by L. J. Hatton
“Did you feel that?” he asked.
I nodded.
A metal clang started at the top of the prison level and traveled down, passing us on its way to the bottom floor. Birch and I exchanged glances, asking each other silently if this was somehow my doing or his, but the noise gave way to sliding doors and open cells. Iva had released the master switch.
Each door that opened came with the sound of a ticking clock, and no two were set to the same rhythm. People spilled out—some on the run, some more timid—not daring to believe it was safe to do more than poke their heads out for a look. One pair began waltzing in the aisle to music that didn’t exist. Others chose the path of least resistance and leapt the rails.
I peeked into one cell and found its occupant still inside, huddled up and rocking, addled by the conflicting beats. Strangest of all was the man with the regal bearing I’d seen before. He’d located the chariot lift on his own floor and made it to the exit without a hitch—and he was still wearing his trilby hat.
“Hello, miss,” he said, politely tipping it as he passed. He hurried out, hand twitching.
“Find Winnie and get the rebreather off of her,” I said to Klok, refusing to consider that she’d become one of the empty-eyed horde around us. “Tell everyone you pass to get to the docking rings.”
Hopefully the rush would overwhelm the Center’s personnel. Some of them might even make it out alive.
“Keep an eye out for our family,” I told Xerxes and Bijou. “I’m going after my sisters.” I knew at least three of them were immobile and couldn’t escape without help.
Xerxes and Bijou lifted off, landing on separate walkways, each with a heavy clink.
“I’m coming with you,” Birch said.
We ran for the chariot lift; on our way down we passed levels teeming with prisoners, but none looked familiar.
“Which one?” Birch was out of the lift first, scanning the identical doors. This level appeared to be vacant, save for the remains of those who had thrown themselves from the higher walks. I tried not to look, afraid that they might not be dead; I couldn’t bear the thought of passing them by if they weren’t.
“Look for bigger doors with extra locks. Evie’s is cold to the touch.”
All pyrokinetics hated the cold, and Warden Files would have known that.
Maybe it would have been better if my father had simply given the Commission what they wanted. If I’d grown up like Birch, Evie and the others would have been free. I couldn’t have regretted the loss of my freedom if I’d only known captivity. The whole thing was my fault.
“Here!” Birch shouted.
The shadows looked different mixed with the motion from other levels, but it was Evie’s cell, sure enough, and it was empty. I placed my hands against the floor, searching for a hint of warmth to say the miraculous had happened and she’d walked out recently, but not even a trace remained to show she’d ever been there at all.
We’d started back for the lift when a flash of unsteady movement caught my eye. I wasn’t going to look, fearful that what I’d seen was a dying twitch from one of those who had jumped, but my conscience wouldn’t let me pass by knowing we’d left someone behind.
“There’s someone down here.” I stopped, turning around for a better view of the level. “Listen.”
The endless ticking from above was still there, but softer, and at a distance. Now a strong and steady tempo was coming from somewhere close, and with it came the familiar calming wave I only felt when I was near Anise.
“Check the cells!” I made for the nearest door; Birch started down the opposite side of the aisle.
The first two were empty, except for Vesper’s wig, but in the third, a figure stumbled from wall to wall at an uneasy lurch. Her back was to me as she patted her way around the perimeter of the small square, seeking the door. When she made it all the way around, she put her hand through the opening and kept going. She was still wearing the cropped shirt and dust coat she’d had on during The Show’s last performance. Her goggles had fallen from her head.
“Anise!”
At the sound of my voice, she turned feral, clawing her throat to tear the collar off.
“Birch! Help me!”
It took both of us to keep her stable on her feet. She pitched with each step, closer to me, then away toward Birch. Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused.
“It’s the collar,” he said, struggling against her resistance. “It’s trying to force her back into the cell.”
I tried not to remember the agony that made me wish my spine would break just to stop the pain when Nye collared me. It had set my nerves on fire, twisting the muscles so far out of shape I wanted to tear off my skin to pull them out. No wonder my sister looked like a madwoman.
“Anise, stop,” I begged. “We’ll get you upstairs; Klok can take the collar off.”
But she kept tugging on the collar. I grasped it, hoping I could work my fingers between the wires and her skin to give her some relief. A slight buzz started in my fingertips as they touched the collar’s edge . . . Maybe I didn’t need to wait for Klok.
“Open,” I whispered.
Open. I am the daughter of Magnus Roma. I am Celestine. I order you to open!
A spark zipped along the wires, and at the point where the collar’s two sides joined, the latch popped open. The collar fell to the ground, and Anise collapsed beside it.
CHAPTER 42
The dancing couple was still spinning up and down the aisle of the main floor. A siren wailed through the intercom, replacing the ticking. Hopefully due to the breakout, rather than a warning that the Center was at terminal descent.
The copy of my mother was waiting for us at the door.
“You found one!” she cheered. “And now you’ve brought me another darling daughter to brighten my day.”
“Anise was the only one left,” I said.
“Should I take her? She seems a bit more than you can carry.”
Birch and I rolled Anise’s weight from our shoulders onto hers. Anise’s head lolled sideways; she opened her eyes a crack.
“Mother?” She groaned. “Oh good . . . I’m dead.” Her head fell back again.
“Her collar came apart in my hands,” I said, still trying to believe the words were true.
“I knew you were meant for great things,” Iva said.
“Did you see Sister Mary Alban with the escapees?”
“Who, dear?”
“Your sister-in-law. My aunt. Papa helped her hide away. She helped us escape before, but she was caught. Did you see her?”
“I don’t know about any aunt, but the only special prisoners were the ones brought in with your group. Magnus likely omitted a few details in my history banks, especially the ones he didn’t want the warden to know about. I’m afraid we can’t take much time to search. If the others—”
“Penn?”
I whirled around.
Jermay stared from the other end of the walkway. It was like no time had passed at all. He ran my way, dragging his leg; I ran his, and we met in an embrace that seemed determined to break us both so neither could escape.
“Are you another dream?” he asked.
I tried to shake my head, but I couldn’t move.
“I found Anise, but Evie’s gone,” I said in a rush. “A warden took her.”
He looked past me, without letting go, to Iva holding Anise. Then his blue eyes moved to Birch, and he pulled me behind him.
“Get back,” Jermay warned.
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “I know what he looks like, but they’re the only clothes he has. Birch helped us save you, Jermay.”
He kept watching Birch, but stepped aside. I took his hand and pulled him with me, determined never to drop it again.
“We should go,” Iva said. “Klok and Winnie returned ages
ago. Oh, and that poor little girl. The darling child’s positively exhausted.”
For the last few words, her voice reverted to a mechanical monotone. Every syllable grated on my nerves.
She shuddered, disgusted at the sound herself. “I really am trying to curb that. Your father would be livid.”
“You can take it up with him when we get out of here,” I said.
It was just another topic in what was bound to be a very long and detailed conversation. The more of us he had to answer to, the better.
I put my fingers to my mouth, blowing out a long, high whistle. Bijou and Xerxes leapt from the upper floors they’d been patrolling. The walkway rumbled with the impact, and a new vibration rippled through for every step Xerxes took as he followed us back through the prison gate and into the hall.
Klok was there, and so was Winnie. He was carrying Birdie, who was unconscious.
“Birch?” Winnie blinked at us.
He ran over and hugged her as fiercely as Jermay had hugged me.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said. “I wasn’t even sure you made it out of the Ground Center. They split us from the girls who fell behind, and refused to tell us anything.”
“We barely made it. We were cut off before we could get to your side,” she said. “I tried to get to you, I swear.”
“What happened to you?” He touched her face where it was blistered red from having the rebreather fused to her skin.
“It doesn’t matter. This time, we both go,” she said.
“Winnie’s the friend you lost at the Ground Center?” I asked.
I knew Winnie had been in Commission custody before. Where would they have kept her, if not a center? And Birch trusted Greyor completely. Of course it was because Greyor had defied a warden to try to free him.
“She’s the best friend I’ve ever had,” Birch said.
“Are you all right?” I asked Winnie once they’d stepped apart. Her eyes were hard, and in them I found my answer. How could anyone be all right after what she’d endured?
“Klok says we can trust that machine. Is he right?” she asked bitterly.
“My father sent Iva to help us. The warden never knew.”
Winnie scoffed. “At least one of his contingency plans finally worked.” She glanced at my dress. “That’s not your blood, is it?”
“It’s not, but—”
“Good. You’d have a hard time keeping up if you’re wounded.” Her voice was coarse and strained after so long without use. “Where’s Greyor?”
“Winnie—” Birch started, but the words wouldn’t come.
“He wanted to save you,” I told her. “But Arcineaux recognized him. He—He—”
She read the truth within my stammering and cut me off.
“Then there’s no one else to wait on.” She anchored herself to Birch with an arm around his waist, and his around hers.
“Winnie . . . I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know who he was until—”
“Let’s go, before we all die with him.”
Klok stepped onto the lift first. He stood in the center, stretching his arms from wall to wall.
“The lift’s dimensions are insufficient to accommodate the golems,” he said.
That much was obvious as soon as Xerxes tried to fit his shoulders through the door.
“Collapse them,” Winnie said.
Xerxes hissed at the suggestion; Bijou flicked his tail. Neither of them liked the idea of being shrunk. Iva’s control circuits were holding so far, but taking them from large to small and back again would be a strain.
“It’s too big a risk,” I said.
“Then how do we get off this floor?” Winnie asked.
Birch lit up.
“How are you at climbing trees?”
CHAPTER 43
The greenhouse should have been a clear shot, but it was chaos, and that was my fault. When we’d turned out the prisoners, I was naïve enough to think they’d head for the escape routes. Most of them had no idea where they were, much less how to evacuate the Center. They were able to make it out of the prison through the hole that Bijou and Xerxes made in the doors, then they flooded into every available space. Since the greenhouse wasn’t kept locked, getting inside was easy.
People had jammed the walkways; others were using the trellises to get to higher floors.
“Make a path,” I told Xerxes. He screeched loud enough to shake leaves from the nearest trees and vines. Terrified by the sound, and more so by what had made it, the throng split.
“Up the sides,” I told the golems. “We’ll meet you on the docking level.”
“We should go with the golems,” Klok spit out. “We are too heavy for trees.”
He wrapped an arm around Bijou’s neck, while keeping the other on Birdie; my friendly creeper light peeked out from the satchel on his shoulder. Bijou sprang onto the wall and used his claws to slither up the side. Iva and a semiconscious Anise made the same trip with Xerxes.
“Tree taxi,” Birch called, with a poorly timed laugh. He summoned us a ride, and stepped onto it with Winnie.
“Ready?” I asked Jermay.
“You and me, like always.” He tightened his grip on my arm, and we jumped over the rail, landing in the leaves.
“Stay to the inside,” Birch warned. “I’ve seen mobs before. This won’t be fun.”
Faceless groups grabbed at us as we passed, snatching at our clothes with frantic hands, but rustling leaves and eruptions of thorny clusters made sure no one could find a handhold until we’d stopped.
“Nice trick,” Jermay said, stepping off the branches.
“I’m not a magician,” Birch said. “My tricks are real.”
Bijou dropped down in front of us on the docking level, while Xerxes brought up the rear, following us out of the greenhouse. We made it to the hall, on our way to the exterior doors, but unlike the prison level or the greenhouse, the sounds of personnel were everywhere. There were shouts and running feet, flashing alarm lights, and a distant popping that could only be gunfire. The whole place was awash in pink sludge, but no one had time for protective gear.
“There’s trouble up ahead,” Iva said. “Tread carefully.”
“What sort of trouble?” I asked, assuming she meant the sludge around our ankles.
Instead of an answer, she threw her arm out to stop us from rounding the corner.
As chaotic as the greenhouse had been, the area surrounding the external doors was worse. The hall widened into several spaces large enough to accommodate units from arriving or departing transports. Each of those spaces sat at the mouth of an airlock with oversized double doors to the outside. Beyond the doors, more pods had joined the exodus, and the gyro-rings were spinning out of control.
Security assigned to the Center stood on one side, blocking the exits, while others from Arcineaux’s group faced them, trying to force their way through.
“What are they doing?” I asked. “They should all be leaving.”
“They blame Arcineaux,” Iva said. “His people are guilty by association.”
“That’s insane,” I said.
The guards involved had declared war on each other for no reason besides the erratic whims of two lunatics who had lined them up like a collection of toy soldiers. The area’s close quarters ensured high casualties, and unlike toys, these men could bleed, and they weren’t so easily melted back together.
“Nye’s people are terrified of me,” I said. “They’ll let me pass.”
“And what about Arsenic’s men?” Winnie snapped. “Do you think they’ll do the same?”
“Xerxes and Bijou would catch them off guard. We’ll have time to make a run for it.”
“They’ll kill you as soon as you’re in the open,” Jermay said. “They’ll kill us
all.”
“We’ve escaped before,” I said.
“And then we got caught,” Winnie cried, as she touched the blisters on her face. “Look at me! And these scars are nothing compared to what they did before! This is the only level open to the outside, and those are the only doors. There’s no way out of this!”
She wrapped her arms around herself and slid to the floor, shielded between Xerxes’ front legs. Her head bumped against his feathers, while her fingers picked at the raw patches around her mouth. She was a wreck, and Anise was barely alive. We’d found their bodies, but I was no longer certain we’d saved them.
“This isn’t the only open floor,” Birch said.
He glanced at the ceiling, then to me.
“You mean the Aerie?”
“What’s that?” Jermay asked.
“Nye’s inner sanctum,” Iva said. “The whole top retracts into open air.”
“It’s isolated,” Birch said. “The greenhouse doesn’t extend that far, so I can’t reach it, but they can.”
He nodded to Bijou and Xerxes.
“All we have to do is get the doors open. If they can scale the inside of the lift shaft the way they did the greenhouse’s walls, they’ll fit one at a time.”
“A sound plan,” Iva said, looking at me. “Your father—”
She choked.
I’d heard so much gunfire so often that one more pop didn’t seem important. All the explosions were things happening elsewhere to other people until Iva’s voice stopped.
“Your father . . . your father . . . your father . . .” Her head jerked, stuck on those two words. “Your father . . . your father . . . Good-bye, my darling girls. I’m so sorry to be leaving you ag—”
Iva froze. Her face static, mouth open. The light in her eyes went out before she crashed to her knees, taking Anise with her and revealing a stumbling and bleeding Warden Arcineaux behind her. He’d shot her in the back.
“I’ve always hated that thing.” He spat at Iva. “But not as much as I hate every loathsome creature spawned by that traveling rat’s nest you call a circus. I told you that your aim was atrocious,” he sneered, pressing a hand to the gut wound I’d made with the sword.