The August 5

by Jenna Helland

  “What was Alexander Carver’s station at the battle?” Rannigan asked.

  The reading hadn’t said anything about that either. Tommy wasn’t even sure what Rannigan meant by station.

  “He was their leader, sir,” Charlotte said.

  Rannigan laughed derisively, and many of the students followed suit. “Yes, Charlotte,” he said. “As Mr. Shore pointed out, he was their leader. Do you know what I mean by station?”

  “No, sir,” she said quietly.

  Rannigan slammed his hands on the podium. “I asked if you understood the reading!” he said loudly, and Charlotte flinched. “And you said yes. Yet here you are, utterly lost, wasting my precious time and the time of these students who are serious about their studies.”

  Tommy was shocked. He hadn’t asked fair questions. Why was he giving her such a hard time? Charlotte bowed her head, and students snickered in the back.

  “Women play a foundational role in the success of the Zunft, of that there is no doubt. It is an important role that must be protected and maintained. A tree must bear fruit for a healthy society. The women of the Zunft are the roots of that tree. What is the role of a tree’s roots? They furnish the tree with what it needs. Everything has its appointed place, and if we alter that, then the tree begins to die.”

  Rannigan glared around the hall. His eyes deliberately avoided Charlotte, even though he was addressing her.

  “Everything has its proper place. You understand that, don’t you, Charlotte? You’re such a smart girl after all.”

  He said girl like he was saying something dirty. Charlotte’s shoulders were hunched and she continued to stare at the floor. Tommy wondered how she had felt this morning as she got ready to come to class. He doubted she had expected this. Tommy’s hand shot up in the air. “Sir?”

  The entire class, even Charlotte, looked at him in surprise. Tears were running down Charlotte’s cheeks. Tommy couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing than crying in the lecture hall, and he thought desperately for a way to divert attention away from her.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Shore,” Rannigan said. “I wasn’t finished!”

  “I was going to say that it’s the same with the cottagers and appointed places. Natural laws…” Tommy trailed off as his classmates stared at him like he was insane.

  “Well, yes,” Rannigan said, obviously unsure how to respond to the son of the chief administrator. “That was the point I was getting to.”

  “The cottagers are trying to cut the tree down!” Tommy said, slamming his fist on the desk and making everyone around him jump. He had no idea what he was doing, and he could see Dennett and Giles staring at him like he was insane. Well, they couldn’t argue with the anti-cottager rhetoric, and he’d distracted them from picking on Charlotte.

  After a moment of silence, Rannigan seemed to warm to the situation. “Mr. Shore has an excellent point. It is your job to be vigilant against transgressions wherever you see them. And sometimes they can be right in front of you.”

  Outside, the bell in the tower began to chime, signaling the end of class. Charlotte, who was still standing, grabbed her notebook and rushed toward the exit before anyone else moved.

  “Miss Ramsey?” Rannigan called when Charlotte reached the door. “A word, if you please?”

  Charlotte froze near the entrance. By now, the other students had filed out of their seats and toward the exit. They passed Charlotte as if she were nothing more than a chair or a hat stand.

  “Don’t forget to do the reading, lads,” Rannigan called. Tommy tried to catch Charlotte’s eye on his way out, but she stared at the floor with her back to Professor Rannigan. Tommy crossed the threshold into the weak morning sunshine. He suddenly imagined what Charlotte might have looked like when she was a little girl, sitting at her mother’s knee while her mother brushed her golden hair and wished all good things for her beautiful daughter.

  11

  COLSTON SHORE, ILLEGITIMATE LEADER?

  In light of the new information regarding the kidnapping of Hywel, the administration of Colston Shore should be called into question. Hywel was unable to attend to his duties at the Chamber because of violence and imprisonment, and yet his faction deserts him and flocks to this questionable leader. What, exactly, did Shore offer them for this treasonous behavior? Until Hywel is safely returned, all acts passed by Colston Shore should be null and void, and the administration of Hywel continue in absentia. Shore’s Ancestral Homes Act is a blatant attempt to deport cottagers from the city and turn them into slaves for the profit of the estate system.

  —Angry Em, JFA Bulletin, September 12

  A soggy newspaper lay in the gutter. It was an illegal cottager paper and like all the others, it would probably disappear quickly. The paper was cheap and the ink smeared, but Tommy could still make out the words of the headline denouncing his father. Hywel had been advocating freedom of the press before he was kidnapped. That was yet another issue that made Tommy’s father hate the former chief administrator. Embarrassed to see his family name in such a state, Tommy ground the paper with his boot until it was a pulpy mess.

  “What are you doing?” Bern asked impatiently.

  “Making father proud,” Tommy muttered, but Bern didn’t hear him over the roar of rover engines. A convoy of army vehicles bumped past them on their way to the Zunft Compound at the edge of the city, and everyone had to wait until they were gone to cross Linden Boulevard. Their street corner was getting crowded with commuters and Tommy studied the men waiting with them. Zunftmen in bowler hats with the Chronicle folded under their arms, heading home to the residential districts in North Sevenna. On the other side of the street, it was probably cottagers about to return home to South Sevenna.

  The boys were headed to a dinner party at their father’s town house a mile northwest of Seminary. Colston had sent a soldier to hand each boy a personal invitation, or a be-there-or-else summons, as Tommy preferred to think of it. They’d been at school nearly a month, and this would be their first visit with Colston. It would also be the farthest that Tommy had ventured into the city since classes began. Mostly, he stayed inside the Seminary walls. The library had the books he needed. The dining hall provided the meals, and anything else he could buy at the grocer’s on the corner of Dawson Street. There was a large newsstand at the north end of Seminary Square near the front gates. Sometimes he went there to buy the Zunft Chronicle. He’d strolled through the shops along Dawson Street and up to the pocket park called Sebastian’s Circle, but mostly he was too busy with classes to explore.

  “What’s your best class?” Tommy asked his brother.

  “Not the History of the Zunft,” Bern said. “The Sleepwalker makes me want to jump off a cliff. You’re so lucky you got Rannigan.”

  Tommy thought about telling Bern how Rannigan had treated Charlotte, but the last rover bumped by and the boys set off for their father’s again. Linden Boulevard was one of the main thoroughfares of the city, and it ran all the way down to the Lyone River across Fourth Stone Bridge and into the cottager district. This was the only section that was paved with cobblestones, but the rovers had tracked mud from the south along the road and by the time they reached the other side, Tommy’s trousers were speckled with mud.

  Once the boys crossed Linden, they had officially left the city center and entered the North District, which was the wealthiest quarter of the city. Most Zunft politicians and high-ranking officers kept their town houses in the North District. It was the only part of the city where the streets were well-maintained. The noise of the city faded as they strolled up the tree-lined avenues. The immaculate town houses and ornamental gardens formed a perimeter that blocked any view of the poor southern districts. From here, it was easy to pretend they didn’t exist.

  “Has Father ever hosted a party before?” Bern asked. “This is going to be hilarious.”

  Hilarious was not the word Tommy would have chosen when describing a formal evening with high-ranking Zunftmen and their bor
ed families.

  “I hate this sort of thing,” Tommy mumbled. His collar was too tight around his neck. He felt like he was choking every time he tried to turn his head.

  “Why?” Bern could never understand Tommy’s aversion to social events.

  “I’ve got things I need to do,” Tommy said. “Don’t you have loads of homework?”

  “Oh, that reminds me—quit refusing the invitations from the lads,” Bern said. “It makes me look bad.”

  “How does it make you look bad?” Tommy asked. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “You’re the son of the chief administrator,” Bern chided him. “You have to do certain things. Act certain ways. And if you don’t, people will notice quicker than if you were a nobody.”

  “I’m busy studying,” Tommy said. He didn’t want to say that his engineering classes were much harder than he had expected and twice as boring as he had feared. “Surely that’s an acceptable thing to do as a Seminary student.”

  “Not if you’re a social outcast,” Bern said. “Father is having to adjust, too. He’s not exactly a social person either, but Hywel hosted regular parties, and now Father feels like it’s expected of him.”

  “Talking to these people makes my brain go numb,” Tommy said.

  “You’re being judgmental,” Bern snapped. “You have no idea if these people will be boring. You haven’t met any of them.”

  “What do you mean?” Tommy said. He was expecting to see the same group of men as always—the stalwart Carvers who had supported Colston for years.

  “After the cottager violence in August, Hywel’s men became part of the Carver faction. Remember how Father warned everyone that a cottager rebellion was coming? The cottager violence gave him credibility. And once the Zunftmen were finally listening to him … well, you know how good he is at striking fear into the hearts of men. Their allegiance is the point of tonight. By attending, people are publicly declaring their loyalty to Father.”

  “No one will actually say that, though, because that would be too obvious,” Tommy said, switching to an obnoxious voice: “I hereby join the Carvers because I am opportunistic and fickle.”

  “Watch your mouth, Tommy,” Bern said. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

  “Now that they know Hywel was kidnapped, why are they still loyal to Father? It’s not Hywel’s fault.”

  “Actually, it is his fault,” Bern scoffed. “Hywel coddled the cottagers, and they turned on him anyway. Father’s in charge now so it’s smarter to stick with the Carvers. The chief administrator gets to assign positions in government, after all.”

  Tommy sighed. So some of the new Carvers were terrified and some were greedy—either way, his father had majority control of the Chamber. They turned on Piper Lane and could see their father’s home at the end of the street. Like most of the town houses in the North District, it was a three-story rectangular building with a flattop roof and a high wooden fence around the property. The town house had recently been painted light blue with white trim around the tall windows. The door was still a glossy black but the golden Shore crest had been replaced by a silver Zunft symbol, which hung above the knocker. Tommy found himself wishing for an explosion or an earthquake, anything to get out of the festivities.

  A servant met them at the door and escorted them to the library. The last time that Tommy had been here, an oversize mahogany desk dominated the room. Now that was gone, and a smaller cherrywood desk was tucked in the corner. One wall had been ripped out and replaced with glass doors that opened onto the garden terrace. Leather-bound tomes filled the floor-to-ceiling bookcases. They had been acquired by Tommy’s maternal grandFather, who was an avid naturalist and mapmaker. Colston kept the books because they were rare and expensive, but Tommy doubted he’d ever read them.

  A uniformed officer and a Zunftman in a tailcoat were seated on two new couches that had been placed in a cozy arrangement in front of the marble fireplace. The two men rose when the boys entered the room, but Colston remained seated. The Zunftman in the tailcoat offered his hand and greeted each of the boys. The officer nodded at them but kept his distance.

  “Right on time,” Colston said approvingly. “Let me introduce you to my guests. This is Officer Sanneral, a Zunft army investigator, and Mr. Anderson, a member of the Zunft Chamber. These are my sons, Bernard and Thomas. They are both students at Seminary this year.”

  Tommy had never seen Mr. Anderson before, but he seemed like the sort of ally you’d want in your camp. A handsome blond man with a boyish face, Mr. Anderson had a booming voice with a distinct Norde accent. In contrast, Sanneral reminded him of a weasel with his pointy chin and small eyes.

  “Pleased to meet you, sirs,” Bern said quickly, and Tommy nodded, not sure whether he was supposed to repeat the sentiment or not.

  The twins remained standing while the men continued with their conversation.

  “The suspects are communicating through a series of couriers,” Sanneral said. “We’re monitoring them, of course, but no one has led us directly to Hywel.”

  “You’re from Norde,” Colston said to Mr. Anderson. “What are your thoughts on the native cottagers?”

  “As you know, it’s quite different up north,” Anderson said. “We don’t have the large agricultural holdings like you have on Aeren. Many of our cottagers have never been associated with an estate at all.”

  “Do you have problems with criminal elements like we do in the city?” Sanneral asked, and Anderson looked thoughtful.

  “A lot of them are hunters who live in the forest,” Anderson said. “They still call themselves Rangers up there and are more savages than criminals.”

  “Savages who would kidnap the chief administrator?” Colston asked.

  “Perhaps,” Anderson said. “Although they don’t seem to pay much attention to our affairs. There aren’t any schools outside of Stokkur, and I doubt any of them can even read.”

  “What language do they speak?” Colston asked.

  “Old Aelin, actually,” Anderson said. “The forests of Norde are the only place where it’s still spoken in the islands, or so I’m told.”

  “It’s hard to imagine that there are such backwaters left,” Sanneral said. “They’ve probably never seen an autolight or a rover.”

  “Most of us on Norde haven’t,” Anderson joked, earning an appreciative laugh from Colston.

  “We’ll do our best to change that, Karl,” Colston said. “We can’t have our brothers in the north shivering in the dark.”

  “Good man,” Anderson said. “At night, it’s darker than a cottager district up there.”

  “Turn on a few lights and we might find Hywel himself cowering in the shadows,” Colston said.

  “What are the latest demands from his kidnappers?” Mr. Anderson asked. “Have we heard anything more?”

  Unexpectedly, Colston smiled into his port glass. “Oh, the kidnappers have made a new demand. They demand the dissolution of the estate system. Prepare to hand over every acre to the fools in their flat caps.”

  There was shocked silence, and then Sanneral and Bern burst out laughing, but Anderson seemed perplexed.

  “Surely this wasn’t planned by someone on Norde,” Anderson said. “I don’t think our cottagers appreciate how our legal system works.”

  “Well, you’re correct,” Colston said approvingly. “I suppose it’s time to give them the news, Sanneral. Despite the early reports, our investigation has revealed that the kidnapping happened here in the capital. Hywel was then transported to Norde and probably taken to a remote location in the wilderness.”

  “There are huge areas of unexplored wilderness in Norde,” Anderson said. “How will you search for him?”

  “The kidnapping was masterminded by a radical who lives here in Sevenna,” Sanneral said. “We’ll compel him to reveal his Norde connections.”

  “It’s these Norde connections who have Hywel?” Anderson asked. “That’s who you’re getting demands
from?”

  “Apparently,” Colston said. “Because the mastermind is in jail.”

  Sanneral snorted and Colston smirked. The two men were enjoying a private joke, but everyone else was obviously confused.

  “You’ve arrested the mastermind?” Anderson asked. “Where did you find him?”

  “He was already in custody,” Sanneral said. “We arrested him at the customs house during the August Rising.”

  “Michael Henry masterminded the kidnapping of Mr. Hywel,” Colston said.

  “He must have planned the kidnapping as a fail-safe in case his rebellion failed,” Sanneral said. “I guess it occurred to him that men with flat caps can’t really fight men with guns.”

  “I know that name,” Anderson said. “He’s that cottager journalist from Aeren who makes all the street speeches.”

  “A rabble-rouser with pretensions to power,” Colston said. “Hywel even took pains to accommodate this bastard. And see where it got him.”

  “Now that you know Henry was involved, what are you going to do?” Anderson asked.

  “Shoot him for treason, eventually,” Colston said. “But first, we need to get Hywel back.”

  “Do you really think he’ll talk?” Anderson asked. “His kind will martyr themselves for any reason.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether he does or not,” Colston said. “I’m ending the bread subsidy in response to the kidnappers’ demands. If the cottagers have a single intelligent man among them, they’ll realize that the rebels are making their lives more difficult. Hopefully, someone will turn on them, and we’ll learn the whereabouts of our colleague.”

  “What about a reward?” Sanneral said. “Do you want to offer a reward for his safe return?”

  “No, I’m not spending a coin if I don’t have to,” Colston said. “They want me to dismantle the estate system. Well, they can bully me all they want. I won’t dismantle anything. I’ll make it stronger—and untouchable—for future generations.”