The August 5

by Jenna Helland

  “Why?”

  “Because you know what it’s like to have your father be the chief administrator,” Tommy said.

  “Hywel is not my father,” Ellie said. “But that aside, you can tell me whatever you want. It’s safe with me.”

  “I was in Port Kenney during the Rising,” Tommy said. “Someone had blown up a Zunft warehouse, and soldiers chased me into the forest. I got away from them, but I found this girl lying under a tree. She had burns, as if she’d been in the fire.”

  “A cottager?” Ellie asked. “Do you think she might have been one of the rebels?”

  “I don’t know,” Tommy said.

  “What did you do?” Ellie asked.

  “I took her to the nearest cottage and left her on the porch,” Tommy said. “Soldiers were patrolling the woods, and I was scared we’d get caught.”

  “Did you ever find out who she was?” Ellie asked.

  “No, but I worry about her sometimes,” Tommy confessed. “You know what scares me? That I didn’t do enough or didn’t do the right thing.”

  “What would your father have told you to do?” Ellie asked.

  “Report her to the passing soldiers,” Tommy answered. “Let them figure out what she was doing there.”

  “Where was your father that day?” Ellie asked.

  “At the manor,” Tommy answered.

  “On Aeren? With you and your brother?”

  “Yes. Why?” Tommy asked.

  Ellie picked at a thread on her black skirt. Her leather boots were scuffed and unpolished, and the cuffs of her jacket were frayed. Either she didn’t care about her appearance or she didn’t have enough money to care—either way, Tommy found her all the more endearing.

  “I think you did the right thing,” Ellie said after a moment. “It’s not like you could take her to your manor house with your father there. And if there were patrols in the woods, you didn’t have a lot of time to think your decision through.”

  Tommy felt a strange sense of relief. It felt good to finally tell someone about the cottager girl in the lavender dress. Beside him, Ellie frowned as she peered over his shoulder: “Speaking of patrols,” she said.

  Three Zunft soldiers entered the park and headed down the path in their direction. They weren’t paying any attention to them, but Ellie was obviously uncomfortable.

  “Let’s head back,” she said. “I need to check on Kristin and then go to the hospital to see Charlotte.”

  “Of course.” Tommy understood, but he felt disappointed. When they stood up, she linked arms with him, like they were old friends on an outing. He wondered if the gesture was for the benefit of the soldiers so they would pay less attention to them.

  “Let’s make a pact,” Ellie said as they strolled back down Dawson Street. “That bench is the safe zone where we can talk about whatever we want. We’re going to come back there someday.”

  “I can’t wait,” Tommy said, and he meant it.

  17

  END OF BREAD SUBSIDY CAUSES GRIEF

  The end of the bread subsidy has triggered riots among the hungry populace of South Sevenna. “People are unable to feed their children,” said one shopkeeper who refused to give her name. “I feel their pain, but I can’t afford to give the bread away.”

  —JFA Bulletin, October 6

  Later that night, Tommy sat in the Estoria, a smoky cabaret near the marina. Squeezed between Kristoph and Dennett, Tommy was miserable. The red-light lanterns cast a disturbing glare on the black walls, and the weird shadows distorted people’s faces into creepy masks. The other lads—including Bern—were smoking reets and drinking some sickly sweet wine out of long-stemmed glasses. A fake floral scent hung in the air, and it was making Tommy nauseated. Onstage, performers draped in pink tablecloths warbled in falsetto while the crowd—an odd mix of students, professors, and Zunft officers—laughed uproariously at the bawdy jokes.

  The painted actors finished their tune, bowed, and shuffled off the stage. Another group of lads stumbled onstage wearing wigs and dresses that resembled the traditional garb of cottager girls from Aeren. The jests in the last skit had made Tommy uncomfortable, and he wasn’t interested in hearing them make fun of cottager girls. Tommy stood up abruptly and mumbled something about finding the washroom, but Kristoph grabbed his wrist.

  “Grab me another of these, would you, old boy?” Kristoph said, pushing his glass into Tommy’s hand.

  At the back of the crowded cabaret, there was a smoking lounge with a bar. It was quieter in there, and the tables were only half-full. The server was taking a tray of drinks to a table, so Tommy waited at the gilded bar for her to come back. In the background, he could hear the performers’ mocking tone. There were small brass flamingos placed along the bar, and Tommy picked one up, fiddling with the tiny hinged wing.

  “Can I help you?” a woman asked from behind the bar.

  When Tommy saw her face, he dropped the flamingo. It fell with a thud and pockmarked the shiny wood surface of the bar. The woman’s long red hair was pulled back in a thick braid, but her face was unmistakable. Even in the dim light of the bar, Tommy could see the shadows of the burn marks above the collar of her dress. It was the girl in the lavender dress that he’d seen in the forest the day of the August Rising.

  “You,” he said in disbelief. “I remember you.”

  The girl’s eyes grew wide and she glanced around quickly. Tommy wasn’t sure if she was looking for an escape or if she was afraid that someone would hear them talking. But they were the only two people at the bar.

  “Wait,” Tommy said, leaning forward and talking softly. “I was the one who helped you. I mean, I think I did. I thought the porch would be safer than the forest.”

  The girl had regained her composure. She stared at him, her face expressionless.

  “I’ve been worried that you were all right,” Tommy said. He wasn’t making much sense, but he kept talking because he wanted her to understand. “I didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t leave you out in the storm for the soldiers to find.”

  “Thank you,” she said, but she seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth.

  “No, don’t thank me.” Tommy was feeling flustered. “I wanted to ask … If I did the wrong thing, I’m sorry.”

  She picked up a cloth and began drying a glass, but her eyes continued to scan the room over his shoulder.

  “I’m Thomas. Tommy. And I’m glad to see that you’re all right.”

  “You’re an estate boy, right? There’s only one estate in that area.” The girl knew full well that she was talking to the son of Colston Shore.

  “I didn’t mean to bother you,” Tommy said. He felt embarrassed that she knew who he was. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  He turned to go, but she said, “Emilie.”

  “Excuse me?” he asked.

  “That’s my name,” she said. “And thank you. Really, I mean it. Getting caught would have been a disaster.”

  “That storm was a bad one,” Tommy said. The girl tipped her head quizzically, and he realized she had meant getting caught by the Zunft.

  “Right, getting caught by the storm would have been a disaster,” she said. “Ocean storms are the worst.”

  He got the feeling that she was trying to joke with him, but her face remained humorless. Still, it made him relax a little. At least she didn’t seem mad at him anymore.

  “Remember the deluge last December?” Tommy said. “That was the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

  “The waves were practically lapping at your door,” the girl said. “We could see the flood from the top of the ridge.”

  “And then it started snowing,” Tommy said. “It was the thickest snowfall I’d ever seen. And then thunder that nearly burst my eardrums. It was so surreal.”

  “Typhoon, flood, and blizzard—all in one day,” she said.

  “They say that was the storm of the century,” Tommy said. “I hope it was more like the storm of the millennium.”
/>   Emilie laughed at his joke, but his comment hadn’t been that witty. Tommy wondered if he should let her work, but didn’t relish the idea of going back and sitting with the lads. He waited for her to say something, but she was staring intently at the glass in her hand.

  “Well, I should be getting back,” Tommy said.

  “There’s a pub a few blocks south of the river,” she said. “It’s called the Plough and Sun. You go over Shadow Bridge, take a right at Connell, and go two blocks east.”

  “Is that your local?”

  “You should drop by some Saturday night,” she said. “If you don’t see me, ask for Emilie Johns. Let me buy you dinner as thanks for not leaving me in the woods.”

  “You don’t have to buy me dinner,” Tommy said. “You have to put up with too much, working at a place like this, to spend your coin on me.”

  “If you don’t like this entertainment, why are you here?” she asked.

  “Mocking people doesn’t qualify as entertainment,” Tommy said. “At least not to me.”

  “Well, you’re the first estate boy to say that, I think,” she said.

  “I got dragged here by my brother and his Seminary friends,” Tommy said. “I didn’t know what it would be like or I wouldn’t have come.”

  “Ah,” Emilie said. “Well, the offer for dinner still stands.”

  “Sure,” Tommy said.

  “I’m always there on Saturday nights. Emilie Johns. Don’t forget.”

  “Saturday nights,” Tommy said, feeling a little confused both by the invitation and by her persistence. “But would I be … I mean, would it be all right?”

  “Well, don’t wear a Seminary uniform,” she said. “Or announce your name at the door. But if you act normal, you’ll be fine.”

  “Normal,” Tommy repeated. “I’ll do my best.”

  A Zunft officer appeared at Tommy’s shoulder and rapped impatiently on the bar with his knuckle.

  “If you want to have a seat, I’ll bring you that drink, sir,” she said to Tommy even though he hadn’t ordered anything.

  As he returned to his seat, Tommy ran the conversation through his mind. He couldn’t believe that the girl in the lavender dress was here in Sevenna. Her name was Emilie, and she was all right. He hadn’t done anything wrong that day after all. Maybe he would go to the Plough and Sun some time. Why not? He bet his brother never got an invitation to a cottager pub. If nothing else, he would have a good story to tell Ellie and Kristin.

  When they finally left the cabaret, Tommy sucked in deep breaths of cool air to chase the scent of sweat and smoke from his nose. He couldn’t wait to get back to his room and climb into the clean sheets. But instead of heading north to Seminary, the lads headed toward the Lyone River.

  “Isn’t this the wrong way?’ Tommy said.

  “Isn’t this the wrong way?” Dennett mimicked in a snotty voice.

  “My brother has an acute sense of direction,” Bern said. The other boys, including Bern, had had too much to drink. They stomped down the middle of the deserted road like drunken conquerors.

  “It’s a short detour,” Kristoph assured Tommy.

  “To the cottager district? Why?”

  “No worries, Tommy,” Bern promised heartily. “You’ll like this.”

  Tommy wanted to take off and go back alone, but leaving the group would be considered bad form, and Bern would never let him hear the end of it. They crossed the Seventh Stone Bridge onto the quay. By this hour, the lanterns had burned out and Tommy kept tripping over the ruts in the rough road as he followed the other lads. There was a singed smell to the air, as if there had been a recent fire. Someone had pasted rows of large posters along the wooden fences. They showed pen-and-ink portraits of different men, each with a name: Michael. Brandon. Hector. Jack. Kevin. And then: Save the August Five. Tommy remembered the black-haired woman who spoke in Mast Square. She had said she was the wife of one of the rebel leaders.

  “Kidnappers and murderers,” Kristoph said, looking at the posters. Dennett pulled out his pocket knife and slashed a long cut through the faces of the men on the posters as he walked. Tommy glanced around nervously. He really hoped they wouldn’t run into any cottagers. Bern slowed down a little, and Tommy did as well. Soon there was some distance between them and the other boys.

  “This is stupid,” Tommy said. “Let’s go back.”

  “I heard you were with one of the girls from Seminary,” Bern said. “Holding hands on Dawson Street.”

  “We weren’t holding hands,” Tommy said.

  “But you were with one of the girls?” Bern asked. “Seriously, Tommy, where is your sense of self-preservation?”

  “I’m not the one who suggested coming down to the cottager district,” Tommy pointed out.

  “I meant with the lads,” Bern said.

  “Oh, I thought you meant with the cottagers who are going to come out and pound us,” Tommy said. “And it’s none of your business who I spend time with.”

  “Are you serious?” Bern said. “Father is going to kill you if he finds out.”

  “Kill me for walking with a girl?” Tommy said. “Why are the lads being so disrespectful to them anyway? Aren’t we supposed to protect the daughters of the Zunft? I seem to remember Father saying that.”

  “It wasn’t even one of the cute blondes, was it?” Bern asked. “It was that scrawny dark one with the braid.”

  Dennett had stopped in front of the wooden fence to inspect a poster. It showed skeletons wearing flat caps shuffling into a factory shaped like a fanged mouth. Clouds of black smoke billowed out of smokestacks in the background and formed the words: The Great Devourer. Tommy pressed his fingertip against the poster. The paste was still damp.

  “The Great Devourer,” Dennett scoffed. “Such idiots.”

  “There were more attacks in the Norde last week,” Kristoph said. “They hit another guard station. Stole all their weapons.”

  “I heard they killed a farmer and his young sons,” Dennett said. “Burned down his house and stole all his animals.”

  “My mother’s family has lived in the northlands for generations,” Kristoph said. “It’s gotten so bad they have to bar the doors at night or the cottagers will kill them in their sleep.”

  “Kidnapping Hywel has gotten them nowhere,” Bern said. “They thought it would bring them all this power. But now they’re desperate and on the defensive. My father has them on the run.”

  “Well, maybe he could move a little faster,” Kristoph said. “They should all be rounded up, like stray dogs.”

  “Do you think Hywel is still alive?” Tommy asked.

  “Probably not for much longer,” Kristoph replied. “They’ll dump his body in some alley in Stokkur.”

  “Then they’ll have no power and no options,” Bern said. “I think they’ll keep him alive awhile longer.”

  A few blocks down the road, they came to a high stone wall. The lads stopped in front of a whitewashed gate secured with a large rusty padlock. While the others talked softly among themselves, Tommy peered at the faded wooden sign above the gate: Ash Street Garden.

  “You’re here to see a garden?” Tommy asked doubtfully.

  “No, we’re here to pay our respects,” Dennett said sarcastically.

  The wall was about six feet high. Dennett gave Kristoph a boost, and he pulled himself up and perched on top of the wall. After a few moments, he motioned for the other boys to follow. Bern and Dennett disappeared on the other side while Tommy waited on the street.

  Soon, Bern’s head reappeared above him. “Get up here, Tommy.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll wait here,” Tommy said.

  “You’re going to get jumped by thugs standing there by yourself,” Bern pointed out. He leaned down and offered his hand. Tommy grabbed it, and Bern hoisted him to the top of the wall.

  “Lose fifty honor points for breaking into a garden,” he told Bern.

  “Nah, it’s gain fifty for not being a pansy coward,” Ber
n replied.

  Tommy hopped off the wall and into the garden. The moon had emerged from behind the clouds, and its pale light illuminated the open ground inside the walls, which was more expansive than he had expected. The high walls enclosed the entire block and there were no structures except greenhouses along one wall. They were dark inside, but in the light of the moon, Tommy could see the lush green growth through the misty panes of glass. It was winter, so the rest of the garden was barren, but the beds had been made in a spiral pattern with circular paths that wound toward a raised tier of earth. An elaborately carved wooden pillar marked the heart of the garden. Tommy wished he could see the garden in the heart of the growing season. It would be breathtaking.

  Near the front gate, Kristoph inspected a vine-covered trellis. He grabbed one support and shook it. Then he pushed against it until the trellis crashed to the ground, splintering the delicate latticework. Nearby, Dennett picked up a rock that had been neatly laid along the edge of the garden bed. Someone had painted the rocks. Tommy could see the faded outlines of childish scrawls.

  As Dennett reached back to throw the rock, Tommy realized what he was going to do. He ran forward, catching Dennett’s arm.

  “It’s a garden,” Tommy said. Dennett shook Tommy’s arm off and moved to throw the rock again. This time, Tommy stepped in front of him.

  “Move!” Dennett shouted.

  “Seriously, these people don’t have as much food as we do,” Tommy said.

  “Back off, Tommy,” Bern called.

  Dennett dropped his rock. Tommy glanced toward his brother and the next thing he knew, Dennett charged at him. Tommy was caught off guard, and Dennett easily shoved him to the ground. Tommy tried to get up, but Dennett kicked him in the ribs. Shocked by the pain in his ribs, Tommy doubled up on the ground and Dennett moved to kick him again.

  “Easy,” Bern said. He stepped in front of Tommy to block Dennett’s next strike. “We’re all friends here.”

  Tommy struggled to his feet, a sharp pain in his side. Kristoph left the destroyed trellis on the ground and stood beside Dennett.

  “I don’t like your brother, Bern,” Kristoph said.