The August 5

by Jenna Helland

  “What happened?” Dennett asked. “Did your mother shag a cottager, and he came out?”

  “How dare you—” Tommy began, but Bern clamped his hand on Tommy’s forearm. His fingernails were like claws digging into his skin, and Tommy closed his mouth. Bern didn’t even try to defend their mother and Tommy hated him for that.

  Dennett bent down and picked up the rock. He moved to throw it again, this time making a dramatic show of it. He pulled his arm back in slow-motion as if taunting Tommy to try to stop him again. Tommy shook off his brother’s arm, lunged forward, and caught Dennett’s arm. Dennett dropped the rock, but Kristoph clobbered Tommy in the back of the head. Tommy stumbled around, unsteady on his feet. Before he regained his balance, Kristoph swung at him again, this time hitting him in the face. Tommy felt the skin of his cheek swell up, and his field of vision narrowed. His eye felt like it was burning on the inside.

  “I’m not going to fight you,” Tommy said, holding up his hands. “But it’s stupid to destroy food.”

  Kristoph and Dennett moved to attack him again, but Bern grabbed Tommy’s arm and dragged him away.

  “I’m taking him back to Seminary,” Bern said. “You two have your fun.”

  “Don’t bring him next time, Shore,” Dennett yelled.

  Bern practically threw Tommy over the wall. Standing on the street, Tommy could hear the sound of shattering glass as the lads destroyed the greenhouses.

  “That was crap, Tommy,” Bern said. “They come from important families. Find them tomorrow and make nice.”

  “No way,” Tommy said.

  “You’re destroying your future in the Zunft,” Bern said. “You’ll be an outcast.”

  “I don’t care anymore,” Tommy said.

  “Are you insane?” Bern said. “You might be in the Zunft Chamber with those two someday. You might work with them in the bureau or in the army, or whatever losers like you manage to do. Stop trying to fight what should be easy for you!”

  “Maybe it shouldn’t be so easy for you,” Tommy said.

  “You realize that this hurts Father,” Bern said. “You’re being incredibly selfish.”

  “You’re calling me selfish?” Tommy asked. “Did you think about the people who depend on that garden for food? People like Mrs. Trueblood?”

  “It’s people like Mrs. Trueblood who are trying to take our land and kill us in the streets,” Bern said.

  “People are so hungry they’re rioting,” Tommy said. Images of Mast Square flashed through his mind. That hadn’t been about bread, at least not directly. He wished Bern could have seen the panic and desperation in those people’s eyes.

  “Father is trying to fix that!” Bern shouted. “Everything he does, it’s ultimately because he cares about us, and you’re messing everything up.”

  “They insulted our mother, and you did nothing,” Tommy said. “I’ll never forgive you for that.”

  For the first time, Bern’s bravado faltered. But then he scowled with anger. Expecting to be punched again, Tommy took a step back. Instead, his brother spoke with icy calm.

  “By siding with the cottagers, you’re the one who is betraying her memory, not me,” Bern said. “Now get away from me.”

  “Happily,” Tommy said, and turned to leave.

  “Tommy?” Bern called. “When bad things happen to you from now on, just remember you deserve them all.”

  18

  VANDALISM AT ASH STREET GARDEN

  The greenhouses of East Ash Garden were destroyed in an early-morning act of vandalism. Nova James, the steward of the garden, says that more than thirty-five families receive most of their subsistence from the garden. “I expect the food shortages to be even worse,” James said. “This is utterly senseless, a tragedy for the community.” Ash Street Garden is asking for donations of plate glass. Please contact Nova James if you have information.

  —JFA Bulletin, October 7

  “Happy birthday! Fifty years young!”

  It was Katherine Leahy’s birthday, and the Plough and Sun was packed with well-wishers. The crowd cheered when Brian Leahy put his arm around his wife’s waist and danced her around the table.

  “She hasn’t changed since the day I married her!” Brian called.

  Katherine swatted her husband on the shoulder playfully. Brian gave his wife a bear hug, picked her up, and spun her in a circle. Tamsin held the kitchen door open, and Navid carefully carried in a lopsided two-layer cake with real frosting. Tamsin had traded some fresh vegetables for the sugar, which was impossible to afford at any Zunft markets and unavailable at the bookless shops.

  “Cake for everyone!” Navid called, and people cheered even though there wouldn’t be nearly enough for all the patrons. So the children crowded around, and Tamsin cut slivers while Navid passed them out. Soon the cake was gone, but no one seemed to mind. Tilo Locke and his band set up near the fireplace. Everyone moved the tables out of the way, and even though the dance floor was triple its normal size, it was jammed with dancers.

  Tamsin was about to head back into the kitchen when Gavin sidled up to her. He looked so sheepish that she wanted to laugh.

  “What’s on your mind, sir?” she jested although she had a pretty good idea.

  “Do you want to dance?” he asked.

  “I need to get to the dishes,” she said.

  “No, you don’t,” Katherine said. She had appeared out of nowhere at Tamsin’s elbow. “Go dance. Have fun.”

  “What do you think, Miss Henry?” Gavin asked.

  “Why not?” she said. He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. The band was playing a slow dance, and Gavin put his hands awkwardly on Tamsin’s waist. She hadn’t seen him since she’d visited her father in the compound and she wasn’t going to tell him that Michael Henry had called him a traitor. But she was afraid he would want to talk about it. Sure enough, when he opened his mouth, he asked, “How was the visit with your father?”

  Tamsin chewed on her lip. Gavin was tall enough that he couldn’t see her face unless she lifted her chin. So she stared at the buttons on his spotless white shirt instead. They were barely moving to the music, and Tamsin could feel the eyes of the dancers watching them curiously.

  “Tamsin?” Gavin asked. “Are you all right?”

  Take up my sword, daughter. Don’t let me die in vain.

  She was saved from answering when the song ended and the band began a quick jig. The dancers formed into small circle dances and there wasn’t any more time for talking. The jigs continued for a good half hour, and Tamsin forgot about everything else but the dance. After a particularly fast song, everyone was out of breath and the set ended. She glanced at Gavin, and his eyes were on her, too. She hadn’t expected her father’s feelings about Gavin to affect her, but she realized she felt different about her friend. Michael Henry hated him. How was she supposed to feel?

  Before he could say anything to her, the sound of a lone pennywhistle quieted everyone in the pub. It was the beginning of a familiar tune that dated back to the War for Aeren. Tilo began to sing in his beautiful tenor voice. He sang about green fields stained with the blood of the innocents, and the heart of Aeren, broken in battle. Everyone stopped dancing and stood in reverent silence.

  When the song ended, Mr. Leahy climbed up on a bar stool. The top of his head brushed the rafters. He raised his glass, and everyone looked at him expectantly.

  “To the ones we lost,” he said somberly, and everyone in the room raised a glass or a hand in memory of the fallen.

  “To the ones they have taken from us,” he said. “To Brandon and Kevin.”

  “Brandon and Kevin,” echoed the crowd.

  “To Jack and Hector,” Mr. Leahy said, raising his voice even louder.

  “Jack and Hector,” the crowd echoed again.

  Across the dance floor, Tamsin glimpsed Hector’s young wife, Adele, with her arms tight around their seven-year-old daughter, Marina. Tears were streaming down both their faces.

&n
bsp; “To Michael Henry!” Mr. Leahy shouted.

  The crowd exploded with whistles and shouts of support, but all Tamsin could think about was the fury in her father’s eyes when he told her to take up his sword. She had the urge to flee the crowd, but at the same time she didn’t want to be alone. Tamsin grabbed Gavin’s hand and pulled him out of the pub, through the kitchen and outside, into the back alley. She took deep breaths of cold air while Gavin watched her with concern and confusion. They weren’t wearing their coats, and Tamsin was shivering uncontrollably. She regretted bringing Gavin with her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him anymore.

  “Is it really so late?” Tamsin asked. It was a cloudless, windy night. The air felt cleaner than usual and the stars were almost as bright as they were on Aeren. “I think dancing with you is the first time I’ve lost track of time since I came here.”

  “Are you angry with me?” Gavin asked. “It seems like since you went to see your father, you’ve been avoiding me.”

  “I haven’t written the treatise for you yet,” Tamsin lied. “I feel badly for letting you down.”

  “Oh,” Gavin said. She could tell that he didn’t believe her. They shivered without speaking for a while, and she thought he’d let the issue go. But then he spoke again. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense, Tamsin. I’d rather you be honest with me than tell me something you think I want to hear.”

  Tamsin couldn’t bring herself to tell Gavin that her father hated him. Or how her father expected her to take up his mantle and crush the Zunft in his name. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about Michael Henry and how the weeks in prison had grayed his hair and softened his jawline. Instead, she decided to share an idea that had been fermenting in her mind since the night she met Tommy Shore.

  “I met someone at the Estoria the other night,” Tamsin said. “I met Tommy Shore, one of the sons of the chief administrator himself.”

  Gavin didn’t say anything for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained. “I don’t think you should work there anymore,” he said. “I’m sorry to be so direct, but I don’t.”

  “He doesn’t know who I am, but he knows I’m from Aeren,” Tamsin said. “I told him to come here sometime, asking for Emilie.”

  “Why would you do that?” Gavin sounded incredulous.

  Tamsin took a deep breath. She knew what she was about to say would sound atrocious to Gavin. It had started as a germ of an idea after she met Tommy, but it had grown hour by hour until she could hardly think about anything else. She had run through scores of scenarios in her mind, but none of them could help her father. Then she formulated this plan, and though it was cold-hearted, she believed that it was the only thing that would work.

  “We could make a trade,” Tamsin said. “Him for Papa. And Jack and the others.”

  Gavin took a step backward and stared at her, and his silence was terrible. Part of her wanted to take the words back and reverse time. Another part of her felt defiant and proud that she’d shocked him. She knew that her father would be proud of her. It was a plan he would appreciate even if Gavin did not.

  “You’re talking about a human being, Tamsin,” he said. “It doesn’t matter who his father is. He has the same rights as every other human being.”

  “We wouldn’t have to hurt him!” Tamsin said. Unless they hurt Papa.

  “But you’d consider it?” Gavin asked. “It’s something you would actually entertain?”

  “Nothing else will save Papa,” Tamsin said. “They’re lying about his involvement with Hywel, and he’s going to die for it.”

  “He’s facing a charge of treason for the August Rising,” Gavin said.

  “We rose up against an unjust system!” Tamsin cried. “We rose up against people who treat us like slaves!”

  “I want nothing to do with violence,” Gavin said. “I want change as much as you do, but I will not be a part of this.”

  “Why do we always have to be weak?” Tamsin demanded. “Why not do the things that will make us as strong as them?”

  “You’re putting your life at risk,” Gavin said. “You’re putting your mother and sisters at risk even talking about this. Is this who you want to be?”

  “You tell me another way to be then,” she said. “A way that isn’t powerless. A way that actually changes things!”

  “I never said I had all the answers,” Gavin said. “But I know that subjecting another human to violence is wrong. I would rather die than hurt someone else.”

  “You only say that because you’re not in jail, too,” Tamsin said. She was so angry she could barely see straight. “You were too much of a coward to put your life on the line.”

  “That’s how you really feel, isn’t it?” he said sadly.

  If she wanted any friendship with this man, Tamsin knew she should take back what she had said. But somehow she meant it. Maybe he was a coward to let men like her father face the firing squad while he printed his books and bulletins. After an intolerable silence, Gavin walked away, and she let him.

  19

  THE ZUNFT CHAMBER TO BE REFURBISHED

  Chief Administrator Shore has commissioned a renovation of the Zunft Chamber. His aide says substantial funds have been set aside to recreate a replica of the Chamber room when it was first established following the War for Aeren nearly a century ago. His plans include commissioning an artist to refurbish the mural The Victory at the Hannon, which commemorates the Battle of Aeren.

  —Zunft Chronicle, October 8

  The appearance of the Zunft Chamber had changed drastically since the day Colston Shore took power in August. The two tiers of chairs that faced each other were gone. Now there was only one platform with chairs against the north wall. The chief administrator’s podium had been raised to a height above the chairs, and the adjudicator’s seat had been moved off to the side. As before, the loft only had a smattering of people viewing the proceedings. Gavin recognized the same official journalist who wrote for the Zunft Chronicle. He was sitting in the same chair and acted as bored he had last time.

  The old man, Kaplan, appeared to be snoozing in the adjudicator’s chair. Colston Shore stood at the podium before the Zunftmen who had assembled for Chamber. From the loft, Gavin could only see the back of Shore, but he had a clear view of the faces of the Zunftmen as they watched their chief administrator with rapt attention. Gavin sensed something else, too. Many of the men looked tense and worried, even men who had chosen to align with Colston after the August Rising. In the last session, Colston Shore’s new supporters acted like cocky victors. Now that arrogance was nowhere to be seen. Even Anderson was pale and withdrawn as he sat silently waiting for the session to begin.

  “After a brief hiatus, the Chamber is back in session,” Shore said. Kaplan opened his eyes and sat up straighter. The opening rituals were supposed to be his job. Almost immediately, his eyes drooped and he slumped back in his chair and swiped his arm across his face. Gavin wasn’t sure if he was trying to raise his hand or wipe drool from his mouth. It was such an awkward motion that Gavin wondered if the old man might be drunk or drugged.

  “The investigation of the disappearance of Mr. Hywel is progressing,” Shore said. “As we speak, Zunft officers are closing in on a compound in Norde where we believe he is being held. If our information proves true, we hope to have him returned to the capital within days.”

  There was a tepid round of applause among the Zunftmen, and Colston continued. “I’m pleased to announce that the revenue resulting from the end of the bread subsidy—”

  Richard Shieldman stood up abruptly. He stamped his foot on the riser, a reverberating noise that halted Shore’s speech. The men around him seemed astonished at his affront.

  “With all due respect, sir,” Shieldman said. “But you are not following proper procedures of the Chamber. Adjudicator Kaplan should be directing the process. I have properly submitted a petition, which must be addressed under the hallowed rules of the Chamber. Under Statute 289.3b, I am
calling into question the passage of the Food Purveyance Act…”

  As Shieldman was speaking, Shore motioned to the guard at the door. Briskly, the guard opened the door and four armed soldiers marched in. The slam of the door and the thud of their boots drowned out Shieldman’s voice. People glanced around in confusion, and someone shouted, “Kaplan!” But the old man merely opened his eyes a fraction and let them fall again. The guards stopped at the edge of the riser, near where Shieldman was standing. He tried to keep speaking, but when the guards closed in, his voice faded away.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Shieldman asked Colston.

  “A loyal Zunftman brought your recent activities to our attention,” Colston said. “We conducted an investigation and found you guilty of treason.”

  At the word treason, there was a shocked silence in the Chamber. Gavin saw several people glance toward the revolvers strapped on the soldiers’ belts.

  “You are under arrest, Mr. Shieldman,” Shore said.

  “I have the right to face my accuser,” Shieldman said.

  “You have the right,” Shore repeated. “Very well. Mr. Anderson?”

  Karl Anderson stood up abruptly. Anderson had been a supporter of Hywel prior to the August Rising, but had quickly become a vocal supporter of the Carvers. Gavin had written an article about him, calling him a “plump sheep in the company of wolves.” At the thought of the articles he had written, Gavin was struck by fear. He realized how much risk he’d put himself in by being here. Maybe no one noticed him, but he felt as if a beam of light were shining down on his head. Gavin suddenly realized that he hadn’t brought a false identification card. If he were stopped, he would have to hand them a document with his real name. Gavin cursed himself for his stupidity. He’d barely slept after his argument with Tamsin and his tiredness had made him careless.

  “During the debate over the Open Education Act, Shieldman approached me about voting for the act,” Anderson said. “He told me that there would be financial reward should I vote for the act and that he himself had received payment from cottager elements.”