande’s number code.

  Cressit is already in the high city. He left this morning with a slew of instruments, sound equipment, and luggage. I didn’t have the chance to speak with him alone, but when he told Melily he’d sing her favorite songs, he gave me a quick, intense look that seemed to hold all of his promises.

  I’m beginning to get the troubling feeling, though, that I’m not the only person with a hidden plan today. Douglen and Jeck keep whispering to each other behind Shara’s back.

  Finally, thank the Water Goddess, our elevated trip ends. The cable lift jostles into a brick building on the edge of a high cliff, although unfortunately it doesn’t come to a complete stop. Instead it jolts sideways, and I grip the bars tightly with a little cry that makes Jeck laugh. Our cart, or basket or whatever this death cage is called, must have wheels on the bottom for it seems to lock into a track. It then rolls in a slow, jerking half-circle, turning so that it can descend again. During this bumpy little trip, Douglen unlatches the door a
nd shouts, “Jump! Now!”

  There’s wavurl in his words, and for once maybe it’s a good thing. I’d probably be too scared to move otherwise. Helpless in the grip of his command, I follow Shara out of the cable lift with my billowy dress bunched in my arms.

  Aside from the machinery powering the pulley and a few benches, the brick building is empty. However as we pass through a passage leading outside, a city guard stops us and checks our passbooks.

  After that, we step out onto the street, and it’s almost as if the lift carried us to a different mountain city. Motorliners still roar across curving tracks overhead and below, but the sound of the waves has vanished, and the air is drier, colder, and windier. I fold my arms, thankful that my red dress has long sleeves.

  Gatreijan must usually be a bleak, unfriendly place. Everything is built out of colorless stone and welded metal, and there are only a few scrubby plants. Yet the festival has splashed color and cheer across the city. Braided blue and green ropes wind around girders, while garlands of painted shells clatter in the wind. A huge amount of people in beautiful Laeros costumes surround us too. Some of them hold mugs of ale while others nibble on skewers of fish and baskets of steamed clams. They laugh and joke, and like a slow-moving river, they stream away from us and pour over the ornate metal bridge in the distance.

  We join the crowd, and as we walk, I stare at the cliffs that rise even further above us. Clusters of houses cling to the steep rock, and some of the buildings perch so high up they’re half-hidden by clouds.

  On the other side of the bridge, we come to a huge gathering area. There must be a name for this type of structure, but I don’t know it. Whatever it’s called it resembles a metal and stone flower with circles of balconies instead of petals, and a flat, grassy lawn in the sunken center. I imagine that lawn serves as a park or market on most days, but today there’s a pressed-reed platform on it that’s decorated with blue and green fabric and surrounded by electric lights.

  That platform is surely where Cressit will perform, although right now there is a group of different musicians there. They play a song that feels dramatic and exciting and makes me think of our recent wild triwheel ride.

  We climb many metal staircases, moving from petal to petal, and eventually we reach one of the highest balconies. It’s connected to an impressive house made of painted black metal and flat green stones.

  Shara tells me that this house belongs to one of the seven chancellors that jointly govern Gatreijan. “Sir Finscini is a regular client of Lord Osperacy’s,” she adds.

  I can’t see Douglen and Jeck anymore. They seem to have crept off. And although I’m sure they are probably doing something awful, I’m also relieved. If they’re gone, I can make my secret relaycall more easily.

  Melily leads Shara and me through a crowd of costumed uppies toward a table draped with golden lace and covered with platters of fussily arranged food.

  “This will not be as fun as the swingshow in Beth,” Melily tells me, plucking up a skewer of salt biscuit, cliff peach, and scallop. “Gatreijan always hires these great performers for their Threegod festivals, but then they have them play for boring old people who aren’t even listening.” She pops the food into her mouth, pulling out the skewer. “At least there’s skyfire later.”

  Skyfire? I smile, genuinely excited about that. I’ve seen skyfire before but only at a distance. We’d watch from the deeplands whenever those colorful stars flew up from Varasay to burst with soft rolls of thunder and shimmery light.

  As Shara heads inside Sir Finscini’s house to find a drink of water, Melily sighs heavily. “I can’t believe Cressit’s really leaving. I guess I’ll just have to find a way to go to all his swingshows from now on. I was thinking I could command him to stay, but I suppose…” She eyes me. “That wouldn’t be right, would it?”

  I’m surprised. It’s a real question for me as her balance, and she looks like she wants an honest answer. I feel fonder of her than I usually do, and I wish I could tell her how important she really is to Cressit. I also feel guilty that I’ve linked her rescue to Sande’s. It’s true she’s not in immediate danger like he may be, but it still doesn’t seem fair.

  “No, commanding Cressit wouldn’t be right,” I agree. “But I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

  Even though Melily seemed convinced that this crowd won’t pay attention to the musicians, people certainly notice Cressit. At sunset, as horns blare and lights flash, he strides across the platform. On every stone balcony, uplanders surge against the railings, and their cheers echo up against the cliffs.

  Melily seems excited too. “Ah! Marto’s back! He’s the drummer! I haven’t seen him since Beth!”

  I feel strangely tense as Cressit struts across the platform, flipping his dark hair into the wind and playing elaborate melodies on a chorder—which is what I’ve learned his narrowstring-like instrument is called. I can feel the emotions he’s sending out into the crowd now that I’m trying to sense them. His wavurl feels like a pleasant warmth trying to slip between my ribs. It’s an inviting blend of joy, excitement, and longing.

  I eye Melily. She wouldn’t feel his wavurl, and yet she still likes his songs. I wonder if Cressit would have adoring crowds at his swingshows if he didn’t use his siren powers—maybe.

  Cressit belts out song after song until he finally grabs the voice amplifier, his lungs heaving, his hair curling up with sweat, and says, “This will be my last song tonight. It’s new.”

  He then plays a soft, delicate melody, a tune that’s just his fingers dancing across the chorder strings. The song has no words, and despite not wanting to like it, I find myself enjoying the slow rhythm.

  “Aw, why is he ending with this?” Melily grumbles. “It’s depressing.”

  Finishing the song, Cressit waves to the crowd and leaves the platform, vanishing into a nearby blue tent. My breath quickens. Soon he’ll find me. Soon we’ll slip away from the Osperacys and relaycall Sande. But as I watch a dozen new singers climb onto the pressed-reed platform, and as I listen to Melily complain about how she used to like these women but then a few of them left the group to get married and their replacements aren’t that good, I realize I’ve made another mistake. How can I sneak away with Cressit while I’m wearing my bright red Shale costume? This dress will look like a splash of blood in the surrounding sea of green, blue, and gold. The Osperacys will be able to spot me anywhere on this level of the city.

  After the women on stage sing a few songs, someone bumps into me and, to my surprise, squeezes my arm. I turn to see a figure in a hooded, gold cloak walking away.

  Cressit. It has to be.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” I tell Melily and Shara. “I have to use the washing closet.”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t miss anything,” Melily says, slumping on the railing. “The Corals are so terrible now.”

  I think the ladies on stage sound lovely—each of them seems to be singing a different melody and somehow those melodies blend beautifully together. But there’s no time to linger. The hooded person stands beside the entrance to the Chancellor’s house, waiting for me.

  The stranger glances briefly my way as I approach, giving me a glimpse of his face and confirming that yes, he’s Cressit. I follow him inside across gleaming drybark floors, past fine furniture that looks as if it belongs in Beth’s museum, and then through a cookery full of serveworkers. The men and women there are so busy shifting pots of boiling broth and slicing fruit, they don’t seem to notice us.

  On the other side of the cookery, Cressit begins opening doors in a narrow passage that’s much less luxurious than the rest of the house. This corridor seems like a place that’s usually only seen by servants.

  “I’m sorry about the red dress,” I say.

  “It’s fine,” he whispers. “As long as my hunch is right, and… ha! It is.”

  The door Cressit’s just opened leads to a chamber with a metal staircase that tunnels into the house’s rocky foundation.
He starts down it.

  “What is this place?” I ask, following him. The excessive fabric of my gown and my stiff heeled shoes make it difficult for my feet to find each small, triangular step.

  “A lot of rich people here build lodging for serveworkers on a less expensive, lower level,” Cressit says, his voice echoing. “And then they connect them with stairs like these.”

  I wonder why Cressit knows about these passages, but only for a moment. Surely this stairwell would be a good way to escape a subs raid or sneak off with a beautiful servegirl.

  Only a few electric lights hang on the walls, but even though I can’t see much, I feel the walls change from neatly arranged brick to roughly carved rock as we descend. The stairs have no railings either just a central pole supporting the winding steps, which I cling to with both hands.

  We’ve climbed down and around maybe four or five times when Cressit’s voice emerges from the stale air. “I added that last song for you. I remember you liked the slower one at the end of my swingshow in Beth.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  We’re both quiet after that, listening to the sound of our shoes meeting the metal steps. Every few moments, a motorliner roars past somewhere outside too, sending tremors through the rock and shaking the stairs.

  After we’ve descended what feels like a thousand steps, we reach the serveworker house. It’s a sparse, clean place with a large laundry and even larger cookery than the one I saw in the house above. We thankfully don’t meet any serveworkers as we hurry through the building, and outside we join yet another crowd of uppies celebrating Laeros in blue, green, and gold costumes.

  This city level may not be as wealthy as the one above, but I still find it impressive. Although the houses are a little smaller, and I see no fountains or elaborate gathering places, everything is in excellent repair. Smooth stones cover the ground, arranged in complicated patterns, and the occasional triwheel I see looks brand new.