Currently

by Sarah Mensinga

  The sky’s grown dark now, and electric torches gleam on top of tall poles. Music competes with the hum of the crowd, and there are lots of merchant booths on this level. Many of them seem to be selling dumplings stuffed with prickle crab and salt cabbage, but others have displays of glittering outfits, brightly colored flags, and Threegod knickknacks such as prayer bracelets, spirit candles, tide pipes, and holy songbooks.

  “Now where can we find a relayphone?” Cressit leads me through the crowd. “Sleeperhouses, perhaps, or maybe private homes will let us use theirs if we offer money or…” he eyes me with uncertainty, “…I’m being charming. But those places would surely only be able to make local calls. A better option might be a motorliner station. Those are noisy, but we could manage. Worst case, we head down to the Anchor—that’s my ship—and connect the relayphone there. But that trip would take a while, and we want to get you back to the Trident tonight.”

  He seems so confident. I wish I felt the same. I suppose, though, this isn’t as risky for him as it is for me.

  “I have the number code,” I say.

  “Good.” He taps his pocket. “I brought a copy too. Now all we have to do is find the nearest motorliner station.” He looks around, and so do I. And as I scan the area, I see Jeck.

  No.

  He’s walking away from a shop built into the side of the mountain, and although he’s not facing us, he’ll easily see me in these bright clothes if he turns his head. I duck behind Cressit and whisper fiercely, “Jeck!”

  “Where?”

  I point to the shop.

  “Wonderful!” Cressit says.

  “What?” Why would he say that? I hunch down even more, trying to pull all the bright red folds of my dress in behind Cressit’s gold cape. If Jeck sees me here, he’ll think I’m running away.

  “I mean the shop,” Cressit says. “The shop is wonderful. Jeck just left a mechanic repair shop, and if anyone has a relayphone able to make tide-wide calls, it’ll be that place.”

  I suppose that makes sense, and I suppose it also makes sense that Jeck would visit a shop like that. I remember the explosive metal devices he once made, and I saw him testing an invention the other day up on deck—I think it was a clockwork alarm. He surely needs a regular supply of parts and tools for his projects.

  “Don’t worry…” Cressit says in a hushed voice. “He’s not coming our way.”

  I risk peering over Cressit’s shoulder, and thankfully I see Jeck’s short brown curls bobbing off into the crowd. “All right, let’s go,” I say. “Quickly.”

  We hurry up the metal stairs that lead to the repair store, and what an interesting store it is. I see shelves of timekeepers as we enter, as well as electric lights, mechanical toys, and plenty of uppy devices I don’t recognize. Some of the machines are quiet or in pieces, while others whir and click loudly. Beneath the shelves lie rows of baskets full of parts and tools, and on the far side of the shop, somber music crackles out of a music machine much like Melily’s.

  “Is anyone here?” Cressit calls.

  A fluffy ridge cat with tufts of silver and white on his spine leaps onto the counter and greets us with a solemn “M’row” as if he runs the place. But several seconds later, a gentleman with gray hair and the dark skin common in Gatreijan emerges from a doorway.

  “Good evening, I’m not offering any festival discounts,” the shopkeep says dryly as if he’s repeated this all day.

  “Good evening to you too.” Cressit smiles. “Do you have a relayphone?”

  “I do, absolutely,” the man says and turns to show us several relayphones hanging over the shop counter. “So these two are top of the line, with electric lights and buzzers. That one is more old-fashioned with a bell—but it’s extremely well made and the best of the lot, and that last pair are serviceable, but they are the most beautiful—if that’s important to you. They have drybark sides, rather than pressed reed, and as you can see, brass accessories.”

  “Actually we aren’t looking to buy a phone,” Cressit tells him. “We simply need to make a cross-tides call.”

  The shopkeep gives us a closer look. “Well now, that’s an interesting dilemma. Relayphones ’round here are only supposed to be set for local calls.”

  “Do you know of anyone who can change a local relayphone to have wider settings?” Cressit asks, and I can feel the friendly wavurl rolling off of him.

  “Do I know of anyone who can reset a relayphone?” The man smiles, showing a glimmer of warmth. “There might be something in the back I tinker with sometimes. You can use it… for a fair price.”

  “Wonderful!” Cressit eyes me happily. “How does ten shells sound?”

  “Yeah, I suppose that’ll do.” The man nods and flips a lock on the front door. “Well then, follow me.”

  He leads us up another stairway that cuts into the mountain, and we enter a cave-like room reinforced with metal beams. I see a bed and small cookstove, so this must be the man’s living quarters. Otherwise, though, the space looks like a messier version of the shop. I see more shelves of noisy machines and piles of parts and tools. There’s also a worktable and three relayphones hanging on the wall that look battered and made out of mismatched parts, but they seem to be in working order. Wires run out of them and into the wall.

  The shopkeep tells us to use the first, largest machine, and then leaves us be, returning back down the stairs.

  Sande. I’m about to speak with Sande.

  Nervously holding my passbook bag, I watching Cressit twist a knob on the call box in different directions.

  “Seven, eight,” he says, and click-click goes the knob. “Zero.” Click. “Six.” Click. “Five…”

  As he enters each number, I dread that something will go wrong with the call like it did in the Hill Kingdoms.

  When Cressit’s done turning the knob, he hands me the listening cone, which is connected to a curling, fabric-covered wire.

  I press the cone to my ear and hear a soft sound, like cracking eggshells. After that, it’s almost as if someone’s whistling a single, endless note. Finally a tinny, distorted voice says, “Goren Industry Island.”

  My thoughts seem to lose their balance and tip sideways. I don’t know what an industry island is.

  “Anyone there?” I hear a man’s voice, rough and sharp and not Sande. “You looking for a shipment? Place’n an order?”

  “No.” I suppose that wherever Sande is, he probably doesn’t have a personal relayphone. It seems silly now that I assumed he would answer the relaycall. “I’m looking for someone—a worker,” I add because that’s most likely. “His name’s Sande Olin… and he’s a deeplander from Varasay.”

  Cressit watches me with an expression of concern. He points to himself, surely offering to help.

  “Yeah, I don’t know ‘em all by name.” The distant voice sounds impatient as if he’d like to end the conversation. “We don’t let slaves touch the relayphone either.”

  Slaves? My insides quiver. Sande should not be a slave. That isn’t the agreement I have with Lord Osperacy; he promised to keep Sande safe, and slavery isn’t safe. “Wait!” I cry. “This young man—he spoke to me before. You or someone there let him.”

  “Ain’t possible. Look, I got work to—”

  “Don’t go, please!” I cry. Did Douglen somehow use his wavurl over the relayphone? I didn’t think that was possible. But then a solution comes to me; perhaps Douglen used a different type of power. “Lord Osperacy sent Sande to you,” I say. “And Lord Osperacy wants me to speak to him.”

  On the other side of the shopkeep’s work table, Cressit nods in approval.

  “Osperacy?” The man’s voice cracks and breaks as if a storm rides the tide between us. “Oh, all right… yeah, I know the kid.”

  I exhale heavily. “Wonderful! Let me speak to him. Please.”

  “Well, tell your boss that ain’t possible ’cause we lost him. We lost him and a good near fifty others—and one of my best rafts.”

&
nbsp; “Lost him.” I feel like someone’s forcibly pulled my brief happiness back out of me. “What do you mean?”

  Across the small room, Cressit makes a quick movement of dismay. But I’m not focused on him, I’m pressing the rounded, copper edge of the listening cone against my ear.

  “We had a stretch of big storms,” says the voice. “Like real big, and one of the barges snapped free of its groundin’ chain. Bad luck all ’round, but that happens sometimes.”

  I don’t know what to say. I feel like something in my chest has snapped free—some essential part of my lungs or heart.

  “Listen, I gotta go. You tell Osperacy I still owe him that favor.”

  I hear a clicking sound and then nothing at all. I stare at the chipped edges of the relayphone box, and I feel like I can’t move. I don’t even have the strength to put the listening cone back in its bracket.

  I knew today might go wrong, but all the many problems I imagined didn’t include losing Sande.

  “Nerene…” Cressit says gently. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  I want to sob and just surrender to sadness, but I suppose I should try to understand the more confusing parts of this terrible news. “He was somewhere called Industry Island,” I say, my eyes stinging. “And he was on a barge—what is that?”

  “A type of factory,” Cressit says. “They’re chained to the Sea Spread and they float while the tide passes. Then they sit in the deeplands for the rest of the year; it’s cheaper than buying mountain city land. But since most cities don’t like factory barges nearby, they’re not usually in the trade routes but further starways or skytide.”

  “Sande’s barge,” I say. “It broke free in a storm, and the man on the relayphone… he said it’s lost.”

  Cressit doesn’t look alarmed, he looks grim.

  “I don’t understand what that means. Lost how?” I wipe tears off my cheeks. “Surely people would try to find a lost factory.”

  Cressit sighs. “Those places often have a whole group of barges linked together. If one breaks free, it’s cheaper for the owners to build a new one than to tow the other around the tide. The barges are like big floating platforms… they aren’t meant to travel.”

  I’m freshly horrified. “So Sande…” Sande and fifty other people. “He’s just drifting out there? And no one’s trying to find him?”

  Cressit nods. “Most likely. I’m so sorry.”

  Fresh tears fill my eyes, and I suddenly find the tick and clang of timekeepers and mechanical toys unbearable. I have to get out of here.

  We return to the main shop. Cressit stops to thank the owner and pay him, but I walk straight out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” I say, nearly stepping on the poor ridge cat who seems hopeful that I’ll pet him.

  Once I’m out of the shop, I rush down the stairs to the street and take deep, unsteady breaths. I fought to keep Sande safe, but it didn’t matter. His whole life and the possible life we could have had together just drifted out of reach.

  A hand falls on my shoulder, and I shrug it off. Cressit isn’t my friend. He should stop pretending he is.

  But the fingers tighten, and Douglen, not Cressit, says, “Don’t scream or shout or call for help. Let’s start with that.”

  I swallow and try to twist away, but he hangs on tight.

  “Stop fighting and don’t run,” he keeps piling commands on me, and his wavurl feels like cement, weighing me down. He carefully inspects me. “I came to meet Jeck, and yet here you are. Is he still in the shop? Tell the truth.”

  “No, he already left.” I can hear the distant sound of Cressit still talking to the shopkeep. He’ll come out of that repair store at any moment, and then what will happen? Douglen can’t command him.

  “Are you saying Jeck found you but then… left you here?” Douglen looks confused. “Answer me.”

  “He didn’t see me,” I say, wincing as Douglen’s command burrows into my mind. If only Cressit would leave the shop.

  “Follow me,” Douglen says, and kraken, I have to.

  I feel frantic. In seconds I’ll be out of Cressit’s reach and beyond help. At least I’m wearing this bright red dress. Now I’m glad that I’m easy to spot in the crowd.

  “So why were you blubbing? And why are you here? You’re supposed to be with Melily.” Douglen turns, fixes his dark eyes on me, and commands, “Tell the truth.” I think he’s been drinking because his wavurl feels soft around the edges. Maybe I can escape.

  I try to resist his question, but an honest answer still fights its way out of me. “I tried to relaycall Sande.”

  Douglen tilts his head sharply. “You had his number code?

  I nod.

  “How did you get it?”

  I have to answer, but since his commands feel weaker than usual, I manage a partial truth. “A serveman helped me.”

  “Which one?”

  At least this I can be honest about. “I don’t know his name.”

  “Does Melily know where you are?”

  “No,” I’m forced to admit. “But I wasn’t running away, and I was going to—”

  “Be silent,” Douglen barks, and again my words are trapped inside.

  But if I can somehow escape Douglen, should I return to Melily? As bad as things are for Sande, at least Lord Osperacy can’t threaten him anymore, and that means he can’t threaten me either.

  Douglen brings me to a large, stylish building with black motorliner tracks curving out of it like tentacles—it must be a stationhub. We pass through a low rotating gate to enter, and Douglen gives five paper shells to a woman behind a window. I’m surprised he’s using money rather than wavurl. Perhaps he can’t stretch himself too thin while he’s drunk or he’ll lose control of me.

  There are three levels of platforms inside, all with motorliner tracks stretching across them. Towering metal pillars also rise up and branch out like mighty trees to support the massive, peaked roof.

  The motorliner hub is just as crowded as the city level outside. If escape is possible, I’m sure my chance will be here and gone in an instant, so I do my best to stay alert and ready to act.

  Unfortunately as I look around for an opportunity to free myself, I see Jeck jogging over to us. “There you are. What’s the sludge doing here?”

  “I stopped by the mechanic shop to find you,” Douglen says, “And there she was, crying.”

  Jeck chuckles as if my grief is funny. “Crying? Why?”

  “I don’t care, to be honest.” Douglen shrugs. “But she’s breaking Father’s rules yet again. I told him after that business in the Hill Kingdoms that she’s not worth the trouble. But he’s so hung up on his balance theory, he won’t do what needs doing to protect us.”

  Jeck nods in eager agreement, and I tremble because “do what needs doing” surely means kill me. It’s torture to be in danger in a crowd and yet unable to call for help. Douglen’s wavurl command to be silent still clings to me.

  Jeck lowers his voice and hunches down so he’s closer to Douglen’s ear. “Did you run your errand? We could use that on her.”

  “However we do it, we can’t do it up here,” Douglen says just as quietly. “There are too many eyes. We’ll take her to the lowest city level.”

  Oh Water Goddess, they are going to kill me.

  They turn toward the motorliner platforms, and Douglen snaps his fingers at me. “Keep up.”

  I stumble after them. I have my gunnerife, but I’m pretty sure that by the time I pull it out of my leg holster and untangle it from my skirt, Douglen will tell me to drop it. Jeck surely has a weapon too. And even if I could somehow shoot them both, and somehow bring myself to do something that violent, the Gatreijans would consider me a murderer with a forbidden weapon.

  I hate that I’m hoping Cressit will save me—like he did in Pre’Enity. I wish I didn’t have to rely on him.

  Besides, maybe he’ll think I ran away and feel relieved. He’d no longer have to bother with my complicated demand to help Sande. He
could simply take Melily home.

  “I know we should deal with her quickly—but how quickly?” Jeck asks, and his question has an oily coating that makes my shoulders tighten.

  Douglen eyes him, then me. “We’ll get her to the lower level first. If there’s no one around, you can say goodbye however you want.”

  I long to risk everything and kick or hit them, but challenging Douglen’s power will only make him more vicious; I learned that in the Hill Kingdoms. So instead I gaze down at the diamond-shaped tiles covering the floor of the stationhub and try to appear defeated. If Douglen thinks I’ve given up, his wavurl hold on me might weaken, and maybe, just maybe, I can escape.

  It’s a challenging act, though. I’m still so upset about Sande, and his precarious situation hangs on my thoughts and slows me down. Jeck also puts a heavy hand on my lower back, and his wordless threat makes it even harder to think clearly. Most distracting of all, the stationhub is extremely noisy. Motorliners scream their way on and off platforms, buzzers and bells ring to announce which lines have arrived and which ones are leaving, and sometimes a garbled voice speaks through a sound enhancer too. The confusion makes me feel like I’m trying to read an uppy book while standing in a waterfall.

  “Tell me which motorliner will take us to the merchant wharf,” Douglen commands a man who is wearing the odd combination of black suit and tasseled, blue festival hat.

  The command doesn’t seem to stick, though, because a motorliner rushes behind us at the same time. Its many metal wheels are far louder than Douglen’s words, so the man with the celebratory hat just shrugs and climbs onto the nearest linercart.

  And there it is. My salvation.

  Douglen can’t command me if I can’t hear him over the noisy motorliners.

  I’m filled with sudden hope.

  When the next line arrives or leaves, I could run and hide from view, and then perhaps I could hurry back to the mechanic repair shop. But of course Douglen and Jeck would chase after me, and even if I wasn’t wearing heeled boots and a dress made of far too much fabric, I can’t outrun Jeck. His legs are just too long.

  I glance at an increasingly irritated Douglen. He’s still trying to figure out which track will take us to the docks. And then I hear another loud buzzing sound, and the motorliner on my right starts crawling out of the station, slowly picking up speed.