The Tremblers

by Raquel Byrnes

  “They lost us, see?” Berkley pointed up, hurrying around the deck snuffing the errant puddles of flaming rubber that had survived the crash-water landing. Above us the remaining aero ship circled its battered counterparts, the search beams no longer panning the ocean.

  But I could not stop. I could not think. Wracked with terror, I clung to Ashton, shaking. Terrified, livid, and relieved all at once, I lost my wits and cried like a child.

  19

  I gripped the wash bin with both hands, riding out the nausea that rolled over me. Residual emotion bubbled up, but I pushed it down, determined to gather myself. Embarrassed by my outburst, I concentrated on wrangling my hair into a presentable braid and washing the grime from my face. Eyes rimmed in red, bruises, scrapes and minute burns on my arms, I scrubbed at a spot on my blouse. The gas lamp on the hook over the mirror flickered and I stilled, listening. Overwrought and beyond fatigue, I sank to the chair at the small writing desk and hugged myself.

  My gaze spanned Berkley’s study and I attempted to take comfort in familiar furnishings and books.

  The earthquakes during The Great Calamity wrought havoc on the oceans, sending jagged cliffs stabbing out of the sea floor and rendering traditional maps obsolete. Ship hulls were no match for the relentlessly shifting rocks and erupting lava flows that constantly churned the poisoned deep.

  I shuddered to think that we drifted aimlessly in these dark and deadly waters. All that I had been through did little to further my aim. I still had no idea what information my father’s journal contained and no way to get to Collodin. I did not even know where the man was. I was pointlessly wandering out here, and I railed at myself for failing to make any headway. In fact, given the likelihood of the seas simply boiling us alive, it was possible that I’d managed to end up further behind than when I first went sailing from my father’s rooftop. “I am so lost,” I whispered. “So out of my depth and terrified I can barely breathe.”

  Papers and books were piled haphazardly on the small desk. A Bible, worn and dog-eared, caught my attention and I pulled it from the stack. Knowing the things my mother had written in hers, I hesitated, not wanting to intrude on Berkley’s private thoughts.

  “You had hope when I did not understand how,” I whispered, wishing my mother could answer. “Why is that?” Helplessness threatened to overwhelm me, and I stared at Berkley’s Bible. I knew no verses other than Psalms, the ones I read to my mother on her deathbed. I sought them out now, thumbing through the unfamiliar books and finally spotting the one my mother loved; Psalm ninety-four.

  When I said, “My foot is slipping,” Your unfailing love, Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.

  I closed my eyes, concentrating on those words, but they did not bring peace. They did not quell my fear. They were as foreign to me as if from another language. Disheartened, I glared at the pages.

  A knock on the door sounded.

  “Enter,” I answered, falling so easily back on ingrained manners.

  Ashton’s soot-covered face appeared. Battered and bloody, he somehow managed to make a flutter tear through my middle when he held my gaze. Seeing him made it possible to draw a steady breath and I smiled, remembering his kiss.

  “Are you…I only wanted to check on you.” His gaze flitted to the Bible on my lap, but he said nothing about it. “Berkley thinks they will not return until light, so we have a window to escape if we can get the ship under way.” The burn marks from the interrogation peeked out from under his collar.

  My throat ached. I did that. I caused him pain, yet here I sat occupying my thoughts with silliness and flutterings of the heart. What was the matter with me? “This is all my fault.” The shame of what my foolish actions wrought sent a flare of heat to my face. I cleared my throat. “I have complicated the situation immeasurably.”

  “What?” He knelt next to me, taking my hands. “The Aero Squad had us, we were in their sites, and you turned the tide. If not for your brilliant mind, Charlie, we would not have had a chance.”

  “I should not have run. I should have listened to you.” So sure of what was right, I put countless innocents in peril through my own rash behavior.

  “You wanted your father back,” he said meeting my gaze with sympathy. “I understand that.”

  “I did not think of the consequences to everyone else. Those poor families at Port Rodale nearly plummeted to their deaths because of me.” A chill rocked through me and I hugged myself. “I am so deeply sorry, for all the difficulty I have caused you.”

  “Charlie…Charlotte, I…” Catching a lock of my hair, he let it slide between his fingers. His pulse beat at his throat, the cords of his neck tightened as he swallowed hard, fighting some emotion. “We will get through this.”

  “How can you know that?”

  He played with the tendril of my hair. So simple and yet so intimate a gesture.

  Despite the situation, and the fear I felt, I wanted to stay near him. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because we have to,” he said and gave me a tired smile. Standing, he took his coat off, placing it over my shoulders. “So we will.”

  Seconds passed with neither of us speaking, neither turning to face the other. I fidgeted, gaze on the worn plank floor as I tried to breathe despite the vise squeezing my heart. My father entrusted so much to me and I was failing. “What will we do now?” I asked finally, trying to hide the worry from my voice. Surely they will return to search for us at dawn.”

  “Berkley means to fashion a sail of sorts with bed sheets and what is left of the supplies. He asked for our help.”

  “We’re to sail in the dark?” I fiddled with the lamp, making the flame brighter. “Is it safe?”

  “Nothing is safe out here.” He looked at me, concern softening his features. “Are you injured?”

  “Just a bit battered all over. You?” I rubbed my jaw. Both sides ached. I was grinding my teeth.

  “Miraculously, no.” He sank down into a nearby chair. After a few moments he said, “The Security Soldiers arrived too quickly.”

  “Yes, we barely escaped.” He looked tired, exhausted, and I worried that all he had been through was taking its toll. Riley’s torture, the burns and bruises on his face, neck, and arms troubled me. How much could someone take before giving out? I walked around his chair, pulled out the seat to the desk and sat next to him. Blood on his shirt caught my eye. He tensed when I reached for him. “I think your wound is very bad.”

  Looking down, he seemed to notice it for the first time.

  “May I see it?”

  He hesitated, his gaze going from my eyes to my lips, before nodding.

  Peeling back his sleeve, I winced at the gash on his elbow. “This still has pieces of the window in it.”

  “Riley would not have called them,” Ashton mused, ignoring my concerns. “He wanted to keep you from the Union Soldiers. Despite his threats of trading you for money, he is after the truth most of all. He wants to save Outer City from the blight. He would not have told them where you were.”

  “No, I guess he would not have.” I lead him back to the galley and had him sit at the table. Outside, Berkley’s silhouette shadowed across the deck as he fought with a flapping length of material. I dug through the clutter on the floor, placing things back in the bins and drawers as I searched for something to dress Ashton’s wounds.

  “He accused me of calling them. It couldn’t have been Riley.”

  I’d thought of that. “Maybe it was someone from Port Rodale turning me in for the reward?”

  “We were not there long enough for an aethergraph to be delivered after Riley captured us. It had to have been before. Given the time it would take to assemble the Aero Squad outside the Tesla dome, travel time to our location miles off the coast, and then search for us, it does not make sense.”

  “Perhaps someone sent them a message as soon as we set foot in the port?” I found a pair of cooking tongs and used them to sl
ip the shards from his skin. He seemed not to notice, his gaze far off. “Though no one really knew who I was until I caused that commotion. Not really.”

  “Lizzie would not reveal our whereabouts,” Ashton murmured.

  “We must be overlooking someone, then.” I field dressed his wound with a length of gauze, tying it as my father taught me.

  “It was me. I sent an aether missive.” He shook his head. “Right after you ran away, I sent a message to The Order. They were to send help. An extraction, not an attack.”

  I stilled, worried by the stoicism of his voice. “I don’t understand.”

  “If someone sent word to New York the second after Riley took us into custody, it still would have taken hours for the Security Force to arrive, but it didn’t take hours.”

  “You think someone in The Order sent the Security Force?”

  “No one else knew early enough to make sense.” He ran a shaking hand through his dark waves. “No one knew where you were.”

  “But,” I stayed my hand. “Why would they do that, Ashton?”

  He stared out at the dark waters through the broken window, silent. What was he thinking? All his life, dedicated to something that may have ultimately betrayed him.

  It seemed I was not the only one without my bearings out here.

  “To silence you. It is the only conclusion that fits all the pieces,” he said, his tone void of any emotion. “I told them about the journal, Charlie. They didn’t send a rescue. They sent the Union’s soldiers to blow us all out of the sky.”

  “You can’t be serious. Would they do that? Sacrifice all of those people to silence one?”

  “If they truly are working with the Union, as Riley contends, then perhaps.”

  “What kind of good could possibly warrant so many deaths?”

  Not answering, he fisted his hands on his knees, lips set in a grim line. “I think they have lost their way,” Ashton intoned finally, his voice a rasp. “I think…I think that I have, also.”

  Placing my hand on his forearm, I tried to catch his gaze. “What will you do?”

  “Find the truth. Wherever it leads.”

  “Truly?” I watched his face, searching.

  He nodded. “May I?” He slipped his hand to my waist, his thumb rubbing the embossed leather of my bodice.

  “I beg your pardon?” I looked at him, startled.

  “The book,” he said softly. “It’s quite beyond my reach at the moment.”

  “Ashton…I don’t know.”

  “I am not what Riley says I am.” He looked up, his gaze earnest. “Please trust me when I say that I only seek to stop this and nothing more.”

  “And The Order?”

  “I only want what is true, Charlie. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Something in his voice pulled at me, made me believe him. I turned, pulled the journal from my bodice, and handed it to him.

  He took it, turned it over in his hands, and smiled weakly.

  I fought the urge to touch his face, to run my fingertips over his tired eyes, and comfort him. Instead I folded my hands in my lap and tried desperately to put on a brave face.

  “Thank you,” he whispered and left.

  Please don’t break my heart.

  20

  Lord Rothfair stifled the urge to slap his son soundly.

  Cornelius stood before his desk, shoulders hunched, a frown marring the handsome face his mother gave him. His eyes kept flitting to the mantel clock.

  Rothfair knew he itched to join his friends at the club. It would be impossible to discuss things rationally after he had a few drinks. “A match is out of the question now,” Rothfair repeated. “What is it to you at this juncture? I had to convince you to consider her in the first place.”

  “But I really do fancy her now.” Cornelius slumped into the hideous horn and leather chair Rothfair’s wife purchased. “Charlotte Blackburn understands me. She loves the Union. There is no way she is complicit or even knowledgeable about her father’s crimes.”

  “Selling Union secrets to the Europeans is sedition, Cornelius,” Rothfair said as if speaking to a small child. He kept to himself the knowledge that Blackburn was unlikely to ever stand trial on the trumped up charges. “Even if she is not involved, her father is a traitor, she is ruined socially and, without a husband, financially, from what I hear.”

  “But Savannah Chace?” Cornelius wrinkled his nose. “She’s a bit plain.”

  “She is refined,” Rothfair said catching the roll of his son’s eyes. “Did you visit her as I asked?”

  “Charlotte only just went missing. You want me to call on her friend already?” Cornelius’s mouth twisted.

  Rothfair counted internally to keep his temper. “To see if she has heard from Miss Blackburn, not to woo her.” Twisting the signet ring on his pinky, Rothfair regarded his only child with despair. Blessed with his mother’s enticing looks and charm, he did not have an ounce of her brains.

  “I already called on every one of her friends, and then some.”

  “And?” Rothfair prompted

  “No word. Nothing. Some are even loathe to admit spending time with the Blackburns, at all. As if we all would forget their association.”

  “That is to be expected,” Rothfair said, standing. He straightened his vest and pulled a watch from the pocket by its fob as he rounded the desk. “With Blackburn accused of sedition, it is no wonder they distance themselves.”

  “Still, you might think them a little loyal,” Cornelius sniffed, genuinely perplexed. “I doubt anyone will attend Sadie Blackburn’s funeral service…if there even is one.”

  “People are loyal to what serves them best and nothing more. Keep that at the forefront of your mind, particularly when you take your post at the Bureau.”

  “I suppose.” Cornelius rubbed at the leather making it squeak.

  “No one has received any word, missive, or contact from Miss Blackburn since her disappearance.”

  He looked up, startled. “Do you think her abducted?”

  “Who would do that?” Rothfair shook his head, though Cornelius, vapid as he was, did not miss the mark entirely. “Has that rumor been spreading?”

  Cornelius shrugged, his expression sullen. “I think they’re saying she’s sailing with pirates up in the clouds now.”

  “What?” Rothfair paused, eyes narrowed at his son.

  “Well, with her father’s past, who knows what the gossip hens will come up with next? They could make her out to be quite notorious. Exciting, really.” Cornelius continued to rub the leather with his sweaty thumb.

  The sound sent a warble of irritation up Rothfair’s spine.

  Cornelius was pouting and wanted to be coddled.

  Rothfair leaned on the edge of the desk on one hip, his arms crossed. “If she were attached to you as you believed, I would think Miss Blackburn would have tried to contact you by now,” he said, gauging his son’s expression for deceit. “That is what you told me, is it not? I believe you said she was besotted with you.”

  “She is…was,” Cornelius argued, sitting up straighter. “She danced with no one else, received no other callers.”

  “That does not mean she loved you.” Rothfair fought the disdain in his voice. “It means she recognized your interest for the social cachet that it was. And now, perhaps she encountered someone she finds more beneficial.” Someone who swept her out from under the nose of trained Union Soldiers and fled with her to Outer City. Someone with connections and information that rivaled Rothfair’s own network.

  Cornelius was still talking.

  “What?”

  “I said, I have decided I do not want to go to the Michigan city-state. The dome there barely keeps the cold of Canada’s ice shelf at bay. I want to go to Missouri and live near the greenhouse orchards. They are the epitome of biological science.”

  “We already agreed. You are going to Michigan, Cornelius.” Rothfair walked to an escritoire against the wall and unlocked it. Pul
ling a bundle of papers from inside, he returned to his desk, laying them out. “You will take a position with the Ignition Laboratory Committee there. I secured your post two days ago. These are your letters of intent.”

  “But I know nothing of energy engineering or innovation.”

  “This must happen.” Rothfair rubbed his temple, the tension building to an almost unbearable degree. He wanted to be finished with this. He could see no alternative. Cornelius needed to agree. In truth the boy could not care less whom he married. He would not be faithful anyway if his escapades thus far meant anything. No, Cornelius’s motivation for arguing must be based on something else; more of an endowment when he married? Rothfair’s patience wore thin. The petulant look on his son’s face sent his blood boiling.

  “But Michigan—”

  Rothfair moved so fast, his son barely had time to yelp. Forearm at the lad’s throat, he pushed him up against the wall, barely containing his anger. “You go where I tell you. I did not spend a fortune on tutors and lessons without an aim.”

  “I only thought,” Cornelius gasped, unable to finish as Rothfair pressed harder.

  “It is not your place or forte, Cornelius, to think.” Rothfair let go suddenly, sending his son to the floor in a coughing fit. He walked to the desk, pulled a pen from the holder and held it out to his son. “You will go to Michigan. You will go with Savannah Chace.”

  Taking a moment to recover, Cornelius rose slowly, steadying himself against the wall.

  The wary look on his face made Rothfair’s chest tighten, but he told himself it was for the greater good. His son would thank him later, even be proud.

  “Why her?” Cornelius took the pen with a shaking hand.

  Rothfair felt a surge of guilt. Still, thankfully, the boy would cooperate.

  “You never even mentioned Miss Chace before.”

  “She was not worth mentioning before.” Rothfair gathered the signed letters. “Now she is. Her father is to replace Michelson as the Union Safety Commissioner.”

  “Michelson is retiring?”