by Bridget Ladd
You don’t know that for sure, my mind recalled to me.
Exhausted, I sat back against my wrought iron headboard, staring at the shadows that moved across the ceiling, cast by the lurking clouds that flooded the streets at night.
Many preferred to stay inside their homes during this time, claiming the clouds were a curse sent by the witches of the Outlands.
I loved them.
Running, enveloped within the dense clouds during my unapproved nighttime strolls as a child had made me feel as though I was flying. It was exhilarating to feel like no one was watching, to know that I was free to move as I wanted, to think without reproach. The Sector was renewed during this time as the dirt and grime of the day was covered by their thick white vapor.
I managed a slight smile as I remembered the look on Mrs. Fawnsworth’s face on the mornings after. She would eye my soiled garments suspiciously, but thankfully that was as far as she ever went with questioning me about it.
So long had it been since I acted as such . . . .
Looking over to my dresser, I leaned into the poufy comforter of my canopy bed. I typically hated the frilly fashion I was forced to wear, but I did have to admit, I loved my green and golden trimmed coverlet. On mornings when I felt particularly unsociable, Mrs. Fawnsworth had to practically drag me out of its clutches . . . .
I scowled, drawing my hand away, not understanding why my feeble brain decided to reminisce over the clouds and my favorite linens of all things—when I had, barely an hour ago, signed my life away. Forfeited it to meet a very cruel and violent end.
I sighed and stared at the locket necklace that stretched languidly across the surface of my nightstand. It reminded me of the Blacksmith, Xander, and of the courage it had given me. I hadn’t yet decided what I was going to do with it. To my surprise, the Council had not come for it either. I’m sure they were too preoccupied discussing the best ways of disposing of me instead.
I sighed again, too tired and worn out from the day to think about the repercussions of keeping this trinket. Suddenly, a thought came to mind. I pushed myself to my feet, deciding it would be safest if it was hidden with my journal—if the journal could remain hidden all of these years, so too would the necklace.
After securing both, I lay back against the bed. I had two days before the Drawing took place. Two days of waiting and watching, hoping I was still welcome in the Estate until that day arrived. Should I leave on my own and try to find suitable shelter until the Drawing began? I was torn between what I should do, and what was the easiest thing to do. Currently, I was choosing the easiest choice as I lay in my own comfortable bed. With the night’s bravado aside, to tell the truth, I was afraid. Terrified to move forward.
If selected to represent Sector 8, I would at least be allowed to live in a sanctioned hanger with my partner—whoever that would be. Barrage participants needed all the time they could get to both design and build their armor during the one month allowance. The Magistrate didn’t want the participants wasting time trying to find a suitable place to both work and live in. They needed to live and breathe their designs. Every moment of every day was crucial if they had any desire to make it out of the Barrage alive.
Pulling the soft comforter to my chin, I stared at the shadows dancing upon the ceiling again: dancing jesters, mocking me with their cruel smiles.
What if my name wasn’t drawn?
I’d be forced to live on the streets, knowing for a fact that I would be unwelcome in this home. I was a fool to think that even if I was drawn, I stood a chance against those who had been preparing themselves to fight in the tournament since the day they first breathed life.
I had only a month.
The Barrage wasn’t my only worry either. What if I was wrong about the Council’s loyalty to the Law? I could be taken while I slept and thrown over the Wall into the Outlands for speaking out against them; or poisoned into making it look like the stress of my responsibility had reached an overwhelming level in which I’d decided to take my own life. Knowing the Council, they would appreciate the first choice. How ironic that the curious girl got to finally find out what’s beyond.
I could only hope that the Laws of Prosper—the Laws in which they held above all else—would protect me.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, too tired to even rig up one of my usual contraptions to keep the door jarred firmly into place. I needed to sleep if I was to have any strength for the coming days. If they came for me in the night—then let them come.
My fate was already sealed.
Chapter 5
Bloody Noses ~ Atrocious Acts
I walked through a barren landscape, my bare feet aching from the brambles and stones that tore at them. The sky grew dark and ominous as the storm gathered overhead. I tried to swallow, but found I could not for my throat was dryer than the dirt that lay beneath my feet. I kept walking. Desperate for water. Just one sip was all that was needed.
As though in response to a prayer, I felt the barest hint of a sprinkle caress my hand, a gentle blessing. I opened my arms wide as I fell to my knees, desperate for one of the errant drops to soothe my cracked and bleeding lips.
Suddenly—I felt my skin tingle, the small blonde hairs rising from my arm in anticipation. Something was wrong. Something was behind me.
I cried out in terror just as a large metal hand grabbed the back of my neck. Thunder cracked and lightning struck the dirt a mere foot in front of me. I tried to pry the hand from my throat. My windpipe was collapsing, and I could feel the veins in my head expanding under the unrelenting grip.
Just when I thought the situation could not get any worse, the iron-laden hand drove my face and body straight towards the ground. I braced myself for the impact and was shocked to find myself floating instead. The ground had simply melted away, melding into a liquid state, accepting the solidity of my body.
I was surrounded by water. The metallic hand, its fingers a deadly vice, was still locked firmly around my throat. Scraps of metal adjusted themselves into place, bit by bit, further up my enemy’s arm as if put there by magic.
Water filled my lungs and stung my eyes. The pressure in my chest expanded to an intolerable level. I kicked my feet frantically, trying to break free, knowing that if I did not escape I would soon die. Just as my body started to relax in acceptance of my death, I noticed the winged locket necklace floating towards me. In these final, darkening moments, it looked to me like an angel of comfort. An Angel of Death.
I reached up and wrapped my pale fingers around it, allowing my enemy to do its worse. Just as my fingers enclosed around the locket, a jolt went through my entire body, rejuvenating me. A small but powerful sonic pulse tore through the water, shredding the metal from my offender’s hand. The grip loosened and I fell down into the depths of the water below me. I continued to fall down . . . down into the grayness of its translucence, denying me what I wanted. Denying me the chance to look into the face of whom so desperately sought to kill me.
~
I awoke feeling the warmth of sunlight on my cheek.
My sweat covered skin gleamed beneath the dazzling rays of the sun, the dust particles in the room dancing slowly through the golden light in their own time. I lay back and watched, mesmerized as I tried to clear the fog and the bizarre images of the dream lingering in my mind.
The air underneath my coverlet was stifling against my legs so I kicked it away from me. It had never become this hot and bright in my room upon waking. Judging by the angle of the sun, I’d say it was well past noon already.
Where is Mrs. Fawnsworth?
I shot up.
Bloody bones of a plagued corpse! They better not have touched her.
My face flushed with dread as a pang of guilt rose up from the depths of my stomach. In my selfishness I didn’t even stop to think how my actions would affect others . . . those closest to myself. I was too preoccupied with the notion that I was to be protected by the Barrage Code.
Not once,
in the eighteen years of my life, had Mrs. Fawnsworth taken a day off. A choice made all of her own. She devoted herself fully to me and my care.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and grabbed a loose dress hanging from the corner of my mirror. Throwing it on carelessly, I raced out my door, and ran straight into the broad chest of someone standing just outside my room.
“Oh hello . . . and a Good Morning to you too.” Scottie Briggins stared down at me—his blotchy, rose covered cheeks stark against the tired white wallpaper behind him. “Why so in a hurry?”
I tried to maneuver around him, but he blocked my attempt.
“Out of my way, Scottie.”
“Not so fast.” He wagged his finger at me as if I were a child. “Not until you tell me what you’re up to. I’d assume you were heading to apologize to me.”
I gave him a look. “Apologize to you? For what exactly? For not positively falling at the feet of one as handsomely demure as yourself? Go speak with Annette, I’m sure she’d be most willing.”
He turned his head to the side, regarding me as if I was a feral animal.
“Annette, I’m afraid, talks a great deal and yet has little to say. You however, have something that I want.” Scottie made a face of mock embarrassment as if he had misspoken. “Excuse my mistake. You had something that I wanted,” he said through bared teeth, his voice dropping low. Suddenly very angry he shoved at my shoulders, pushing me back against the wall. “If I cannot get what I want, I suppose I’ll have to take something else,” he whispered suggestively, grabbing at my wrist.
I would not allow him to bully me.
“If that’s your best line, I’d be surprised if you’ve ever gotten what you’ve wanted.” I did not shy away, returning his stare evenly.
He laughed, shaking his blond hair from his eyes.
“Oh believe me, my lovely, all those false pretenses of pining after you have been lost as of last night, along with your title of Mistress.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
“They were false?” My brows rose. “Oh how you had me fooled,” I responded dryly. “Seriously now, get out of my way,” I growled.
He ignored me, and came closer. “Or is it that you’re worried about your Waif Wandering servant? She not show up to wipe your backside this morning?”
I struggled angrily against his hold, but he tightened his grip on my wrist. “I honestly do not understand why your parents hired her in the first place. She obviously wasn’t the greatest of influences.”
Shocked by his reference to Mrs. Fawnsworth in the past tense, I struggled to hide the worry from my eyes. He just confirmed my fears.
And he noticed my moment of weakness.
His eyebrows drew together sympathetically. “Don’t worry. She’s a tough old bird. I’m sure she’ll be hanging in there.” He then chuckled, leaving me to imagine all the horrible things he might mean.
His smile sobered as he gazed down upon me. “I’ll try not to hurt you, during the Barrage that is, if you’re willing to strike a deal with me,” he continued as he ran his hand up my right arm. “I’m sure we could work something out between us.” He leaned close, whispering into my hair. “Perhaps one little kiss to start? A kiss . . . in exchange for information? The better the exchange, the more enlightening the clues will become.”
I would rather consume my own vomit.
Anger fueled its way up my arms. Giving into the heated impatience, I suddenly shoved at his chest, hard, just enough to make room to ram my palm up into the base of his nose. I felt the bones move upwards in an unnatural path moments before I heard the resounding crack.
Scottie fell backwards, grasping at his face.
He blinked rapidly. “You—you bloody bitch!” he screamed, his eyes wide in shock and bewilderment by my sudden attack.
“What appears at the moment to be bloody is your nose,” I said grimly. “I’d get a hankie for that if I were you. Or have Daddy fetch you one, since he tries to get you everything else.” I spoke with unnatural calm, even as I backpedaled down the hall away from him.
“And Scottie,” I said suddenly, making no effort to hide the danger in my tone, “If anything has happened to Mrs. Fawnsworth, and I find that you were involved . . .”
The rest of my threat lingered unspoken on the tip of my tongue.
To my luck, a male and female custodian appeared pushing a cart around the corner, preparing to clean my room. They looked at Scottie, who still sat sprawled on the floor, holding his nose, then back up at me.
Scottie growled in his throat and picked himself up. “Eyes to yourselves or I’ll have them cut out!”
Startled by his anger, the female custodian almost tripped over her own feet as she busied herself with the folding of the room’s bed sheets. The male custodian, who was more alert to the situation, pulled her into the room’s interior and out of Scottie’s wrath.
Scottie, still seething with anger, forced himself to regain some composure. He swiped his hand under his nose and straightened the lapel of his bloodied vest. He returned his attention to me, tilting his head inquiringly.
“You’ll do what to me, Lily, if you find out? What?” He taunted, looking at me coldly. He finally shook his head and smiled. “That’s right. You’ll do nothing. Nothing . . . because just like your grandmother before you, you run away from everything. You will pay for this,” he threatened venomously before straightening himself and turned to walk away.
I watched him as he skulked down the corridor eventually disappearing into the adjacent hallway.
The tension in the corridor lingered even after he was gone. The built-up resentment was stifling and my knuckles had turned pale from clenching them.
I allowed myself to rest against the closest wall, taking in a deep breath to balance my thoughts.
He’s right. You know you’ll pay for this, I thought to myself.
I’d be paying for a lot of my recent actions very soon. And I certainly wasn’t looking forward to the repercussions.
It didn’t matter.
Right now—I had to find Mrs. Fawnsworth.
~
I ran through the empty corridors, ignoring the watchful eyes of the few custodians who lingered.
I had no idea what they could’ve done to Mrs. Fawnsworth, but judging by what little information Scottie had given away, it couldn’t be good. I hoped to find some evidence of her disappearance in her living quarters. It was a shot in the dark, but it was all I had to go on.
As I made my way down the stone steps to the servant’s quarters, I found her room already emptied of her belongings. They did such a thorough job of eradicating her that even her lingering scent was gone.
Frustrated to the core, I put my sweaty palms to my eyes, forcing myself to think. Who can I trust? Who would help me find her?
I could not go to my parents. I knew that much was not an option. Who knew? They were most likely the masterminds behind this so called punishment of theirs. A rap on the knuckles or verbal lashing could be considered punishment. This? This was an atrocious act. A crime of outright ruthlessness.
I considered the fresh linens that now replaced Mrs. Fawnsworth’s bed, and an idea sprung to mind.
Running past the door with a new determination, I retraced my steps back towards the corridor where I had my confrontation with Scottie. My dress suctioned itself to the front of my body as I rushed down the hallway. I skidded to a halt just before colliding with the male custodian whose back now blocked the entrance to my room.
“Ma’lady Emerson, I do apologize—” he stammered, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
“Be at ease. It was my fault. I was only hoping . . .” I stalled, gathering my breath, and turned to look at the female custodian. She was pale as a sheet and visibly trembling as she looked at me.
Concerned for her well-being, I reached out in an attempt to ask if she was ill, but she pulled away as if my touch alone would burn.
Placing my hand at my side, I tri
ed not to appear offended.
“Is . . . there something we can help you with Ma’lady?” the male custodian asked, filling the silence. “If not, we mean no disrespect, but we’d prefer to continue our work alone.”
I felt for the two; my presence was obviously making them uneasy, but I was desperate to get some answers. I looked earnestly at the man. “Please . . . Mitchell isn’t it? Mitch?”
The old male custodian looked at me pointedly. “No. Ma’lady, my name is Oliver.”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “I apologize. For never asking . . . it’s just, I need your help. Please.”
Oliver bit at his lip in thought, his bushy mustache moving like the legs of a spider as he considered my request. “It’s not safe to be seen in your presence Ma’lady Emerson,” he said, averting his eyes away from me.
I took a cautious step forward. “I know, and I’m very sorry. I’ll be on my way as soon as you can give me any information of the whereabouts of Mrs. Fawnsworth—I’m afraid that something terrible might have happened to her.”
A change came over the custodian’s demeanor. His shoulders stiffened and I saw a flash of what might be fear or, just as easily, anger, in his eyes. “We know you’re looking for her. For all our sakes, Ma’lady, stop.” He spoke without care to his status or mine. It startled me . . . but not so much as it startled his female counterpart. She stifled a cry and began to pace back and forth in the room like a trapped animal. Noticing me looking at her, she panicked and rushed past, making me shift close to the doorframe in her escape. She scurried down the hall as if I was stricken with a deadly contagion. Oliver watched her retreat and frowned. His aged eyes full of sympathy.
He addressed himself once more to me with a courage I envied. He sighed, knowing I wouldn’t be satisfied until I got the information that I needed. “She’s terrified Ma’lady, and she has good reason to be. The more people you get involved in this, the more heartache and grief there will be to follow.”