by RF Hurteau
Tobias and Penelope sprang to their feet, but Penelope stopped short when she heard a small cry from upstairs. “All the noise must have woken him,” she sighed, with a longing glance toward the door.
“I’ll get him,” said Felix. “Mine are still asleep. You go, see that new ship that’s got you all so excited.”
Her face broke into a grin. “Nimbus class! I’ve never even gotten to touch one before!”
Felix mounted the stairs once more, pausing to kiss Willow as she passed him in the narrow hallway. “I’m going to get Sebastian,” he whispered in response to her questioning gaze.
Penelope’s son was a two-year-old with a deep enthusiasm for life. When Felix opened the door to the room Penelope and her son shared, he found Sebastian with one leg already over the side of his crib, tongue out in concentration as he struggled to pull the rest of his body up and over. He looked up and beamed at Felix.
“Flix!” he declared happily.
“Good morning, little man!” Felix lifted the boy up and Sebastian, as he always did, began babbling happily. Without Penelope’s translations, much of this enthusiastic chatter was a mystery, but the boy did have a surprising vocabulary for his age. When they passed the small room where the twins were, Felix could hear them stirring. He grimaced as Sebastian placed a wet hand over his mouth. Why is it wet? he wondered. On second thought, I don’t want to know.
“Shh!” Sebastian scolded Felix, who hadn’t been talking. “Flix wake babies!”
“Sorry!” whispered Felix. “Let’s go see your mama!”
When they stepped into the workshop, where several small ships were docked, the retractable ceiling was open. A large, sleek looking ship with an open cockpit and the Pravacordian seal painted on its side sat at one of the outer docking stations, propellers still spinning. Sebastian looked for his mother and then saw the ship. He squealed in delight, pushing both chubby palms against Felix’s face and squirming to get down. “Nimbus!” he shouted at Felix. “Down!”
Felix put him down, and he ran to his mother, who scooped him up and began showing him the craft, pointing out features as Ambrose and Tobias spoke with the pilot. “Armored plating, hybrid cyclical condensers…!” he could hear her saying. “It’s the fastest non-military ship to date! What a beauty.”
Felix smiled, and headed toward Ambrose. He thought the man speaking to him looked vaguely familiar. He wore a purple silk waistcoat over a ruffled shirt, and white-and-purple striped trousers, as if to affirm that he was someone not to be ignored. A pencil-thin mustache curled into little points which bobbed proudly as he spoke, and he held a tall, narrow-brimmed hat delicately under one thin arm. Felix walked over to introduce himself and immediately regretted it. Once he saw the man’s face, he recognized him as Thoris Wilks, one of the committee members the Ministry had assigned to decide “what to do” with Felix and Willow.
“Ah, Mr. Felix, good to see you again,” Wilks said. His tone was friendly but formal. “I’ve always heard Ambrose’s workshop is top notch, but never got around to coming to see for myself. I thought I’d pop by and have him take a look at my rudder assembly. Been sticking a bit. Afterwards, I’d be more than happy to take you to your meeting at the Ministry.”
“Well, actually,” said Ambrose, “I do have several ships I’m currently working on, but I’m certain I can get to yours in a day or two, if you leave her—”
“Nonsense, nonsense. I’m certain your other customers would be understanding of a short delay. I just picked her up yesterday, and I’m sorry to say I didn’t even notice the problem until last night…hadn’t even named her yet, and already she’s causing trouble! So, you can imagine my distress, and my desire to get it taken care of quickly. The life of a Minister is a demanding one, as I’m sure you’re aware. I can’t be flying to and fro to important meetings listing to one side, or wobbling back and forth like a drunken fool. Of course, if you’re too busy, there are plenty of other mechanics around that I’m sure could make the time for me.”
Ambrose’s eyes were full of yearning as he held out a hand, as if to touch Wilks’ ship, which sat quiet and majestic overhead. “Well,” he began hesitantly, “I suppose they might not mind a slight delay. It’s only a quick rudder job, after all…”
“Splendid. Now, which of you lovely ladies would be a dear and make us a nice cup of tea while we wait?” He looked expectantly back and forth between Willow, who had appeared in the entrance holding two infants, and Penelope, who had a very “Don’t look at me” expression on her face.
“Come on,” said Felix grudgingly. “I’ll fix your tea.”
“Quite right, quite right!” said Mr. Wilks with an oblivious smile, following Felix out of the workshop and into the house.
“Oh my,” he said, looking around. “It certainly is, uh—cozy.” Felix ignored him, moving to the hutch and selecting a few mismatched cups. Wilks cleared an armchair and sat, gingerly, placing his hat carefully atop a nearby upturned crate. He jumped as Sebastian came barreling in, throwing the door open, slamming the hutch just as his grandfather had. Felix caught the sugar bowl inches from the ground, managing to save most of its contents. Willow followed the toddler in and sat down on the overstuffed sofa across from Mr. Wilks, who began speaking excitedly.
“Now, I really shouldn’t divulge this,” Mr. Wilks said, pausing to take the teacup that Felix held out. “Delightful. What was I saying? Ah yes, of course. The committee is making considerable strides in your case, considerable strides.”
“So, you’ve decided what will happen to Felix and me, then?” Willow asked, hopeful.
“What? Oh, no, no, I’m afraid it will be quite some time yet.” He gave a chuckle, shaking his head. “Politicians don’t do anything hastily. We’d all be out of a job!”
“So, what strides have you made?” asked Felix.
“Oh, well, I believe that after this meeting, it will all become clear.”
Felix grumbled something under his breath, but Mr. Wilks either didn’t hear or decided to ignore it. He leaned forward, peering at the two infants who were once again asleep in Willow’s arms. “I will say this for you Elves, you certainly do have adorable children. I simply can’t get over the ears.” He reached forward, and Sebastian, who had been attempting to reach Wilks’ hat, inserted himself between him and Willow. Placing one hand on his hip and pointing a pudgy, accusing finger at the man’s face, Sebastian yelled, “Flix babies!” then added, “No touchy!”
“He’s very protective of them,” Willow apologized, but Mr. Wilks was still smiling.
“Not at all, my dear. I’m happy to see everyone getting along so swimmingly!”
Felix sat down next to Willow, taking Ripley from her and handing her a cup of tea. The three sat that way, in awkward silence. Sebastian, satisfied that the babies were in no immediate danger, had toddled over to the table, where he was now attempting to build a fort out of chairs, books, and several throw pillows.
“That must be Penelope’s son, I presume?” asked Wilks, after a time.
“Yes,” said Willow, surprised. “How do you know Penelope?”
“Oh, we all know Penelope, I’m afraid,” he said with a sympathetic nod. “She and her husband, Neal, were quite popular in the Grand Derby for years, an excellent team, top notch! But when the Derby was held during her pregnancy, Neal decided that he would fly with Ambrose instead that year.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper as his eyes darted to Sebastian who didn’t seem to be aware of the conversation. “There was a terrible accident. Ambrose walked away, but Neal was killed instantly.” He sat back and sighed deeply. “No one blames Ambrose. Except Ambrose, of course. He’s never forgiven himself. Hasn’t entered the Derby again since.”
There was another long silence as Felix pondered this new information. He had often wondered what had become of Penelope’s husband, and why she lived here with her father. She had never shared the story, and Felix had felt it would be rude to pry. It felt weird, hearing about it f
rom someone else. Felix decided to change the subject.
“So, tell us about this Grand Derby,” he settled on when nothing else came to mind.
“It’s quite exciting!” said Wilks, setting down his cup. “As you know, after the Sequencing, many new nation-states sprung up. Each seemed hell-bent on asserting their dominance and superiority over their neighbors. At first there was quite a bit of tension, even hostility. Wishing to put an end to needless bloodshed, the three major powers, Pravacordia, Nequium, and Culei, signed a peace treaty. They celebrated this turning point with a Grand Derby, designed to foster teamwork among nations and showcase each of their particular strengths. Each team consists of six contestants, two from each participating nation. The derby is divided into three legs, each one featuring a particular nation’s specialty: Nequium, over land; Culei, nautical; Pravacordia, aeronautics. Anyone can participate, no matter their station, and the vast array of personal craft is truly a fantastic sight. I do hope you’ll be attending this year.”
“I guess it depends if the Ministry will let us or not,” Felix said. “If they haven’t exiled us to some deserted island or something.”
“Good gracious, we aren’t savages!” declared Wilks defensively. “It’s more a matter of politics. You see, our last interactions with the Elves resulted in the devastation of our planet. Knowing you are here, living among us, has put us in quite a precarious position. Nequium and Culei both wish to, ahem, meet with you, and both are deman—ah, requesting, that you be turned over to them for questioning. At Ambrose’s insistence, the Ministry has decided not to allow an extradition, but these things must be handled with delicacy.”
Felix felt himself stiffen, and Willow put a hand on his knee, urging him to stay calm. “We aren’t criminals,” Felix said, trying to keep his voice level. “We didn’t do anything to any of you. We only want to be left alone and allowed to raise our family in peace.”
“You can of course understand our position—”
“I hate them just as much as you do!” shouted Felix, unable to stay sitting. “I hate the Therans! What they did here was wrong. How they treated us in Sanctuary was wrong. How they abandoned their own kin for having the audacity to love a Human was wrong. But that’s not who we are. We aren’t like them.” He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. “You have to believe that.”
Wilks studied him, saying nothing. He opened his mouth to speak, but just then, the door to the workshop opened, and Penelope and Tobias stepped into the room.
“We’ve found the problem,” said Penelope, “but it will take at least a few hours for us to fix her up.”
Wilks stood, pulling on his waistcoat to straighten it and picked up his hat. “Very good. I shan’t take up any more of your time, then. I think I could do with a walk.” He turned to Felix and Willow, offering each of them a nod. “I shall be back in time to bring you to the meeting this afternoon. If my ship isn’t ready by then, perhaps Ambrose could be persuaded to bring us in Pluto.”
“Kind of demanding,” Penelope noted as the front door closed behind him. “And a bit prissy.”
“Eh,” said Felix with a shrug, staring out the window at Wilks’ receding form. “As far as the Ministry goes, he’s not the worst.” He turned back to Penelope. “Come on,” he said, “show us this fancy ship.”
two
Uneasy Lies the Head
If you aren’t going to do it right, get out of the way and let someone else take care of it!”
“I am doing it right. Back off. This isn’t even your job!”
“Well by the looks of it, it shouldn’t be your job, either!”
The bickering reminded Edwin strongly of their old Tapestry meetings. Strangely enough, those had been simpler times. Following the hasty departure of the Therans, New Sanctuary had faced the formidable task of not just restructuring but completely redesigning something that loosely resembled a government. Edwin, who had been the most recognizable Human face in Sigil, had been thrust into a position far more demanding than his previous job as liaison to the Elder Council. Now he found himself needing to be available at all hours, constantly diffusing tensions and dealing with minor crises that, thankfully, seemed to be coming at longer intervals as time went on.
Sylvia stepped up beside him, surveying the room with appraising eyes. “How are we progressing?” she asked.
“Not too bad, I’d say. There’ve been a few hiccups, but we seem to have everything running smoothly now.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. “Well, smoother, at least.”
“That’s it, step aside. I can’t bear to watch this train wreck any longer.” Nelson commanded, giving the second man a little shove. Thanks to his ambitious nature, Nelson had a good working knowledge of many of Sigil’s critical departments, and had been instrumental in keeping everything running in the tumultuous days and weeks after they’d taken the city.
“Looks like Nelson is trying to micromanage again,” Sylvia laughed. Her laugh had a musical, lilting quality to it. It was a refreshing sound, one that Edwin had missed. There had not been much cause for laughter lately. The chaos after the Elves’ departure had had far reaching consequences. Looting and violence were rampant, and many innocent lives had been lost. It had taken months to restore an orderly system for distributing food and supplies that everyone could agree upon. Although no Elves meant two thousand fewer mouths to feed, food was still scarce. Edwin’s team was working day and night to increase production. Still, together they had managed to stabilize the vital systems, and that was something. Edwin studied Sylvia out of the corner of his eye. Despite the many demands of her position on the newly formed Council, she was adapting to the new order quite well.
She handed him a stack of papers. “Here are the reports you requested,” she said.
“Thanks,” he replied, riffling through them. “How are your patients doing?”
“Oh,” she said, the light in her eyes fading somewhat, “as well as can be expected. I mean, the technology works, but the more extensive the damage, the longer it takes. We’ve been very successful in treating a number of injuries so far. Just yesterday we released the last of the injured Geothermal workers yesterday.” Sylvia frowned, her nose wrinkling slightly, a trait Edwin found endearing. “It’s so strange. I still don’t know why I was assigned to head up the rehabilitation project. I can barely understand the technology when Ben tries to explain it to me, and he’s tried more than once, trust me.”
“Well, it’s not so hard to understand,” Edwin said. Then, seeing her face fall, he quickly added, “why you were chosen, I mean. For one, you’re a natural leader. People like you, so they listen to you. A leader doesn’t necessarily have to know all the terminology. They just have to instruct the people who do. And you inspire trust. When you have someone hurting, like those poor people we dragged out of Geothermal, the last thing they want to do is get shoved into a dark, scary pod with no clue what’s going on. They need someone to tell them it’s going to be okay. Someone they can trust.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “And that’s me?”
He nodded. “Exactly.” He looked at her with concern. “Is it too much? Being on the Council on top of everything else?”
Sylvia shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s very rewarding work actually. Just keeps me busy, that’s all.”
She turned back to see Nelson haranguing a new victim, someone working on the temperature controls. “Well sure, you’re doing fine,” he was saying. “If you’re trying to boil everyone in D4 alive! Have you even looked at this humidity gauge?”
“I wonder what I’ll do once we’ve finished treating all the injured?” she pondered aloud.
“I don’t think you’ll be sitting on your hands, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Edwin.
Sylvia rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “I hardly expected an early retirement,” she said. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at the meeting this evening?” She started to
leave.
“Wait,” Edwin said suddenly. Sylvia turned back toward him, her profile thrown into stark relief by the reflective glow of a row of monitors.
“Would you, uh…would you like to grab something to eat in the commissary with me? We’re just about done here.”
Sylvia smiled apologetically. “I would love to,” she said, “but I’m just on my way to check on Ben.”
“Oh,” said Edwin, offering a nonchalant shrug. “Sure, right. No problem. Hey, I’ll go with you. I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“Okay,” she said, a little surprised.
“Nelson!” Edwin called. “I’m going with Sylvia. You’re in charge. Catch me on the comm if you need anything.”
“It’s not like you were doing anything anyway,” came Nelson’s reply, “but if you fancy pretending you were ever in charge to begin with, I’ll play along.”
Edwin waved a dismissive hand in his direction, then accompanied Sylvia out.
They took the lift down to the basement and veered left, along the serpentine but now familiar path to Pod Manufacturing. They no longer manufactured pods, but the once small department now teemed with activity at all hours of the day and night. The discovery of the secret rooms deep beneath the department, with their thousands of pods and misshapen monsters, had made this department the place to be; a hub of bustling scientists, budding engineers, programmers and mechanics. Everyone wanted to be the one to discover just what the Elves had been up to down here. So far, however, there were very few plausible conclusions.
The entire effort was being spearheaded by Sylvia’s younger brother, Ben. He had been the one to discover the secret rooms, and had ended up in the Geothermal Plant as a result. Though he was only down there a few days before being rescued, the experience had aged him. He smiled less and spoke with more urgency. Edwin had assured Sylvia that it would pass, that the old Ben would break through, that he just needed time to process. Occasionally, Edwin knew, the old Ben would shine through, particularly if an exciting breakthrough or discovery was made. But it had been six months and, on the whole, Ben had only grown more serious.