The August 5

by Jenna Helland

  “The five surviving ringleaders of the August Rising have been apprehended. They will receive justice! The previous administration were apologists. Despite all of the accommodations, their policies were unjust because they asked more of cottagers than they are inherently capable of understanding. Our economy has been crushed under the weight of unsound policies, but no more. We will make sure that your legacy is strengthened.

  “I won’t lie to you. There will be some turmoil as I enforce the natural laws. You must not do anything that compromises the integrity of the Zunft. You all know what’s expected of you. You know what kind of men you should be. Study hard and become the leaders you were meant to be.”

  When he said this, he was staring directly at his sons. Tommy felt like everyone in that hall was staring at him, judging him.

  “Heritage, honor, good health!” Colston called the Zunft slogan from the podium.

  Everyone stood up simultaneously and echoed Shore’s words: “Heritage, honor, good health!”

  “Who provides these gifts?” Colston asked.

  “The Zunft! The Zunft! The Zunft!” Tommy felt silly standing there shouting with all the other lads, but his father would see him if he didn’t.

  As the shouts died down, Headmaster Olberg accompanied Colston Shore off the dais. The two stood conversing by the door while everyone sat down. The men shook hands, and then his father left without another glance in his sons’ direction. Olberg motioned to the headwaiter, and servers moved in from the archways with covered silver platters. The servers were cottagers, of course, and their faces were as still as statues.

  9

  THE SINKING OF THE JUBILEE

  Seventeen people lost their lives when the Zunft Navy sunk the sailing vessel known as the Jubilee. The owner of the ship acknowledges that the cottagers worked for his estate but denied giving them permission to take the ship. The Zunft Navy reports their rescue efforts failed because the ship ran into a reef and sank too quickly.

  —JFA Bulletin, September 3

  The stack of dirty dishes teetered near Tamsin’s elbow and she lunged to catch them before they fell. There wasn’t nearly enough counter space to accommodate the mess created by the constant stream of patrons. Tamsin was working a shift at the Plough and Sun, and despite the hours of work ahead of her, she was thrilled to finally be up from her sickbed and able to pay the Leahys back for their hospitality. It was good to have something to think about besides her father being locked up in the Zunft Compound and how much she missed her family on Aeren.

  Tamsin had been so occupied washing plates that she hadn’t noticed the fire in the iron woodstove had burned down to embers. She needed hot water for washing, but when she checked the box by the door, her wood supply was almost gone. Navid, who was supposed to be keeping her supplied with logs, had been called away on an errand. Slipping on her coat, Tamsin headed outside to get wood herself.

  It was misty and cold, and the tiny yard was as muddy as a bog. Mr. Leahy had laid planks as a walkway to the woodshed, but the boards were slick from an earlier rain. She shouldn’t be lifting too much weight—not with the sutures in her side, but Tamsin didn’t want the fire to go out. She was leaning over awkwardly to lift one of the logs when she heard a voice behind her.

  “Can I help?” asked a tall young man with glasses and brown hair that flopped over his forehead. He was standing near the gate and she couldn’t make out his features. As he drew closer she realized that it was Gavin Baine. He was the editor of the recently launched JFA Bulletin, the first attempt at a cottager newspaper since the August Rising, which had prompted the Zunft to crack down on all underground presses. Navid had pointed him out to her in the pub last week, but she hadn’t been introduced to him yet.

  “No, I can manage on my own,” Tamsin lied. “You’re Gavin, right? I’m Tamsin Henry.”

  “Yes—yes, I am,” Gavin stammered. He seemed surprised that she knew his name.

  “I think you worked with my father,” Tamsin said. “Aren’t you a journalist, too?”

  “Um, yes,” Gavin said. “I knew Michael quite well. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened.”

  People had been saying that to her a lot lately. Everyone was so sorry about her father. She knew they meant well, but it always gave her a wormy feeling in her stomach.

  “It’s not your fault,” Tamsin said.

  “Are you settling in all right?” Gavin asked. “Do you need anything?”

  That was the other thing people kept asking her. On Aeren, she was the one taking care of her little sisters. Here in Sevenna, she felt dependent on everyone else. She didn’t even know where the nearest grocery was located. Not that she had any money to buy anything even if she did.

  “Actually, I could use your arms. Would you mind carrying some wood?” Tamsin asked, and Gavin seemed relieved that she’d asked him to help her. Even though she lifted only one log at a time, she still felt a twinge in her wounded side.

  “How do you like working in the pub?” Gavin asked.

  “All right,” Tamsin said. “Mr. Leahy has another job lined up for me as soon as I get papers.”

  “Right, I need to talk to you about that once we’re inside,” Gavin said. “One more log.”

  “Really?” she said doubtfully. He seemed to be swaying slightly under the load, but she balanced one more on his giant stack and then laughed because she couldn’t see his face behind the pile of soggy wood. Together, they treaded carefully over the planks toward the rectangle of light from the open kitchen door.

  “Have you seen the Chronicle?” Gavin asked, dropping the logs into the box with a loud clatter. “The Zunft is blaming Norde cottagers for Hywel’s kidnapping.”

  Tamsin nodded. “The fellows were talking about it in the pub. Just more Zunft lies. There’s barely enough of us up there to do such a thing.”

  She hadn’t meant it to be funny, but Gavin smiled. Norde had the lowest population of cottagers in all the islands. People joked that Zunftmen from Norde were more tolerant of cottagers than the rest of the islands—there were so few cottagers to oppress that no one bothered to do it. Tamsin decided that Gavin had a nice smile and she found herself smiling, too.

  “Extremists did it, or so they say,” Gavin said. “We’re investigating.”

  “Do you know anyone up there?” Tamsin asked.

  “No, but if anyone does, it would be your father,” Gavin replied. “Though honestly, I’ve never heard him talk about Norde much. Stokkur is the only city of any size there, but it’s never been very political.”

  “Where can I get copies of the JFA Bulletin when they come out?”

  “Most of our grocers will have them under the counter. Ask for an extra wrap and they will include one in your bundle.”

  “Why do you use the grocers’ shops?” Tamsin asked as Gavin threw logs into the woodstove.

  “It’s a place where everyone goes,” Gavin said. “I’m sure we have other sites, too, but I don’t know about them. Other people organize it. It’s safer if I don’t know every detail.”

  “Clever,” Tamsin said.

  “That’s how we handled it at your father’s paper,” Gavin said.

  “Are they saying anything else about Hywel?” Tamsin asked. She swung the iron door of the woodstove closed and opened the flue slightly.

  “The Norde cottagers are demanding guns and weapons, so this may be some criminal group profiting from the turmoil.”

  “I hope they get caught,” Tamsin said. Criminals like that were only after material gain, and they gave all cottagers a bad reputation.

  “It’s only a theory,” Gavin said. “It’s not like we can trust what’s in the Chronicle anyway.”

  “Do you need more writers for the Bulletin?” Tamsin said. She’d been thinking about writing articles like her father. Tamsin knew her mother would hate the idea because she wanted Tamsin to hide in a corner and do nothing. Well, too bad. Her mother had sent her to Sevenna, so Tamsin was on her own,
free to make decisions for herself.

  “Yes. Why, are you interested?” Gavin asked. “Oh, wait, I forgot something. We don’t want the Zunft to know you’re in the city. So Mr. Leahy asked me to get you this.”

  “What is it?” Tamsin asked, as he handed her a brown envelope.

  “Fake identification card,” Gavin explained. “Now you can get work anywhere and walk around Sevenna without being detained. According to the falsified records, you have a bond family here in Sevenna.”

  “Are they fake, too?”

  “No, the Bradfords are an actual Zunft family that has sympathy for our cause.”

  “I didn’t know there were people like that,” Tamsin said, sliding the envelope open. She read the name on the card and peered up at Gavin. “Emilie Johns. That’s my new name?”

  “Not as lovely as Tamsin Henry,” Gavin said. “But it will do in a pinch.”

  “Thank you,” Tamsin said. “What do I owe you?”

  “Write an article for the JFA Bulletin,” Gavin said. “If you’re interested.”

  “Sure, but I think I should do more than that,” Tamsin said.

  “I’ll let you know if I think of something,” Gavin said, but Tamsin knew he wouldn’t.

  She smiled at him, and he made his way to the door. As he was about to leave, she called out: “What does ‘JFA’ stand for in JFA Bulletin?”

  “Justice for all,” he said, grinning at her. She felt her heart leap. “Goodbye, Emilie. No, that doesn’t quite fit you. Emmy? Emmy-lee? I know, Em!”

  “You can call me Tamsin,” she said, pretending to be cross.

  “Angry Em!” Gavin joked. “It’s the perfect byline for such a docile thing as yourself.”

  She hurled the wet dishrag at him, but he ducked through the doorway just in time. She could hear him chuckling as he went out the gate.

  “Who can jest in times like these?” Tamsin asked the huge stack of dishes. She remembered her mother saying the very same thing on several occasions. Once, shortly after their father had left to work in Aeren, she and her sisters had been tickling one another, giggling and rolling on the hardwood floor. Her mother’s comment had immediately ended the fun. After Michael left for Sevenna, Anna’s personality changed. She began to work all the time and expected the same from her daughters. Tamsin missed her mother’s smile from the days before their family came apart.

  “I sound like her,” Tamsin told the dishes. “And we can’t have that.”

  Tamsin rolled up her sleeves and began to work. But as she did, she sang an Aeren tune and thought about what she would write for Gavin.

  10

  HYWEL KIDNAPPED BY COTTAGER EXTREMISTS!

  In shocking news, it was revealed that Toulson Hywel has been kidnapped by cottager extremists on Norde. Chief Administrator Shore announced that an investigation was in progress and there was every reason to believe that Hywel was still alive.

  Chief Administrator Shore had this to say: “We received demands from the kidnappers last night. They are asking for substantial funds and a shipment of weapons. We will not be threatened by extremists, but every effort is underway to bring Hywel safely home.”

  Zunft Officer John Sanneral, who is in charge of the investigation, said there is evidence that Hywel was snatched on his way to Norde the night before the August Rising and has been in the clutches of the cottagers ever since.

  —Zunft Chronicle, Morning Edition, September 4

  “How did the Zunft overcome superstition?”

  Professor Eugene Rannigan’s question rang through the lecture hall and was met with resounding silence. The professor scanned the lecture hall from the stage and gave his new students a patient smile.

  “What talkative lads,” Rannigan said. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

  Rannigan was an energetic junior professor who was a favorite among the students. He taught the History of the Zunft, which was required for all first-year students. The only other history teacher was a droning old man who was known as the Sleepwalker, and everyone dreaded getting assigned to his class.

  The lecture hall, which was one of the largest on campus, was almost full with most of the students sitting toward the back. The first three rows of wooden chairs were empty, except for the tall blond girl from Tauber Hall. She’d sat alone near the front, opened a leather-bound journal to take notes, and kept her eyes straight ahead as if the rest of the class didn’t exist. Rannigan stood on the edge of the stage and gazed intently at the faces of his new students.

  “History may not seem important to you,” Rannigan said. “You can build a better tomorrow without understanding the past. But the story of the Zunft’s triumph over ignorance and superstition? That’s your story, gentlemen. One that profoundly affects how—and why—you do your work.”

  In a jagged scrawl, Rannigan wrote The Age of Elevation across the top of the blackboard.

  “The Zunft victory in the War for Aeren marks the beginning of this era. The war ended the rule of the cottager clans and heralded the future successes of the Zunft. You have to understand what life was like when the cottagers tyrannized these islands. People lived desperate and miserable lives. The cottagers enforced ignorance. They prevented progress. They encouraged belief in magical events, and this clouded the people’s minds and made them simple and afraid. This was a world without ploughs, needles, or nails, gentlemen. It was a dark age indeed.

  “Today, we are at the cusp of an Innovation Revolution. In recent years, we have seen the advent of horseless carriages, better weapons to keep us safe, and conveniences in our homes. To continue progress, we must have a strong economy. Everyone must do their share and maintain their proper place. A tower without a foundation is nothing but a pile of rubble. The estate system is the foundation of our tower. We are building that tower brick by brick, and at the top is the promise of peace and prosperity for all who have played their part.

  “This year, we will study the beginnings of the estate system and learn about the men who had to forge the Zunft by becoming martyrs to the cause. You will see why your heritage is so important from a historical perspective. You will understand why the Zunft is a cause worth fighting for, although I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that. Given recent events, you have seen what can happen if we are not vigilant against the threat that lurks beneath our feet.

  “You received the reading assignments from the steward last week,” Rannigan said. “I trust you’ve done the reading.”

  Students shifted uncomfortably. Tommy suspected that very few of them had done the reading.

  “Well, we shall see,” Rannigan said, pulling out a sheet of paper from his binder. “Welcome to the question-and-answer session. We will do this periodically to support your personal reading. When I call your name, stand up.”

  The professor ran his finger down the sheet and called out: “Thomas Shore.”

  Tommy took a deep breath. With a last name like his, he was bound to attract attention. He’d done the reading, but he hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of himself in front of the lads. Tommy stood at attention. He fixed his eyes on Professor Rannigan and did not fidget.

  “Relax, Mr. Shore. You’re not going to war,” Rannigan said with a pleasant smile.

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said.

  Rannigan consulted his notes. “What was the Battle of the Hannon?”

  Tommy felt a rush of relief. The reading had covered this, and besides, it was an event that took place less than ten miles from his home. His tutor had taken him to the site of the battle as part of his studies.

  “It was when a small group of landowners led by Alexander Carver defeated cottager bandits who were killing women and children on the coast of Aeren.”

  “Who was Alexander Carver?” Rannigan asked.

  “He is known as the father of the Zunft,” Tommy said.

  “And his name is the origin of the name of your father’s political faction, the Carvers. Isn’t that correct?”

  There was a
ripple of interest among the students. Colston Shore had published a manifesto of his beliefs a few years earlier, but it was never well circulated in the islands. There were only fifty copies ever printed and a large stack of them were in his father’s library in Aeren. As far as Tommy knew, that manifesto was the only place Colston had ever explicitly said where the name Carvers came from.

  “Did you not know that?” Rannigan asked, addressing the entire lecture hall. “Yes, the Carvers are named for our forefather, Alexander Carver, who defeated the bandits at the Hannon. Many consider that moment to be the birth of the Zunft. Any questions?”

  No one raised a hand, and Professor Rannigan nodded for Tommy to sit back down.

  “Good job, Mr. Shore,” Rannigan said, glancing down at his book again. “Let’s see, who’s next? Charlotte Ramsey.”

  The blond girl seemed to shrink into her seat for a moment. Then she stood up and the lecture hall became unnaturally silent.

  “Did you do the reading?” Rannigan asked. When he was quizzing Tommy, he had sounded easygoing and cheerful. Now his tone was hard, like he was talking to a disobedient child.

  “Yes, sir,” Charlotte replied.

  “Did you understand it?” Rannigan asked.

  Charlotte hesitated and then replied, “Yes, sir.”

  “Why did you pause? Did you read it or not?” Rannigan asked.

  “Yes, sir. I read it and understood it.” There were titters among the students behind her. Tommy could see the side of her face and at the sound of laughter, her cheeks flushed red.

  “Are you sure? There was some complicated material there.”

  “Yes, sir.” This time, she didn’t hesitate.

  “Who was the leader of the bandits at the Battle of Hannon?” Rannigan asked.

  Tommy thought back to the reading. He didn’t remember it saying anything about the opposing leader. He’d wondered how the bandits had amassed such a large force, but the reading hadn’t explained that either. After a long uncomfortable silence, Rannigan shook his head in disgust and threw out another question to Charlotte.