by Sikes, AJ
Brand stuffed all three pages back into a pocket and tucked the crank torch into the other pocket. He slipped out of Mutton’s cupboard. The back stairs were deserted and Brand didn’t wait around for that to change. He launched up the first flight and kept the heat on as he climbed. At the third floor, he fought down the acid burning in his gut. When he heard a door open below and the voices of soldiers, Brand pushed on to the fifth floor. He didn’t give his mind a chance to imagine what the soldiers would do if they caught sight of him. Those rifles they carried were made for getting the last word in.
“He’s up here!” one of the soldiers shouted down below. They must have been on the first floor. Still, Brand pushed himself up the last flight of stairs as though the soldiers were right on his tail. At the door to the fifth floor, he paused and let himself breathe a second. Then the sound of boots clomped behind him, forcing him through the door and into the hall. It was empty, but Brand knew it wouldn’t be for long. He’d hoped they would fall for his diving act and spend more time in the basement. But these were the kind of soldiers you wanted on the battlefield: full of know-how.
“Just my rotten luck it couldn’t be the guys on the front door instead.”
He reached the door to the print rooms, slipped in and held the door closed then pivoted and went to the loading doors. Brand counted three and stepped onto the mooring deck, hoping Crane hadn’t followed through on his promise. The airbikes still hung on the trapezes. Thanking his luck, Brand hopped onto the closest one, fired the motor, and kicked loose the tether arm.
The bike dropped fast until the motor came up to speed. Brand turned the little craft down and in a tight arc so the mooring deck would cover his descent. Then he drove it forward in the chill air, aiming for the houses on the neighboring block. If he could make it to the back of the first house, he’d have a shot at getting away in the alleys. Unless the soldiers figured out where he went and followed him on the other two bikes. Brand cursed himself. He should have cut the other bikes loose before taking off.
Fearing the pain of a bullet in the back, Brand piloted the airbike through the chilly air. When he reached the alley behind the first house, he thanked his stars for a second time and wove a path through the quietest streets he could find, always aiming at the river. Two blocks from the riverside, a metallic scuttling came to his ears. Brand cursed and urged the bike forward. From all around him, crabs poured out of their nooks in the sidewalk and foundations of buildings. Adding trouble to trouble, the rumble of patrol boats came from a few blocks away, drawing curious crowds to a halt on the streets.
A trio of heavy wagons crossed his path up ahead. Behind the bulk of the wagons followed a long school of cyclists. Brand guided the airbike into the mass of bicycles, ignoring the shouts of alarm and cries to “Watch it, buster!” An opening came as two lead cyclists split the school into lines on either side of Brand’s path. He opened the throttle and used the bicycles as a screen. When the last bicycle passed him, he turned the airbike down a side street and along an alley that he knew let out at the river’s edge.
Crossing the river would be a trick, and he didn’t know where he’d go after that anyway. Brand had chosen the last alley because it was midway between two bridges, and so far his plan held up. The soldiers manning the roadblocks hadn’t spotted him yet. Dropping in and then out of a wagon’s shadow, Brand took the airbike down to the riverbank. He coasted to a tree by the water’s edge and checked he still had the crank torch in his pocket. He did, but the focusing lens was busted. Figures he’d pick up the one tool on Mutton’s workbench that was down there for repairs. It’d light his way though. He hoped. Brand’s destination didn’t have much going for it by way of illumination, at least not if he could figure out how to get in.
Looking back at the bridges, he saw the soldiers on alert. They stood stiffly around their jeeps like watch dogs on a lead. Across the river, the opposite bank provided less cover, and it was an open stretch across the water, too.
Down the bank, Brand spotted a crew of tramps sitting around a fire. One of them looked in his direction and lifted a cup in greeting. Brand’s eyes glazed for a moment and he shook his head. Was that—? The tramp eyed him up and down and lifted a stiff armed salute. That’s when Brand spied the rusty bicycles lying around the edges of the encampment. Two of the tramps got up after some discussion with Chief. The two stood slowly and lifted their bicycles. By the time they’d vanished, Brand had thanked his luck a hundred more times.
Chief’s ghost winked out like the others. Brand blinked when his old boss appeared beside him under the empty wintered branches of the tree. “How’s things, Mitch? See you got yourself in a jam you can’t get out of. Again.”
“Yeah, and thanks for the pep talk.”
“Least I could do.”
“You hear about your pals last night? Three of ‘em, supposedly froze to death. I’m betting it wasn’t like that. Am I right?”
Chief’s face fell into his shoes. If a tramp could look lower than he already did, Chief was giving it a try. “Yeah. We all heard about them. They didn’t freeze to death, Mitch. They—”
“They got ripped apart by a monster. I know. Hell, I was in the room with it when Nitti got his. I’m betting it’s responsible for Jenkins and now Digs Gordon can be added to the list. Conroy’s next unless I can stop it.”
“How are you going to do that, Mitch? Do you have any idea what that thing is?”
“All I know is what I’ve seen, pal,” Brand said and pulled the pages from his pocket. “That power play you told me about the other night. I think this is connected. Something about a military operation over in Old Town and the Village.”
Chief took the pages and gave them a quick glance before shoving them back at Brand.
“That’s something else, Mitch. Has to be. Not even the gods would go that far. They’d—”
The curfew bell cut into their conversation. Brand couldn’t believe his ears at first. Then a bullhorn crackled to life from a nearby patrol boat. Chief slapped a hand on Brand’s shoulder and drew aside the city like a curtain. He let it drop and the world changed. Brand again saw every layer of Chicago City’s life spreading out in all direction. Skies rippled and roiled with clouds, thunder and lightning, blazing sunlight, and misty rainfall. The river ran around them, swollen in flood, and it sat still, frozen under a bed of ice. Buildings wavered and shimmered, like a thousand giant candle flames.
“Where the hell are we?”
“Behind the city.”
Brand stared at his friend letting his confusion ask the question.
“It’s memories, Mitch. Memories of all the people who’ve ever lived here. That’s what makes a city what it is. Without people and their memories, you’ve just got concrete, steel, bricks, and asphalt.”
“You learn all this in your first day on the job?”
“Comes with the territory, yeah. I don’t have to wonder about anything back here. Ask me a question. If it’s about this place or my job, I’ll tell you true.”
“What about the night you saved my hide? You said the other fella was showing you the ropes.”
“He was, but that just means putting on a show for the people out there to watch. You know how it is. You see a couple of bums dancing down the street together, you don’t pay them any mind. But one guy? You might see him in the morning over by the station and then you’re across town and there he is again with nothing but a bicycle with two flat tires to get him there. Maybe you start to wonder about him a little.”
Brand stared into Chief’s eyes like he’d never seen the man before. “Am I cracking up?”
“No. Now where am I taking you?”
“Village,” Brand said, shaking himself out of the stupor he’d let fall over him. He held in the shiver that crawled up his legs when he thought about his destination. “The curio s
hop.”
Chief balked. “You sure, Mitch? I can take you someplace else.”
“I can’t think of any place safer,” Brand said. “Up here the lead makes a hole that stays made. Down there it’s just ghosts.”
Chapter 29
Nagy led the way through the dark tunnel, keeping the crank torch going for the rest of the journey. Emma felt the cold earth biting into her, and imagined the icy ground overhead would collapse any minute, crushing her into the floor under tons of rock. She couldn’t think of any better place to be. Not after reading that page the gypsy—. No, his name was Nagy. He was a shoemaker. He’d helped them and he had a name. And now his whole community was being rounded up like cattle and taken to some facility. The word made Emma shudder.
All she could think about were the people she’d left behind. Her family and friends. They weren’t being rounded up, losing their homes, their cars, their lives. They were sitting pretty, just like she should be doing right now. Only she’d never be sitting pretty again. Not in Chicago City anyway. Not anywhere if she couldn’t get out of this fix.
Nagy held up his hand and let the crank torch go out. Emma heard a knocking, like a hand on a door. The darkness in front of them turned to light and the tunnel flooded with the sounds of a meal in progress.
Emma followed Nagy and Eddie out of the tunnel and into a low ceilinged room. Around a rough wooden table were three women seated on benches, all eating soup from wooden bowls. They briefly glanced at Eddie, their faces showing wonder, admiration, and fear. A man held open the door to the tunnel. He ushered everyone into the room so he could close it.
Nagy and the man exchanged some words in a language that enchanted Emma with its rhythms. The men spoke and phrases danced in the air around Emma’s head, musical syllables singing to her of hard work and fierce passion. She understood at once why these people liked to hear Eddie play his horn. His notes flowed as freely and with the same strength as their speech. But the lilt and drawl in their voices told her that Eddie’s music gave them something they missed, or at least didn’t have enough of in their lives.
A woman at the table stood and came over to her, reaching to hold her by the shoulders and kissing Emma’s cheeks.
“Go with her,” Nagy said. “Go with Ess-ti.”
Emma followed the woman up a set of steps and into the back room of Biros’ shop. Bolts of heavy wool and tools were strewn about on thick tables. A single set of garments was draped neatly on top of a pile of fabric. They were men’s pants and a thick coat, and a heavy shirt of cotton. All appeared to be smaller than average for the men she’d seen in this neighborhood.
Emma let Eszti guide her to a chair and remove her coat. The cold air quickly pierced every opening in her clothes and Emma clasped her arms around her. Eszti draped her coat over her, but let it hang loose. She took a strip of terrycloth and wrapped this around Emma’s collar and neck, making sure no hair was trapped beneath.
Then she lifted a pair of heavy shears and lopped off a thick lock of Emma’s hair. Blond curls fell all around her as Eszti worked, cleanly and evenly removing her hair down to a neat close cropped style that matched most of the men Emma had seen since coming to the Village with Eddie. Next, Eszti took some charcoal and smudged the terrycloth with it. She used this to darken Emma’s face around her eyes, daubing lightly. Emma spotted a mirror on a far wall and went to it. Without any facial hair she couldn’t pass for a man from this neighborhood, but she might be mistaken for a youth.
Emma resisted the urge to paw at her hair, try to make it take an attractive shape. She had to keep up the charade until they were somewhere safe. Until then, she’d have to look like the common people in the city, just a laborer, someone with a job and aches and pains.
Only she and the people here would know how much of a sham it was. The aches and pains she felt were real, but they’d been caused by a lack of work, not too much of it.
“Where will we go?” she asked Eszti. The woman smiled and shook her head, seeming to say she didn’t understand Emma’s language. Eszti went into the next room and came back with a thick woolen cap, which she placed on Emma’s head. The woman stood back and smiled, nodding as if to show approval. Emma tried to smile, but found only a pout and quivering frown on her lips.
The two women waited in the back room until Nagy, Eddie, and the others came up from the cellar.
“Is time to go. Past time,” Nagy said. “Wagon is outside. Come,” he motioned to Eddie, who followed quickly but not before draping a thick coat around his head and shoulders. He crouched as they left the building through a back door. Emma stayed behind with the women while the men arranged things outside. Nagy poked his head back in and muttered something in their language. The women ushered Emma out with them and they all climbed into the wagon, taking seats on benches against the sides. Eddie was nowhere to be seen, but Emma found him when she put her feet against the bundle of fabric beneath her bench.
The street out front bustled with activity. Wagons and carts, pedestrians leading livestock, all clattered and rumbled down the roadway. Shouts and commands from a megaphone broke the chilly afternoon air and Emma cringed as the bulletin Nagy had shown her was repeated twice.
The wagon rolled out from behind the shop and merged with the line of traffic on the street. Emma cast a worried look at Nagy, who sat across from her. He patted at the air in front of him as if to say Don’t worry, and gave her a smile, too. But his eyes told her to stay alert and stay in character. She was a man now, a gypsy man, like him. She’d seen Eszti display the inability to speak English, so she could always do the same if pressed by a copper.
Glancing around the crowds, Emma saw a few men in uniforms. Coppers stood on the corner outside a restaurant. Mingled in with the crowds though were soldiers in jeeps and on foot, all of them carrying rifles that looked like nothing Emma’d ever seen. These men had visors covering half their face, and they moved with assurance and command, brushing past the people near them and not caring if they jostled anyone as they moved.
Emma saw one soldier threaten a young woman after he bumped into her and she fell against him to keep her balance. She carried a basket against her hip and Emma saw a small hand and foot extend from one side. The woman frantically wrapped her child against the cold once more and did her best to avoid the soldier’s shouted violence. Emma’s heart caught in her throat as the wagon trundled along.
Overhead, patrol boats sailed in a formation. Two small observation ships and a larger gunship moved in tandem across the neighborhood. The ships soared smoothly through the darkening afternoon skies. Watching them, Emma remembered the cards Madame Tibor had shown her. She would leave the city by flying. And she would help others escape, too. How could she—
The curfew bell rang out, shattering Emma’s thoughts, leaving only the broken hope of escape. At the reins, Biros pulled the horses to a stop as a soldier advanced on them through the thinning crowd. Emma hadn’t noticed before, but people were being taken off the streets and lined up against buildings where teams of coppers put them into shackles, making chains of prisoners. Possessions and livestock were left in the street like signs of a rushed evacuation, only the people those things belonged to were just a few feet away, looking at the remains of their lives standing in the street.
The soldier had reached their wagon and shouted for Biros to dismount. Another soldier came around to the back and ordered everyone out.
“Is early,” Biros protested. Nagy’s eyes flared with concern.
“Is curfew, Pops,” the first soldier said, yanking Biros from his seat. “Now get over there with the rest of your family.”
Emma flinched as the second soldier grabbed at her and yanked her off the wagon seat. The soldiers searched Biros and Nagy, then the women. Emma patted her pockets, feeling for the guns and then remembered she’d left them in her coat back in Biros’ shop.
The soldier searched her next and Emma cringed, fearing he’d feel her woman’s body beneath the heavy wool clothing, but the man only dug into her pockets and checked her belt before pushing her along the street. Emma caught up with Eszti and the other women, doing her best to act like she meant to protect them. She’d seen a few men in the crowds, all of them shielding their women from the soldiers as best they could. Emma and her band drew up against a house with its door standing open. She could see furniture and clothing tossed around inside the house.
A soldier came out of the house and stared directly at Emma. His visor made it impossible to guess his reaction. Did he recognize her?
“C’mon, you,” the soldier said, pointing a finger at Emma. “Get the broads over there and stand with them. Which one’s yours? This one?” the soldier aimed his finger at Eszti now. Emma nodded, forcing herself to stare at the soldier’s visor as if to meet his gaze. She’d seen other men on the street doing the same, and she had to be a man now. For her sake, for Nagy’s and Eszti’s sake, and for Eddie’s.
The thought of Eddie nearly put her in a faint. The wagon remained where they’d left it. And Eddie was still wrapped in the wool under the bench. Emma couldn’t go to him. If she made any move to go to the wagon, the soldiers would search it to see what she was after. Emma swallowed hard, forced her tears to dry before they spilled, and stayed close to Eszti and the others.
Soldiers came by the group and put shackles around their ankles. Seven of them stood there, chained together. Biros was at the front of the line. Emma stood in the middle, behind Estzi. The other woman was behind her, and Nagy was at the end. Emma watched as other groups were herded out of the neighborhood by soldiers. One soldier to a group, no group larger than a dozen people. She wasn’t sure how she and the others would escape, but something had to happen. Somebody had to do something. A distraction? What could she do?