by C. R. Grey
“Your father sent you a potent piece of machinery, which could do significant damage if used incorrectly. It has no place in a student’s possession.”
Tremelo turned the orb carefully, studying it. The metal seemed to tingle and grow warm against his fingers. Mr. Clarke, whoever he was, was tinkering with some dangerous energies.
“I’ll need to take a close look at this before returning it by post to your father.” He wrapped the orb up hastily and placed it in his blazer pocket. “Miss Colubride, Mr. Clarke. Be more careful in the future—this is no plaything.”
He walked quickly away from the bright hallway windows, and reached his cluttered office with no trouble. Fennel waited patiently on his desk.
Several minutes passed before the door opened and Tori entered in a gust of adrenaline.
“Ants alive, he’s upset!” she said.
“Let’s just hope he doesn’t contact his father right away,” said Tremelo. “We’ll need time to test this in the Halcyon.”
“I don’t think he will tell,” said Tori. She lowered her voice and cast a sidelong glance at the workshop door. “As soon as you left, he went all shaky and said if anyone knew the orb was here, the Dominae would come after it.”
“He might be right,” said Tremelo.
“He’s worried about his dad,” she said. “Lyle’s last letter to him was returned unopened. Lyle’s afraid the Dominae found out that Mr. Clarke was sending prototypes to him. If we’re found with this thing, promise me we won’t tell anyone where we got it.”
Tremelo placed a hand on her shoulder. The verve he’d witnessed in her earlier had given way to genuine worry for her friend.
“I promise,” he said.
Tremelo unwrapped the orb. As he picked it up, the skin along his arm began to tingle, and his hair stood on end as he carefully inserted the orb into the Halcyon. The orb’s potency struck him immediately: just touching it, he felt his senses heighten, and as soon as he threw the switch on the side of the Halcyon, the gramophone erupted in strains of beautiful music. Pure energy poured out of the machine.
“It’s ingenious,” Tremelo murmured, losing himself in the pull of new technology. “Kinetic electro-current contained within a highly conductive, yet virtually indestructible metal…”
“Tremelo,” Tori said, folding her arms across her chest. “Slow down and explain.”
He steeled himself and tried again.
“This metal is special. It’s similar to silver, but with even stronger properties…I’ve never seen it,” he began. “This little orb amplifies energy, even the bond itself. Amazing…and frightening.”
Tori tilted her head and listened solemnly. Fennel sat on the desk, studying the machine along with them.
“My machine, in its original form, amplifies the energy of the Animas bond. When Fennel and I are connected to the machine, our souls communicate.”
Tremelo smiled, thinking of the otherworldly music that it created. Calming and beautiful—just as the bond was supposed to be.
“That energy leaves the machine as a wavelength you can hear, like music. It has the power to strengthen the bond, just the way Gwen’s harmonica playing did before. But a machine fed by Dominance would create the opposite effect, spreading discord and mayhem.
“We saw what Sucrette was able to do with no assistance—it must have been twenty different animals she was controlling in the woods last fall. With something like this machine, a Dominae as strong as Sucrette could control fifty times that many, a hundred times, even! And we can be sure that Viviana is extremely powerful.”
“What would she want to do with that many animals at once?” asked Tori.
“I don’t know,” said Tremelo. “I don’t even want to imagine. But if the orb can be used to strengthen the bond as well as warp it, we can use our Halcyon to counteract Viviana’s machine. I just hope that this prototype is as forceful as the one she’ll have at the Fair.”
Tori shrieked, and Tremelo jumped in his chair. He looked up from the Halcyon to see her gaping at the office window.
“It’s one of those things,” she said, leaving her chair and backing away to the far wall of the office. “One of those metal birds of hers—it’s spying on us!”
Tremelo marched to the window, and immediately recoiled. Tori was right—a massive metal crow, easily four times the size of a real bird, perched ominously on the tree branch outside. It stared straight at Tremelo with cold black eyes. Something in the inner mechanics of the bird clicked and whirred, and its metal beak squeaked open.
Tremelo! the bird said, in a familiar voice.
It’s me; it’s Bailey! If this reaches you, then I actually put this thing back together right!
Tremelo leaned forward on the window ledge for support; the sound of Bailey’s voice from this fearful contraption floored him. He was relieved, but he feared what would come next. Tori crept forward, and together they stood, listening.
We’ve been kidnapped, Hal and I, by the Jackal—he’s got us in a compound in the Dust Plains, but he plans to take us to the Progress Fair.
Tori gasped, but remained quiet.
I can’t talk long. But I needed to warn you—he’ll be at the Fair, ready to start a war. It’s time to act. You have to find the Velyn and convince Eneas to help you. Maybe if they know that the Jackal will be there, they’ll be willing to fight. Please, find them, and the RATS too—bring everyone you can!
The machine stopped its whirring. Its eyes, which had been flickering red while the recorded voice had played, died like the last embers of a fire.
“The Jackal,” breathed Tori. “I thought he was dead!”
Tremelo shook his head. Anger burbled inside him.
“Parliament imprisoned him in the Dust Plains,” he said. “But it was only a matter of time before he gained influence out there, with so many outlaws who crave chaos instead of order.”
“What can we do?” Tori asked. “We can’t stop Viviana’s machine if we have to fight the Dominae and the Jackal to do it. We’d need an army!”
Tremelo turned back to the desk. The Fair would take place the following Saturday. Time was slipping away too quickly.
“Bailey’s right about the Velyn. If the Jackal will be there, they might return and fight with us,” he said. “But they’re far out in the Peaks. I don’t know how I’d get word to them.” He put his hand to his forehead, and tried to wish away the urge to retreat to his quarters, and into a pint of rootwort rum.
Tori sidled up to him.
“We couldn’t get word to them by rigi or cable in time.” She looked up at him with a hopeful smile on her face. “But Bailey didn’t just send you a message. He sent you the perfect way to reach your army.”
THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY BROUGHT a blanket of heavy clouds with its arrival, casting a pallid glow over the Gray City. Just north of the capital, the Progress Fair bustled. Canvas tents lined the open field, each one housing a different tinkerer’s inventions. At the far end of the space, the Scavage pitch had been cultivated with imported plants and shrubs from the southernmost tip of the kingdom, transforming it into a lush terrain. And between the exhibition tents and the field was a raised stage, where Viviana would make her speech to the crowds gathered in the stands that afternoon.
Citizens from all corners of Aldermere passed between vendors’ tents, and in the corridors, children wearing paper crowns and collars made of garlands played tag with animals and munched happily on roasted seeds and candied apples. Outside one giant pavilion, a sign invited patrons in to SEE THE WONDERS OF THE FUTURE, while a scale model of an updated rigimotive engine looped on a track in and out of the tent’s entrance.
Tremelo paced among the booths, studying each odd invention for any sign of Viviana’s Reckoning machine, in case it was hidden in the crowd. But all he observed in the exhibition tents were too many automated knife sharpeners and one complicated electro-current device that would make a bed.
At the end of the row of tents
was the area where the Science Competition would take place. Students stood proudly behind several tables showcasing their work. Among them was Tori with the Halcyon.
“Feeling confident, Miss Colubride?” Tremelo asked as he returned to the tables.
“Oh, yes, sir,” said Tori, smiling widely for the benefit of the students and teachers gathered around the display area. “I think I’ve definitely got a winner here.”
As it had for several weeks, the Halcyon appeared to be an elaborate music box, with gramophone horns reaching up from a square encasement. The orb—the final piece—was safe in Tremelo’s coat pocket. He patted Tori on the shoulder and retreated behind the display area, where his motorbuggy was parked. He’d volunteered to chaperone some of the more delicate student competition entries up to the Gray from Fairmount, which allowed him to bring along a trunk that could hold any number of useful weaponry. He’d also brought Bert, who was napping on the passenger seat.
Tremelo’s spot was barely visible from the central stage. Viviana would be addressing the crowd in an hour. Only an hour to find Bailey, locate the Reckoning machine, and counteract its effects with their Halcyon.
A mechanical bird caw sounded over the hubbub of the fairgoers, and a flank of Dominae guards, all dressed in gray uniforms, marched down the main thoroughfare between the tents. Three Clamoribus birds perched on angled staffs held aloft by guards leading the march. Behind the solemn guards, a welcoming smile drawn wide across her all-too-familiar face, was Viviana. Tremelo took a deep, calming breath, which did not, in fact, calm him at all. Viviana was headed directly toward the Science Competition tables.
“Mr. Loren!” called a cheery voice. Jerri, Shonfield’s assistant, approached him. His customary clipboard was held closely to his chest, and his brass spectacles were slightly askew on his angular nose. “Are you mentoring any of our entrants in today’s competition?” he asked.
“Just observing,” Tremelo said. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to keep one eye on Viviana.
“Ah, yes,” murmured Jerri, following his gaze. “Commanding, isn’t she?”
“Hmm,” hummed Tremelo, hardly listening.
Jerri waved—Ms. Shonfield was hustling over, squeezing her way through the mass of citizens and students jostling to get a look at Viviana.
“Here we are, Jerri,” she said. “Viviana and the judges are coming ’round. Who’s first on the list to present?”
Jerri consulted his clipboard.
“Colubride, Victoria.”
“Tori? Now?” Tremelo asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the procession surrounding Viviana draw closer to the students’ tables.
“Certainly,” said Jerri. “Best to start off strong when the quality’s watching!” He cocked his head toward the oncoming Dominae, and followed Shonfield to Tori’s table. Tremelo stayed close, trying to hide his shaking hands in his pockets. An older gentleman with a white goatee and a woman wearing a slightly askew purple cap approached from Viviana’s party: the judges. As they, along with Shonfield and Jerri, admired the Halcyon, a worried Tremelo caught Tori’s eye. To his surprise, she winked.
“The Halcyon plays randomly generated musical notes, depending on the listener’s Animas, and the strength of their connection with their kin,” said Tori. She’d expertly rehearsed what to say.
“How lovely,” Shonfield said, eyeing the two sour-faced judges. “Could we hear a demonstration?”
“Of course!” Tori laid her beaded bag on the tabletop and two black snakes emerged. They nosed around the base of the Halcyon, then slid into a niche in the side of the machine. Here, where the interior metal connected to a series of sensitive wires, the snakes curled into sleek spirals. Tori fastened a metal cuff around her wrist. The Halcyon began to emit strains of music—in Tori’s case, the chords were just slightly off-tone, but beautiful, almost mischievous. Tremelo smiled. The crowd in front of the tables parted, and he saw Viviana. Her eyes darted as though she was looking for the source of the strange sound. Then she placed a hand on her temple to shield her eyes, shook her head slightly, and walked on. Tremelo breathed out a gust of air that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in.
“Oof,” exhaled Ms. Shonfield, as the judges moved to the next table. “Enough pressure for you, Miss Colubride? You did very well. I daresay they were fairly impressed.”
“Thanks,” said Tori, a little too nonchalantly. “But I had a little help.” She placed her hand palm up on the table, and Shonfield laughed as the two black snakes left the machine and found their way back into Tori’s bag.
“Yes, I see!” Shonfield smiled and moved to the next entry.
“Well done,” Tremelo said to Tori, as soon as Shonfield and Jerri were out of earshot.
“All that fuss, and Viviana hardly even looked,” said Tori, sounding almost disappointed.
“Just wait,” said Tremelo. Once the orb was in place, he was sure they’d attract her attention.
They lifted the Halcyon off the table and carried it behind the row of canvas tents to Tremelo’s motorcar. Tremelo carefully set Lyle’s orb in the nest they’d made for it inside the Halcyon’s frame.
“Let’s try it,” Tori said. “Where’s Fennel?” She nearly had to shout over the noise of the bustling fair.
Tremelo looked around for his kin. He’d sent Fennel to find the RATS, with a message for both Digby Barnes and Gwen. He had not heard from Gwen since she left Fairmount, and the RATS were impossible to find, even for him. In the days since he’d sent the Clamoribus into the mountains in search of the Velyn, he’d gotten no word in return. He hadn’t admitted as much to Tori, but he was worried help would not come.
“Tremelo—look!” Tori said. She pointed at the causeway mobbed with fairgoers—among them was the missing teacher, Dr. Graves. Half his face was hidden behind his bundled scarf, and he stood alone to the side of a tent bearing an advertisement for MADAME VICTROLA’S GENUINE SNAIL-SLIME FACE CREAM, looking about as comfortable as a hairless cat in a snowstorm. He snuck glances down the long alley of tents like he was expecting someone.
“Do you think he’s looking for Bailey?” Tori asked.
“The sneaking cockroach,” spat Tremelo. “Stay here.” His blood boiled at the sight of Graves—he was the reason Bailey had left Fairmount and run straight into the clutches of the Jackal. Tremelo cursed himself again for not being there when the boy needed him.
Tremelo wove through the crowd. Barreling into the causeway, he was on Graves before the hook-nosed man had a chance to react. Tremelo grabbed him by the scarf and pulled him under the spectator stands.
“What are you doing here?” Tremelo snarled once they were out of sight. He backed Graves against a wooden post. “Who are you working for?”
“Madman! Let go of me, you don’t have the slightest clue—” Graves sputtered, trying to pry off Tremelo’s hands. Tremelo only held on tighter. Tori appeared behind him, a little out of breath. Alongside her trotted Fennel, tail swishing, back from her trek into the Gudgeons.
“Where’s Bailey? Are you working with the Dominae or the Jackal?” Tremelo asked Graves.
Graves’s jaw fell open in shock, and then his brows twisted downward angrily.
“The Jackal? You must be insane. Never mind, I know you’re insane.”
Tremelo wrenched Graves away from the post, and then slammed the little man back again. Fennel yipped. Graves cried out and put up his hands in protest.
“Tell me what you know about Bailey, or so help me—”
“Get off me!” Graves said, shirking away from Tremelo’s glare. “I’m not working with the Dominae!”
“Who, then?” growled Tremelo.
“The RATS, of course!” said Graves.
“What?” said Tremelo. “What do you know about the RATS?”
“I am one of them,” hissed Graves. “From a nest north of the city.”
Tremelo’s hand shook, but he tightened his fist around Graves’s collar.
“Pro
ve it,” he said.
“Barnes was against it—but Merritt Locksman and the northern RATS voted to send me to Fairmount. It was just after the Elder and the girl left to find you. We knew they went looking for something important, and that Viviana had spies there. I was able to keep an eye on you, and suss out Dominae infiltration in the school. We didn’t know which side you’d be on.”
“Which side?” scoffed Tori. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”
Graves regarded her as he might a cricket who had just landed on his sleeve.
“I knew your reputation when I arrived, Tremelo—as well as that of your father, the Loon. But your tinkering was suspicious.…Your experiments correlated with reports we’d received from the Red Hills of Dominae-engineered technology.”
Tremelo let go of Graves’s collar and stepped back in disgust.
“You thought I was tinkering for the Dominae?”
Graves’s face turned redder than before, and he took the opportunity to huffily straighten his scarf and tweed cape.
“Is that really so preposterous? You’ve hardly been involved with our goings-on in the last decade—too busy smoking your pipe! And once I learned the Dominae were watching certain children”—he cast a glance at Tori, who stood behind Tremelo, fuming—“and saw your interest in them, I had to act. That’s when I confronted young Mr. Walker. I only wanted to protect him!”
“Well, you mucked that one up, didn’t you?” snapped Tori. “And now he and Hal have been kidnapped by the Jackal!”
“Nature’s left ear,” snarled Graves. “If that’s true, why wouldn’t you alert the RATS?” He faced Tremelo with an accusing stare.
“The RATS make themselves difficult to find,” said Tremelo, matching Graves’s ire. Tremelo glanced down at Fennel, who sat at his feet, but he did not have to focus long on her to understand that she had not had any luck in the Gudgeons.
“I knew there was something about that boy,” said Graves. “He’s the Animas Tiger, as I suspected—and you allowed him to vanish, at the mercy of who-knows-what!”
“Tremelo! Tori!”