The August 5 (27 page)

“Who is Angry Em?” Mr. Shore said.

“Em doesn't exist,” Gavin said.

“Who is Angry Em?” Mr. Shore repeated.

“Em doesn't exist,” Gavin repeated. Mr. Shore's eyes narrowed.

“I don't like games,” Mr. Shore said. “I don't like inane conversations.”

“I wrote the treatise,” Gavin said. “It's a pseudonym. I made her up.”

“I didn't ask if Em was a woman,” Mr. Shore said. “If it's a pseudonym, why does she have a gender? Who is she?”

“I am. I wrote
The Right to Rule
.” Gavin tried to reassure himself that he hadn't given anything away. Mr. Shore was trying to rattle him.

“Do you have children?” Mr. Shore asked.

Gavin took that as a threat and stayed quiet.

“I have children,” Mr. Shore said. “And I want them to live the life they deserve.”

And what about the lives of our children?
Gavin wondered to himself. But Colston Shore was incapable of seeing the world in any other way but his own. Gavin didn't want to waste any more of his words on a man who wouldn't listen.

Mr. Shore stood up and opened the door wider. “Guard,” he called into the corridor.

A large man with short brown hair appeared in the doorway. Except for his uniform, he looked like an ordinary man, neither particularly cruel nor particularly kind. He could be a husband, a father, or one of the men who shot the August Five dead. Gavin had the absurd thought that it would be easier to recognize evil men if they had some visible sign, like horns, or fangs like a snake.

“Mr. Baine is not cooperating,” Mr. Shore told the guard.

The guard grabbed Gavin's shirt with one hand and dragged him off the cot. Gavin couldn't support his weight on his hurt leg, so he stood on one leg awkwardly, still in the clutches of the guard.

“Who is the woman?” Colston asked. “Is she family? A close friend? Why are you protecting her?”

“I am Angry Em,” Gavin said.

Mr. Shore nodded at the guard, who casually backhanded Gavin across the face like he was swatting a fly.

“I
am
Angry Em,” Gavin repeated, louder this time.

“Officer Sanneral,” Mr. Shore called.

A smallish officer with a tidy beard on a pointy chin came into the room. “Yes, sir?”

“We're having some trouble with the prisoner,” Mr. Shore said. “He's a liar. He needs some help in learning to tell the truth. Officer Sanneral, would you please assist Mr. Baine in our quest for the truth?”

With that, the chief administrator left Gavin in the hands of the other men. Even before the next strike hit him, Gavin willed himself to forget Tamsin, to forget her face, her laugh, to forget dancing with her in the pub. From this moment on, he could never let himself speak her name again. As the blows rained down, he kept repeating the same phrase to himself again and again:
I will prove to you I'm not a coward, Tamsin. I will prove it to you.

26

COTTAGER GANG LEADERS ARRESTED

In their ongoing effort to curb the work stoppage, soldiers have raided the headquarters of a notorious cottager gang in the basement of an abandoned glassworks factory near Seventh Stone Bridge. Stolen property was recovered and several criminals were arrested, including Gavin Baine and Verner Leigh.

—
Zunft Chronicle,
November 3

A soldier delivered a note to Tommy's door at Seminary. Colston Shore was hosting another dinner party on Friday, and his son's presence was required. No excuses would be tolerated. Tommy was surprised because the Cessation was still going strong. Streets were deserted, shops closed, and soldiers patrolled the streets like they were at war. While Seminary had brought in workers from Catille to keep the school functioning, the city was far from normal. Still, Tommy decided it was easier to comply than risk his father's ire at a time like this.

Tommy hadn't spoken to Bern so he didn't bother to stop by his brother's room in Sachsen Hall before he set out for his father's town house on Friday. As he stepped outside Dawson Street Gate, a hooded figure came out of the alley and moved toward him. There were still beggars in the northern district despite the Cessation, so he avoided eye contact. The person intercepted him on the corner near Abel's Toys and held up a cap, as if for a donation. Tommy dug in his pocket for a coin, but then the beggar said his name: “Tommy.”

Tommy peered at the person's face. It wasn't a beggar at all. It was Emilie. The dark hood covered her red hair, and her face was gaunt and tired. She stared at him with bleary, bloodshot eyes.

“Hey,” he said in surprise. “What's wrong?”

“Pretend you don't know me,” she whispered. He glanced around quickly, but there was no one near them on the street.

“Are you waiting for me?” he asked.

“Your father arrested my friend yesterday,” Emilie said. “He's in the compound and they're going to kill him, like they did my fath—I mean, like they did Michael Henry. I need to find out what's happening to him. Please, can you help me?”

“Oh, Emilie, I don't know what I can do,” Tommy said. “If I ask, it will mean trouble for everyone.”

Emilie's eyes brimmed with tears. “I know. It was so stupid to come.”

“I want to help,” Tommy told her. “But even if I asked him, he wouldn't tell me anything, and he'd want more information about you.”

“I know you can't
ask
him,” Tamsin cried. “But is there any other way to find out? My friend's name is Gavin Baine. Is there anyone else you can trust?”

Tommy realized how desperate she must feel to have waited for him here in the heart of a Zunft district on the off chance that he could help her.

“I'll try,” Tommy said. “But please don't get your hopes up.”

“Leave a note for me in the mail slot of Ash Street Garden,” she said. “Address it to Emilie and give me a time to meet you. I'll be at the north end of the garden at the appointed time.”

“All right,” he said. Suddenly, she shook the cap aggressively in front of Tommy's face.

“Coin!” she said loudly.

“Hello, crazy cottager,” said Bern, who appeared at Tommy's elbow. “Why don't you go play in front of a wagon?”

Emilie glared at him. Her hostility toward him was evident, and it made Bern cross.

“I said, go away,” Bern told her. Tommy could feel the tension between them escalating dangerously.

“Let's go, Bern,” Tommy said, dropping a coin into the cap.

Bern made a sudden lunge toward Emilie, pretending like he was going to hit her. She flinched and took a step backward. Tommy wanted to kill his brother for being such a bully.

“Cut it out,” Tommy insisted. Bern made the stupid gesture one more time, only this time, Emilie didn't flinch. Emilie spun on her heel and walked away.

“Maybe you should get a job,” Bern called to her back.

“Leave her alone,” Tommy said.

“You never learn, do you,” Bern said with disgust. “You're still taking the wrong side.”

 

 

The boys took separate routes to Colston's house, but they arrived at nearly the same time. Instead of a butler, a soldier opened the door. When the twins stepped into the foyer, Tommy counted five guards stationed along the corridor and standing watch at the front windows. Bern and Tommy made their way into the sitting room where a handful of Zunftmen and their wives stood near a refreshment table. It was a much smaller number than at the festive gathering earlier in the autumn. Tommy recognized his father's old friends and political allies, but he didn't see any of the new Carvers, who had joined Colston after the August Rising. The mood in the room was tense, and conversation seemed strained.

“What's going on?” Tommy whispered to Bern. “Why did Father insist on hosting people tonight? And where is he?”

“After avoiding me for weeks, now we're talking?” Bern said.

“I thought you weren't talking to me,” Tommy said.

“You're the recluse, not me,” Bern said.

“I've been busy with schoolwork,” Tommy explained.

“Whatever you say, Tommy,” Bern said.

Kristin entered the room with her father, but when Tommy waved at her, she shot him a warning glance. He got the message—she wanted him to pretend not to know her. Tommy felt disappointed. Talking with Kristin would have made the night bearable. He spent the next hour watching men play billiards and wondering why his father hadn't made an appearance at his own party. The bell rang in the kitchen, and as the guests filed toward the dining room, Kristin maneuvered her way beside him.

“Miss Sommerfield would like to see you tomorrow at noon,” Kristin whispered. “You're to meet her on the bench. She said you'd know what that means.”

Tommy nodded. The “bench” was where they'd sat in Sebastian's Circle on the day that Charlotte had been taken to the hospital.

“What's wrong?” Tommy asked as quietly as he could.

Kristin shrugged and tossed her blond curls. “I'm so excited about dinner!” she said in her stupid-girl voice that she used to make Tommy and Ellie laugh. She was warning him it wasn't safe to talk anymore. Tommy turned away from her, but he felt irritated and unsettled by everything that was happening that evening. And he hadn't even seen his father yet.

As the guests were taking their assigned seats, Colston strode into the room and took his seat at the head of the table.

“My apologies, everyone,” he said. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting. There was a crucial matter I had to attend to.”

The guests were murmuring to each other and arranging napkins on their laps when a loud noise startled everyone. It was a sound like thunder, but the sky had been cloudless all day. One of the wives gasped dramatically and clutched her husband's elbow. Colston raised his hands as if he were about to speak, but a loud explosion in the distance jolted the floor. In the middle of the long table, a goblet teetered and then tipped over. Everyone stared as red wine seeped into the white tablecloth. A few of the guests started toward the windows, but Colston said sharply: “There's no need for that. Please, sit down.”

Outside, another explosion boomed in the distance, and people glanced at each other nervously. Tommy was sitting two seats away from his father, and from his vantage point, he could see the southern horizon outside the open balcony door. There was an unnatural red glow above the skyline. The southern district was ablaze.

“Welcome, friends,” Shore said with an air of satisfaction. “We are witnessing the end of an era. Tonight, the cottagers will learn their place in Zunft society. They will no longer feel entitled to use violence to destroy our way of life. Tonight, our traditions will be upheld. Our glory finally restored.”

Across the table, Kristin's eyes were huge. She reminded Tommy of a frightened animal. Her father laid a protective hand on her back. Even Colston's longtime political allies seemed perplexed. Apparently, none of them knew what was happening to the city any more than Tommy did.

“They will see that my reach extends into every rat hole in this city,” Colston said. “After tonight, the Cessation will be over, and its leaders will understand—without a doubt—that such gestures are futile. Tomorrow, we will wake up and our lives and livelihoods will be returned to normal. You have my word.”

Another loud explosion rocked the room. This one was only a few blocks away. A breeze blew through the open balcony, bringing in the scent of burning wood and something metallic. Everything seemed surreal and frightening. His father seemed unnaturally calm, which was adding to his fear. How far would his father go to make people heel to him?

“With the exception of the leaders, the cottagers will be forgiven,” Shore said. “I will welcome them back to decent society with open arms.”

There was an awkward silence, and then Karl Anderson began applauding. One by one, the other guests joined in. But even the sound of clapping did nothing to drown out the violence outside. Still, Colston seemed pleased, especially when Karl raised his glass and said: “Heritage, honor, good health!”

Colston raised his own glass, smiled magnanimously, and motioned to the guards to bring the food in. As dinner progressed, Tommy marveled at the inane attempts at conversation while something terrible was going on outside. People avoided political talk entirely and the conversation flitted around ordinary things, like the weather and the flavor of the wine.

“The food is delicious,” Mrs. Johnston said. It was the third time someone had said it. They'd already been informed that the chef from the officer barracks had been brought in to cook for them.

“Yes, the fish was caught fresh off Norde this morning,” Colston told them. They already knew that the pears had come in from Catille and the cheese from Aeren. They'd discussed how the menu favored Catille cuisine as opposed to the Aeren tradition. They talked about Norde culinary traditions versus those of Sevenna. They kept talking and saying nothing until Tommy felt like screaming. While waiting for the dessert to be brought in, Tommy excused himself from the table, but instead of going to the washroom, he ducked into Colston's library. Behind him, he heard Mrs. Johnston extolling the virtues of the lemon cr
è
me pie.

The volt-lamps were off in Colston's library and the only light came from the glow of the fireplace. Tommy didn't know what he hoped to find, but he'd promised Emilie that he would try. He slipped behind Colston's massive mahogany desk and flipped through the stack of papers sitting on the corner. Most of it seemed innocuous, but he noticed the name of the pub the
Plough and Sun
on a handwritten list. Tommy peered more closely and realized that it was a long list of businesses:
Abel's Toys
.
The Rising Sun Caf
é
.
Alfred's Fine Imports
.
Piper Leaf Market
. Tommy didn't recognize all of them, but he knew a few, like Abel's Toys, which he'd passed on Dawson Street on his way up to his father's house.