by Liz Delton
They bid Emrick’s parents goodbye and went out into the night amid the shouts and laughs of the others, Atlan’s heart heavier than it had been when he had entered.
He was itching for his new earlink, itching for an unguarded conversation. But the gift from his father was stowed safely inside his satchel along with the Black Knight uniform, and only a few personal items. He would just have to trust Emrick until they could get away from the Knights.
Even though the trains ran less at night, one arrived shortly after they reached the platform. They all rode the train into the city, with the Black Knights lurking in the back of the nearly empty train car. Atlan was having a hard time ignoring his shadows, his brain working furiously to figure out how they were going to get rid of them, and get to the place where the hydrojets were kept.
The others chatted happily the entire ride, all except Alice, who was normally rather quiet and shy. Even though she appeared to be staring idly out the window, Atlan thought she was watching the Black Knights out of the corner of her eye. He wasn’t surprised that she wanted to help rescue Sylvia—without Sylvia, Alice would not have passed her second Trial.
The city lights sparkled like earthbound stars which grew into suns as they approached. Finally, the train began to slow, and Atlan felt as if his heart would explode from anticipation.
Emrick led them to none other than The Waterfront, which they had visited the other day. Atlan’s hopes rose, and were buoyed even further when the Black Knights remained out on the street, as they did last time. He let out a long sigh as his ears were battered with the noise inside.
They claimed a table by the fire, surrounded by enough noise not to be overheard even by the matron, to whom they had to shout their orders to at least twice before she understood.
“Where did you ever find this place?” Atlan half-shouted to Emrick, who was sitting right next to him.
Emrick shrugged, and grinned as their drinks arrived.
“How do you know they saw?” Atlan asked as soon as the matron left the table.
“Well, I know that none of the drones we have during the day shift are allowed near Skycity until further notice, and that’s enough of a sign as I can tell,” he said.
“Which means they brought her there,” Atlan confirmed. At least he had guessed that right. Talia and Lena exchanged glances behind their cups.
He didn’t have time to wonder what Lady Naomi was doing, or why she was inevitably having her private drones survey Skycity. Her visit to his rooms still gave him a weird feeling, but he didn’t plan on being around long enough to find out what it had been about.
“You found out where they are?” Emrick asked.
Atlan bobbed his head. “My father saw them a few decades ago. I don’t know where they are on the island exactly, but I know how to get there.”
He looked around at the others, each wearing a grin at the impending mischief. “I don’t know what Emrick has told you,” he said, now glancing around the pub, which was beginning to surpass its original noise level. “But this isn’t just dangerous, it’s tr—” he stopped, not willing to say it even in this noise. He wouldn’t risk his friends being tried for treason without them knowing exactly what they were getting themselves into.
“They know everything. Everything,” Emrick assured him.
“We want to help,” Colin added.
Alice bobbed her head fervently, eyes wide.
“Right, then,” Atlan said, and rounded on Emrick. “How are we getting rid of them?” he jerked his head to where the Black Knights inevitably lurked outside.
“Easy,” said Emrick. “Give me the word, and we’ll be off.”
Atlan’s eyebrows knit together, but Emrick sounded so sure, he didn’t ask any further.
“Are we ready, then?” Atlan asked, a new energy coursing through his veins like liquid fire. It was beginning.
Some of the others nodded, but Lena asked, “What will we do when we get there? Do you know where they’re keeping her?”
“I don’t know,” Atlan replied. “And no, we only know that she’s been taken to the city.”
Lena’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “So we’re rushing off with no plan, no idea of what’s going on up there?”
“We’re improvising,” Colin offered. “Come on Lena, it’s just like the Trials.” He nudged her in the ribs.
“All right then,” she conceded. “I just thought you might have more than Emrick told us.”
“Only about the jets,” Atlan said. “But I’ll tell you all about them later.” He finished his drink and placed it neatly on the table back onto its water ring.
“Well, if everyone is all right with the risks, Emrick, I’d say now is the time to reveal your brilliant plan of escape.”
* * *
Emrick finished off his drink and looked to the bar. To Atlan’s astonishment, Emrick flagged down the matron, who took more than a few minutes to weave her way to their table amid the ruckus.
The stout woman was drying her hands on a threadbare cloth as she reached their table.
“What?” she croaked. Atlan wondered, not for the first time, what in the world Emrick was doing.
“Another round, please,” he said clearly, holding something out to the matron. Whatever it was disappeared so quickly Atlan never saw it.
The matron smacked her lips and said, “Just a moment, then, we’re busy enough as it is,” then bustled off, her hands deep in the pockets of her apron.
Atlan spun his empty glass in its water ring. “I thought we were going,” he growled.
“We are,” Emrick replied smugly. “Just wait.”
They watched the matron hustling about at the bar, and Atlan glanced out the window to the street. Two shadows blocked half the window.
The matron left the bar quite suddenly, hefting a large tray of drinks, but she wasn’t heading for their table at all. Atlan groaned. Why had Emrick even asked for another round?
But Emrick was on his feet now, just as the matron reached the two tables in front of the window and started handing out the drinks.
“It’s time,” Emrick said, and the others stood without question.
Without any idea where Emrick was leading them, or how he had possibly arranged this exit from the pub, Atlan followed his friend around the massive fireplace in the middle of the room, and down to the end of the bar, where the lighting was poor.
In the dark, a set of stairs led downward. Before descending, Atlan glanced back to the front window, which was completely blocked by the matron now holding an animated conversation with one of her customers.
He followed the sound of Emrick’s footsteps, holding out his arms, fingertips brushing against the dusty stone of the dark stairwell.
They reached the bottom of the stairs where it smelled like damp stone, stale brew, and a weird musty smell Atlan couldn’t place. His hands hovered out in front of him now, waiting for the moment when he would bump into something in this pitch darkness, obviously the pub’s basement and storeroom.
Feet shuffled ahead of him. Twice they turned slowly, creeping through the blackness until they heard a thud, followed by a curse.
“Stairs,” Emrick whispered bitterly through the darkness.
Atlan couldn’t help but feel it was a little bit justified, becoming irritated at Emrick for not bothering to divulge any of his plan.
Up they went, keeping their footsteps as quiet as they could on the wooden stairs, with the occasional creak or groan of wood breaking the silence. Finally, they heard Emrick whisper, “Hold up—door.”
Atlan froze, a step or two down from Emrick. “Wait,” he breathed. He reached up to grab Emrick, getting hold of his sleeve. “Let me go first,” Atlan hissed up at him.
Silently they switched places, and Atlan grabbed the handle of what he could only assume was the back door of the pub. He pushed it open and saw only a dark alley, dimly lit by the street lights at the corner. Cool air flooded his senses and he stepped into the
night.
He hadn’t reckoned with what might be behind the door, however, so the blow from behind caught him completely unaware.
“I knew you couldn’t be trusted,” a man’s voice grunted as Atlan went down hard onto the paving stones.
He only just avoided cracking his head open, and rolled to the side, scraping his palms.
Emrick burst from the door and grabbed the man by the most unlikely place, his head. Dazed, Atlan saw Emrick’s hand scrabbling at the man’s ear, and it took a moment to realize what his friend was doing.
The Black Knight’s earlink fell to the ground just as Colin emerged from the doorway and went for the man’s legs.
Down they both went, and Atlan snatched up the earlink. The Black Knight reached for the stunner at his belt, but Lena was already there. She made quick work of his weapons belt while Emrick got his arms, and Colin, his legs. Talia pressed a hand to the man’s mouth, a frown upon her own.
Atlan scrambled up and headed for the mouth of the alley, not sure if the Knight had had enough time to send a link to his companion. This time he looked carefully to the left and right, and he hoped the empty street meant that his other guard was still at his post out front.
He loped back to the others. The Black Knight had been bound with his own belt, his weapons removed and apparently dispersed among his companions. A threadbare cloth had been used to gag the man, whose wide eyes glared in hatred at Atlan and his friends.
Atlan just shrugged at him. “This is none of your business,” he said simply. “Stay out of it.”
Not wanting to incriminate the matron of The Waterfront by stowing the man in her basement, they took him further into the alley, to at least buy themselves a little more time. It took four of them to carry him, as he squirmed in their arms, elbows and knees flying in every direction.
The alley was only used for deliveries and disposal, so they wedged him between two bins and pushed a third in front. It was the best they could do.
They were momentarily free of the Black Knights. Atlan turned to the others, guilt slicing through him knowing that they were risking their lives, and their freedom, but before he could open his mouth, Emrick cut him off.
“Yes, yes, Atlan, we know it’s dangerous. Just tell us how we’re going to steal the hydrojet and help Sylvia.”
Twenty-Five
Over the next day, Sylvia painfully explained to Onen what was really going on in Arcera, and he, in turn, had given her a clue as to how Greyling’s obsession might have started. He had explained about a book they had found, how Greyling found out about the fifth city.
“I knew it was odd—him keeping it a secret about the city until he found it,” Onen had commented when he told her the story.
She helped Onen piece together the real story of the war, and explained the truth behind Greyling’s lies. Lightcity had indeed been destroyed—but not by the fifth city, as Greyling had told them. It was a horrible accident, made even worse by Greyling lying about it.
It was all Sylvia could do to prop herself up against the wall and talk to Onen. Her wounds throbbed painfully, and made her movements stiff. Late in the afternoon, the door to her cell opened and someone threw a bundle of clean bandages in her face. The door had shut before she had even realized what it was.
With a grimace she re-dressed the wounds, and realized Greyling must want her alive for whatever public justice he was planning. A double trial with Onen, perhaps? She glanced down through her glass floor for the first time without the sight making her want to throw up. There was truly no way out.
She and Onen bid each other good night when the mountainside faded into darkness. In all their talk, she never once mentioned her time in Seascape. It was clear that he had been dying to know more about it, but he didn’t pry further whenever she changed the subject.
If she and Onen could hear each other through the walls, then anyone in the hallway could hear them, too, she reckoned. So she had been careful to say nothing that Greyling would be interested in—and she doubted her curses and slights on his character would get reported back to him, and if they did, all the better, she thought.
Once it became late, she removed her earlink from her sock and connected to her datastrands. She traced vain attempts at controls onto her datawoven sleeve, with no answer.
There would be no escape. No one in Meadowcity could possibly know that she had been taken here, nor did she think they could reach her here in the Citizen’s Hall even if they did know. No, she would have to face the trial alone, and be shamed by the man who had caused all of this devastation. She shuddered to think what the mobbed citizens might do to her.
They talked all the next day, unraveling their stories, though Sylvia still avoided talking about Seascape. It was almost pleasant having another person to talk to, especially since her earlink had been silent and useless. Just knowing another person was near—someone who wasn’t hurting her—was a comfort.
That night, she awoke in the dark, curled into a ball in the corner of her cell, encircled around her hollow stomach. It didn’t take long to realize what had woken her. The subtle tramping of boots reverberated down the hall towards them.
Her eyes floated open. The boots thudded past her door to Onen’s cell, and she stiffly pushed herself up to sit. A wave of dizziness threatened to drown her. She closed her eyes and let her head flop back against the wall until it passed. What were they doing here in the middle of the night?
Onen’s door opened with a slam. With minimal exertion, she rolled her head to the side to press her ear against the wall.
After a very brief scuffle, there was silence. No jeers from the Scouts, no inquisition. Onen was silent.
Then the door shut, and Sylvia swore she heard three sets of footsteps pass her cell. They were taking him.
Her hand dove for the only weapon she had, and she jammed her earlink into her ear. In an instant she was connected and searching, searching for help that she had little faith could hear her.
Twenty-Six
Atlan shrugged his shoulders again, the Black Knight uniform Oliver had given him entirely uncomfortable and too tight across his shoulders and back. Though Atlan still didn’t know how or why Oliver was helping him, they were about to find out.
Ahead of him strode Emrick, dressed in Atlan’s discarded clothes and wearing Atlan’s old earlink (which he complained about relentlessly, because according to Emrick, Atlan must have the biggest ears in Seascape). They all agreed that Atlan’s earlink should at least be active, if Lady Naomi was indeed monitoring it.
After abandoning the Black Knight they had disabled, they had sped through the streets to Castle Tenny to be sure to lose their second guard. The others had groaned when Atlan had revealed their destination, but agreed it made perfect sense that the access point to the hydrojets would be Lady Blackwater’s stronghold. It was the matter of getting in and through that they were worried about.
Only a few blocks away from the castle, Atlan tapped into his new, uncensored earlink, and reached out a tendril of thought to Oliver, his heart thudding erratically.
Oliver, Atlan said over the link. Can we speak?
I believe we can, Oliver replied, a clear hint of smile in his voice, and Atlan’s heart soared.
“Hold on,” he hissed to Emrick and the others as the castle came into view, its turrets and ramparts lit with glowing globes of light. They retreated into the shadows of the wall bordering the castle gardens.
Atlan’s thoughts quickly retreated inward, and he spoke again over the link, We don’t have much time. We’re almost back at the castle. I think you know what I’m trying to do—any chance you can give us a hand getting to them?
Three hard seconds passed in what felt like a lifetime before Oliver answered.
All right, yes, give me a moment, Oliver replied in a flurry of words through the link. A wave of gratitude flooded Atlan.
Several moments passed while Atlan studied the weapons at his belt, only a few that he knew th
e use of. A stunner exactly like the one on his immediate right had been used on him at his last escape attempt. One jab with the fist-sized cylinder, and he had gone down in an electrified daze. Having one at his side gave him the courage to keep standing there impersonating a royal guard.
Go now, Oliver urged over the link, and Atlan breathed the same words to his companions.
It didn’t take long for the group to reach the base of the stairs. They caught sight of the two Black Knights leaving their posts to go inside, hopefully Oliver’s doing.
Emrick talked animatedly to Colin as they went up the steps, and Atlan admired his friend’s outward calm at the situation. Impersonating the Lady’s son, disabling one of her Black Knights, and entering the very home of the Lady did not seem to faze him. No wonder he had passed through the Trials with the highest marks.
Lena, Talia and Alice’s conversation rose in volume as well, surely to hide the fact that anything was the matter, if they were still being watched. Atlan remained a few paces behind, his hand at his weapons belt, eyes on Emrick, the way his guards always looked.
Emrick took the last few stairs, jabbering on about asking to let his friends see the castle gardens lit up. He opened the door, and they poured into the entrance hall, Atlan only a few steps behind them.
They were alone in the entrance hall with Oliver, who was standing at his desk looking only a little out of sorts.
“Ah, Atlan,” Oliver said to Emrick. “Come take a look at this vid, I think you’ll appreciate it,” he jabbered on as he beckoned Emrick into his office and Atlan himself quickly followed, because the next set of guards were coming through the entrance hall to resume the post outside.
Atlan’s back was to them. He heard the large doors shut with a subtle finality. The relief was short lived when Atlan realized they still had a long way to go—and had only gotten past two Black Knights. Four, if he was counting the ones who they had ditched back at the pub.