Palatine First (The Aurelian Archives)

by Courtney Grace Powers

  “In you get, Nivy,” Reece said, waving Nivy into the leather co-pilot’s seat. “We’ve got a tight schedule to keep.”

  Struggling with her dress, Nivy hopped up into the Nyad and sat down with an explosion of air from her poofy skirts.

  Reece turned to face his friends. “Well, if all goes well, I’ll be back by morning. If it doesn’t—”

  “Just be careful, Reece,” Hayden interrupted with a frown, unamused. “I mean, I know you will be, but I guess I mean—don’t be reckless. We don’t know for sure what Eldritch is planning.”

  “We know enough.” Pasting on a smile, Reece added, thinking it would be good to give Hayden something to distract him tonight, “You should send your father a log. He’s been pretty worried, I can tell.” He started to say something equally heartening to Gideon, but it turned out Gid didn’t need it.

  “Remember what I said about the marbles,” he whispered. “I mean, about bringin’ them back. Mordecai’s gonna spit like a cat when he sees they’re gone.”

  “Yes, I promise to bring the marbles back safe and sound.”

  As Nivy and Reece started buckling in, Po came to the door and began relaying instructions and ticking points off on her fingers.

  “Now, she shakes real hard when she’s breakin’ atmosphere, but that’s totally normal, and if you hear a clickin’ sound, that’s just one of the propellers that’s got a nick in it. You’ll want to ease up on the levelers when you take off, because if you overdo it, you’ll burn the system out and then you’ll have to fly without your artificial gravity, and, well, you saw all the junk we’ve got in the back, that wouldn’t be good—”

  When she had run out of fingers, she wriggled them and backed away from the Nyad, which made less of a purr and more of a whine when Reece rather nervously started it up.

  “You’ll do fine!” Po shouted, waving happily as the Nyad rattled and drifted upward.

  Looking out his window, Reece watched her put a hand on Hayden and Gideon’s shoulders as if she had known them for years, saw her moving her mouth as if she was saying one last thing. The Nyad was too bleeding loud to make out what she was shouting; hopefully it wasn’t important.

  As the Nyad gradually became a speck in the very distant sky, Po shook her head. “Well,” she said to Gideon and Hayden, “if he doesn’t figure out that the clamp’s been modified to roll right instead of left, I expect we’ll be seein’ them again real soon.”

  XIX

  Brainstormin’

  Reece and Nivy stood at the foot of Emathia’s long drive, staring down a tunnel of oaks draped in innumerable strands of tiny photon globes. The sun had gone, but it wasn’t quite dark yet; there was a blue sort of tinge to everything that made the orange in the oaks and the red streamers braided up the estate’s closed iron gate burn brightly. Reece could hear, beneath the crickets and the chatter of other guests lining up for admittance, a stringed orchestra playing Abigail’s favorite movement of Vorherr’s “The Chrononaut’s Last Voyage”. The hulking dark mass on the far reaches of the grounds was the Kraken-class heliocraft the masquerade would relocate to after the guests had all been fed, for the skywaltz.

  Nivy looked ready to scale the gate, she was so eager to get in. Reece caught her elbow and steered her around the gatehouse where servants were matching invitations to names on a long scroll of parchment. There were two well-dressed sentries on either side of the gate with metal-detecting wands, checking guests and occasionally confiscating a sidearm, tagging it, and placing it into a brass box already filled with delicate-looking ALPS that Gideon doubtlessly would have melted down into something more useful.

  “Bag,” Reece whispered as he and Nivy slipped furtively between two large shrubberies.

  Nivy handed him the beaded silver pouch concealing their guns. He placed it on the ground and used his foot to nudge it under the gate.

  “Ready?” he asked, looking over her head at the long line of carriages and guests afoot.

  Chin held high, Nivy nodded. It was lucky Mordecai had thrown a white fur stole at her at the last second; the night was crisp and sharp and smelled of coming winter, and her teeth were chattering as it was.

  “You look very pretty,” Reece said.

  Nivy smirked, pointed at him, and made a “so-so” gesture that he laughed at. This was good—keeping things light, staying confidant, remembering to smile. They weren’t even inside the party yet, and Reece’s stomach was already performing back flips.

  Sliding out from the shrubberies to a few disparaging stares, he tapped on the back door of the gatehouse.

  The door opened a sliver, and a spotted face peered out, saw him, and gasped.

  “Mr. Sheppard?”

  “Lionel!” Reece pretended to be just as surprised. “I was expecting one of the senior servants, maybe Watkins, or Grim.”

  Lionel, who was a redheaded boy a year or so Reece’s minor, slipped out of the gatehouse and closed the door behind him, looking smug. “The Duchess herself assigned me to the guest list, as a matter of fact. Hey, I didn’t know you were coming tonight. You’re not on—”

  “Actually,” Reece lowered his voice, “I wanted to surprise Abigail…I mean, The Duchess.” Stepping out of Lionel’s way, he gestured at Nivy, who affected a shy smile perfectly on cue. “This is…my friend. Orpha.” Luckily, Lionel bowed just as Nivy cringed. “She and The Duchess haven’t been properly introduced; that’s why I’m keeping a low profile. To keep the surprise intact, as it were. You know how this lot—” Reece jabbed his thumb at the guests in waiting. “—can gossip.”

  Lionel frowned thoughtfully. “Would you like me to call you a private carriage to take you up to the mansion?”

  “No, no,” Reece said quickly. “We’d rather slip in quietly, if possible. Is there a side gate being used?”

  “Well…” Lionel uncertainly glanced at the gatehouse as if wondering whether or not he needed approval from some higher power. “There’s one over by the duck pond, but it’s just for servants—”

  “Excellent. Could you take us there? I’d make sure to mention your help to The Duchess.”

  Lionel hesitated, scratching one of his too-big ears. “I suppose that might be alright.”

  Reece impatiently glanced at his pocket watch. The guest line was going down more and more; he needed to get in there!

  “Lionel,” he said firmly, trying to give his voice the duke’s velvet edge. “This is my house, you know.”

  Flushing, Lionel stammered, “Oh, right sir, I mean, I know sir! This way, sir!”

  Without further ado, he grandly waved them away from the gatehouse and set off at a slightly-harried march. Nivy flashed Reece a congratulatory grin behind Lionel’s back and, when prompted, linked her elbow through his.

  Reece recognized the duck pond gate, but he remembered it being overgrown and rusted, not neat and trim like it was now. Servants in dark green livery were rushing in and out of the gateway, narrowly avoiding collisions while balancing silver trays laden with drinks. Lionel led Reece and Nivy right up to the gate and then held them back with a hand and an apologetic grimace.

  “All the gates have been rigged with magnomiters to check for automata and weapons.”

  “I’m not carrying any.”

  “Right, well, then you should be able to go on through. It’s just, with all the members of Parliament in one place, the sentries and The Veritas wanted to take extra care…”

  Nodding, Reece began pulling Nivy towards the duck pond gate. “Thanks again, Lionel, I’ll—”

  A terrible blaring alarm suddenly started wailing, causing both Reece and Nivy to leap back from the gate and jump apart from each other, ready for the worst. Reece’s heart felt like it was trying to batter its way through his ribs. Servants were stopping to cover their ears and stare as if the horrible noise was coming directly from him.

  The shrill wail slowly faded out, leaving a warm ringing in Reece’s ears.

  Lionel made a confused sound. “Th
at shouldn’t have happened if you’re not carrying anything. Did you leave a wireless in your pocket, maybe?”

  Thoroughly confused himself, Reece turned out his pockets for all to see. “Nothing. I think you might have a loose wire.”

  Looking as though this was the worst news he’d heard all night, Lionel shouted across the gate to a fellow staring servant, “Call Watkins! He’ll want to hear of this! No! I said call him!”

  Reece cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Can we…?”

  “Oh, yes. Go on through, we’ll take care of it, sir!”

  Exchanging a puzzled look with Nivy, Reece walked through the gate, this time not stopping when the alarm went off, though he did wriggle a finger in his ear. So much for keeping their heads down.

  Hugging the shadows of the hedges, they sneaked back around the estate wall, watching their feet for signs of their bag. When Nivy saw it, she scooped it up as if she’d only just dropped it, and placed it under her arm again. They merged into the incoming traffic from the main gate, carefully keeping one eye on the sentries until they were behind and out of sight.

  As the mansion grew larger and the music louder, the guests around Reece and Nivy started gasping and pointing, beside themselves. Reece didn’t know what about. He thought the mansion looked rather eerie, lit up in colored spotlights, outlined in more of those tiny photon globes. The water in the tiered fountain the carriages were pulling around glowed a bright, bloody red.

  The colors danced on Nivy’s awed face, reflected in her eyes. Reece elbowed her pointedly.

  “Mask?” he asked.

  Without tearing her eyes from the mansion, Nivy pulled up the silver mask that had been hanging around her neck and fixed it over her nose. Reece followed in suit with his green mask and felt instantly better, having some of his face hidden.

  “Remember the plan,” Reece whispered, and saw Nivy nod confidently out of the corner of his eye. There wasn’t much to be confidant about; it wasn’t much of a plan. He was going to cover up her muteness by being exceptionally rude all night, which he didn’t think would be too hard, considering the wide supply of pompous people at hand he would enjoy being rude to. If someone said something to Nivy and expected a reply, it was his job to cut in and answer on her behalf. He could do overbearing. What he couldn’t do was waltz. But he’d deal with that later.

  Gideon and Hayden had picked up a third mouth, and it didn’t want to go away any more than it wanted to stop runnin’. Po followed them right onto campus, chatterin’ like a wind-up doll with an endless lifespan.

  “So what’re ya doin’ now?” Po asked with her hands in her pockets as she bounced along between them.

  Catchin’ Hayden’s eye, Gideon shrugged. He wouldn’t say no to another lunch; he hadn’t quite maxed out his capacity his first go around, and he had the sinkin’ feelin’ it was gonna be a long night, waitin’ on news from Reece.

  “I was thinking of stopping by the nearest log interface and calling home,” Hayden admitted. “I think there’s—”

  “Oh, the nearest’s at the bus-ship housin’ units. I was just goin’ that way myself. I can take you there, if you like.”

  Another glance passed over her head as Gideon shrugged again and Hayden hesitated. Wasn’t like they were in any real hurry.

  Gideon had been to the housin’ units for a couple’a odd jobs, but not in a year or two, and he’d never been there when there was work bein’ done on the ships themselves. The big warehouse was one-roomed, with all the bus-ships suspended at different levels on thick metal planks, the highest goin’ right up to the ceilin’ some hundred feet overhead. He liked the feel’a it right away, the flyin’ sparks, the smell’a hot metal, the dusty glimmer lyin’ over everythin’.

  “Gus! Tilden!” Po called as she skipped over a tool box lyin’ open on the cement floor.

  Gideon recognized Gus as the lanky blond fellow sittin’ on a chain swing thirty-some feet above them, a thermal torch in hand. Tilden was even higher up, hangin’ in a harness from the ceilin’. He’d heard’a the Trimble brothers, even seen them around Caldonia, but they hadn’t looked quite so hostile then. Aitch took a carefully measured step away from their little sister.

  “I brought friends!” Po announced, like it was a great surprise for them.

  Gideon could see Gus strokin’ his thermal torch fondly.

  “Maybe we should come back later,” Aitch began, but Po made a snortin’ noise and blew him off with a wave.

  “Don’t you mind them, they’re always mean when I bring boys around. Just look out and make sure they don’t drop a wrench on your head. Comon’, the interface is this way!”

  Gideon left them to it and wandered around on his own, curiously lookin’ up into the underbellies’a the bus-ships. He wasn’t much of a mechanic, or into ship lore like Reece, but he could appreciate the skill behind a thing all the same. Stoppin’ under Bus-ship Fourteen, he peered up into the mess’a wires that had been laid bare, hearin’ rather than seein’ the little old woman deep at work in the engine. Until her head popped out from the wires, upside-down and wrapped in a red handkerchief.

  “You, there,” she barked, and a hand rose outta the wires. “Hand me that rotator pike.”

  Gideon flipped the spindly metal tool up to his hand with his boot and passed it along to the woman, who he now recognized from the interface at Mordecai’s. The woman scanned him, made a disapprovin’ sound, and then sank back up into her bog’a wires.

  Po appeared suddenly at Gideon’s elbow. “I see you’ve met Agnes,” she said brightly. “Agnes,” she called up at the wires, “this is Gideon!”

  “Pleasure,” came the dry reply, not soundin’ at all pleased.

  Po shrugged at Gideon and smiled so that dimples showed around her mouth. “Hey, want to come see where the magic happens?”

  “Er—”

  She hooked his hand and started draggin’ him to the next bus-ship over, narratin’ as they went.

  “People don’t think much’a these old luggers, but they’ve got a lot’a character. And they’re downright hardy. Know how old this one is?” Po asked as she stopped and patted the hull’a Bus-ship Sixteen like a faithful pet.

  Gideon, squintin’, inspected the rusty ship and guessed about three hundred.

  “Almost fifty!” Po boasted. “Sure, bus-ships take a lot’a maintenance, but what can you expect, you know? They’ve got a big job, transportin’ all those kids back and forth safely. Can you imagine if one’a them went wonkers between here and Honora?” Twinklin’ brown eyes goin’ wide, she leaned alarmingly close. “It’d be like what almost happened on me and Reece’s bus-ship when we were Tens. You ever hear about that?”

  “Er—”

  “It was just lucky he was so quick on his feet. He saved a kid, you know.” She bit back a smile, sighin’ so theatrically, she blew a wisp’a hair outta her face.

  Gideon really wanted to go find Aitch, but Po had moved on past talkin’ about ships and now wanted to know all about him, which made him plain uncomfortable. There was no good way to talk about himself without breechin’ subjects that made most people nervous, subjects like the war and workin’ illegal jobs and bein’ Pantedan. Much as he tried to bring the conversation to a dead halt, Po wouldn’t let up. It was like tryin’ to stop the rain.

  “I’ve heard all about that shop!” Po exclaimed, hangin’ by her knees from a taut chain under the bus-ship. She swung down, lookin’ so impressed Gideon felt himself goin’ red in the face. “Your lot makes the best guns this side’a the Epimetheus—Tilden has been wantin’ to put in an order, but Mum always gets nervous when he brings it up.”

  “My lot?” Gideon repeated edgily. He scowled from where he was sittin’ on the floor beneath her, polishin’ his revolver on his pant leg.

  “Oh,” Po looked briefly stricken, “I mean the lot’a you in that old house in Praxis. I wasn’t talkin’ about Pans.” Tiltin’ her head one way so that her braid swung like a pendulum, she frowned. �
��I’ve gotta get down, all the blood is rushin’ to my head. A little help?”

  Thinkin’ that a drop on the head might do Po more good than bad, Gideon got up and grabbed her stiffly around the biceps so she could lower her feet one at a time to the ground. They opened their mouths at the same time, Po about to start chatterin’ again, Gideon about to lose his temper, and were both cut off by the anguished cry that echoed jarringly through the warehouse.

  Recognizin’ it immediately, Gideon dropped Po (she landed with a grunt on her backside) and sprinted out from under Bus-ship Sixteen with his revolver drawn and ready.

  “What was that?” Tilden shouted from way overhead.

  “Where did it come from?” Gus added.

  The log interface. Gideon tore across the warehouse, leapin’ over pumps and ramps and scattered engine parts. He could see Hayden’s haggard shape slumped against the wall by the interface. He was on his feet, but he was holdin’ his head in his arms like he was in pain.

  “Aitch!” Gideon half collided with him, takin’ him by the shoulders and shakin’ him. “Aitch, what’s up, what’s goin’ on?”

  He heard a racket behind him and glanced back to see Po, Gus, Tilden, and Agnes all hurryin’ to join them at the interface, their faces showin’ everythin’ from worry to confusion to annoyance.

  “Gideon,” a kindly voice crackled outta the interface.

  Still clutchin’ Aitch’s arm, Gideon glanced over at the small screen to see Mr. Adams, Hayden’s baldin’ grandfather, starin’ at the lens with a shockgun held across his chest. The room in the background’a his picture looked like a Freherian boar had torn through it.

  “What happened?” Gideon asked, releasin’ Aitch, who crumpled to the floor, rockin’ back and forth. Po dropped to her knees beside him, her face pale beneath her freckles.

  Mr. Adams swallowed a few times, his Adam’s apple workin’, before replyin’. “The Veritas…they came…took Hugh and Sophie…”

  It took a minute for what he said to fill Gideon with the dread it deserved—his brain, his heart, his breathin’, everythin’ had slowed down to the point’a stoppin’ completely.