The Fog Diver (12 page)

I
LED THEM UP
the winding streets of the mountain toward the jeweler.

When we reached the stairway beside the airfield, Bea stared at the thoppers and babbled about pressure valves and rotation speeds. Then she stopped short, halfway up the hill. “That's a twelve-spark repeating tes-array!”

“Bea!” Hazel tugged her arm. “C'mon.”

“But Cap'n,
look
at her.” She pointed to a twin-hulled thopper with a gleaming engine and exposed gearworks. “She's purple as a mayfly!”

“As a
what
?” I said.

“She looks like a mayfly.”

Actually, she looked like a thopper, but I knew better
than to argue. Once Bea gave an airship a nickname, she refused to budge.

Swedish nodded. “She's a beaut.”

“Except for that condenser,” Bea said.

Loretta said, “Huh?”

“The condenser,” Bea explained. “He's grumpy as an upside-down sundial.”

“You mean the pilot?”

“She means the condenser,” Swedish told her.

“It's
grumpy
?”

I hunched my shoulders, disgusted at Loretta's confusion. How could she be a crew member if she didn't even understand Bea? “We're not far now,” I said. “Let's go.”

“One day,” Bea announced, still gazing at the twin-hulled craft, “I'm going to build a thopper as pretty as that mayfly.”

“Bea, come on! Does Swedish have to carry you?!” Hazel asked her.

“I'm coming, I'm coming!”

When we reached the square, we clustered under the awning of a general store and eyed the Jewelry Boo-Teak—and the bakery and blacksmith and a handful of vendors with pushcarts.

“Ooh,” Bea said. “Look at all the shops!”

“Now you sound like Hazel,” Swedish told her. “If you see any pretty skirts—”

“Shht!” Hazel hissed, staring across the square. “Look at that.”

I followed her gaze toward a small crowd standing around a water pump. At first, I didn't see the problem. Then I realized that one of them was a bull-necked guy with armored plates on his chest and forearms, and a wooden cudgel at his hip.

A roof-trooper. He was only filling a jug of water from the pump, but what if he could tell we were slumkids? What if he checked our eyes?

“What do we do?” Bea whispered.

“Look natural,” Hazel said. “He'll leave in a minute.”

Bea started whistling, I ducked my head, Loretta cleaned her fingernails with her knife, and Swedish pretended he was kicking an invisible bootball.

“Stop it!” Hazel hissed. “Not like
that
! Just stay still!”

We all stopped exactly where we were.

“Don't
freeze
! Would you—” She gritted her teeth in frustration. “Loretta and Swede, pretend you're . . . into each other. Bea, show Chess one of your twistys.”

Loretta grabbed one of Swedish's hands and beamed up at him. “Start being into me, big guy. I'm all ears.”

He flushed. “Well, that's good, because your ears are as cute as berry pie.”

I pretended to barf as Bea tugged my sleeve. She showed me a twisty in her palm, a jagged shape that looked like a
rat crossed with a stepladder.

“What is it?” I asked, glancing at the bull-necked roof-trooper.

He was scanning the square as he chatted with a woman in overalls, so I quickly turned my attention to the twisty.

“A snapping turtle,” Bea said. “I even made hinges on the shell.”

I looked closer. “Um, I'm not sure the shell actually snaps.”

“Of course it does! A snapping turtle is a turtle that snaps, like a bobcat is a cat that bobs. It says so in the name.”

“Sure,” I said. “And grizzly bears loooove to grizz.”

“I bet they do,” she told me. “Everyone loves to grizz.”

“He's leaving!” Hazel whispered as she turned from the general store window. “Okay, let's sell this diamond. How should we— Swede?!”

Swedish was still chatting with Loretta, a few steps away. “Hm?” he asked.

“You can stop now.”

“Oh.” He dropped Loretta's hand and flushed again. “Um.”

“He's a real sweet-talker,” Loretta said with a wide grin.

“And so
cute
!” I said in a fake, gushy voice—then dodged Swede's fist.

Hazel took a shaky breath. “How should we do this? We've never sold anything on the mountain before.
Anyone have any ideas?”

I shrugged. “Not me.”

“Just march in there,” Loretta said. “Easy as pigeon potpie.”

“I hope so.” Hazel thought for a second. “Chess, come with me. Everyone else stay here. We don't want to spook the jeweler.”

“Take Bea if you don't want to spook them,” I said.

“Just keep your head down.”

I nodded, figuring she didn't want to take Swedish because he was so big and didn't want to take Bea because it might get dangerous.

“Okay, Bea,” she continued, “give me the ring.”

Bea pulled the necklace off and fiddled with the trinkets, carefully removing the diamond from the strap.

Loretta glared at me. “You said it was in your boot pocket.”

“I lied.”

“I'm on your side now!”

“Someone once told me that you work for whoever feeds you. Hmm, who was that?” I paused for dramatic effect. “Oh, that's right, it was
you
.”

“Jerk,” she muttered.

“Maybe after you go a whole day without pulling your knife on me, I'll trust you.”

“Ought to stick my knife
in
you.”

“Not helping, 'Retta,” Swedish told her.

“I don't like it here.” She eyed the shoppers in the square. “It's too pretty.”

“
They're
trying to lull us,” Swedish said. “That's how
they
work.”

“What does that even mean?” I asked.

Hazel slipped the ring into the little box. “You ready?” she asked me.

“Not even close.”

“Then let's go,” she said, and we started across the square.

A
BELL JINGLED AS
Hazel opened the jewelry shop door. I followed her inside, then stopped short: cabinets built from hubcaps and iSlates lined the wall, displaying rings, necklaces, and bracelets. I'd never seen so much wealth in one place before.

The jeweler flashed a fake smile at us. “Welcome, welcome! Looking to buy a trinket?”

I lowered my head and stayed behind Hazel, desperately hoping this would work. If the sale went smoothly, we'd have enough money to find a coyote and escape the Rooftop.

“Actually, sir,” Hazel said, “we're looking to
sell
something.”

“Is that so?” The smile vanished. “Wire jewelry you made? Bead earrings?”

The bell over the door jingled again before Hazel could answer, and when I turned to look, I almost whimpered. So much for this sale going smoothly.

The roof-trooper from the square stepped inside, his water jug in one hand and his cudgel in the other. “What are you kids doing here?” he barked.

“Oh! I beg your pardon, sir,” Hazel said with a nervous little curtsy. “We'll, uh, we'll come back when you're done.”

“I asked you a question!” the trooper snarled. “What're you doing here?”

“We—we came to sell some jewelry, sir.”

“What're you doing on the
mountain
?” He set his clay jug down on the counter with a clunk. “Couple of slumkids sneaking into a jewelry store? That's not right.”

“They're from the junkyard?” The jeweler sniffed. “Well! I don't deal with filth like that.”

“We have day passes, sir,” Hazel told the trooper tightly. “For a job.”

The trooper stuck his hand out, and Hazel gave him the letter she'd written.

He frowned at the letter and I studied the floor, trying to make myself invisible.
Let us go. Just read the letter and let us go
. . . .

“Huh,” he finally said. “This looks okay.”

“Yes, sir,” Hazel said.

“Now get out of here,” he said. “Back to work.”

“Yes, sir,” she said again, and stepped past him toward the door.

I followed—until the trooper blocked me with one thick arm.

“But first,” he said, “let me have a look at you.”

“At me?” I whispered, hanging my head even lower than normal.

“Um, is—is something wrong?” Hazel asked.

“He keeps his eye hidden,” the trooper told her. “That's not allowed on the mountain. Not for a kid his age. Raise your head, boy.”

“Okay,” I said, but I didn't move.

I
couldn't
. The idea of exposing my freak-eye had always terrified me, and I always worried that the fear of calling attention to myself made me a coward. But this time, the threat was real.

“Please, sir,” Hazel pleaded. “He's scarred and he's shy. Don't make him—”

“I ain't asking again!” The trooper grabbed my shoulders in a tight grip. “Show me your face or I'll—”

Crash!

Water splashed my cheeks, and the trooper howled. He shoved me away and spun toward Hazel, who was holding the shattered water jug in her hands.

She'd broken it over his head. Wow.

He lunged at Hazel and she dodged, her eyes wild and her braids flying everywhere. In her shimmery tank top and flowing skirt, she looked totally defenseless as the trooper swung his cudgel at her head.

A flush of rage rose in my chest. I wasn't going to let this guy hurt Hazel. I wasn't going to let him touch her.

I dove at his knees and slammed him hard, my shoulder jolting. He grunted and stumbled, his cudgel flying from his grip and clattering across the floor.

“Guards!” the jeweler screeched. “Help!”

“Run!” I yelled, wrapping my arms around the trooper's knees. “Hazel,
go
!”

The trooper jerked his legs, but I only clung tighter. The bell over the door jingled, and I knew Hazel was safe. My sense of relief was cut short when the trooper started punching one of my legs so hard that I almost screamed.

Instead, I sank my teeth into his thigh. What can I say? I fought like a slumkid.

“You little roach,” he snarled, and boxed my ears.

My head spun, and he grabbed my hair and twisted. Pain shot through my scalp and tears sprang to my eyes—then the bell jingled again, and a loud crash came from across the room.

A second later, a meaty smack sounded, and the trooper collapsed beside me.

Loretta stood over him, his cudgel in her hand. She
started to hit him again, but Hazel said, “Enough,” and caught her arm midswing.

With my head still throbbing, I pushed to my feet and saw Swedish standing over the groaning jeweler.

“Look at me!” Loretta cried, grabbing some jewelry from the floor. She held a bright blue earring to her nose. “I'm a princess!”

“People are coming,” Bea squeaked from the doorway. “They heard the noise.”

“Are you okay?” Hazel asked me. “Can you walk?”

“We can run.” Swedish slung an arm around me. “C'mon, 'Retta! Leave the rest.”

“Sure,” she said, snatching another handful of pearls.

In the square, shoppers gawked as we dashed out of the jewelry shop. A deliverywoman shouted, “Stop them!” as a bald man yelled, “Guards!”

Swedish helped me as we raced along a row of rusting vans converted into homes, then skidded through a garage door into a factory. A deafening clatter filled the room, and my head pounded as we wove past tables where little kids were assembling flywheels. Then we burst from the other side of the factory into an open yard—and stopped short.

The throb of an approaching engine sounded above the clamor.

“What's that?” I asked.

“A roof-trooper guardship,” Bea said, pointing overhead. “They've spotted us!”

“O
VER THERE
!” I
POINTED
across the yard. “Hide in that alley!”

We dashed into a narrow passageway as the growl of the airship engine became a roar. Clouds of dust billowed around us. My eyes watered, and I could barely see Hazel throwing herself at a flimsy door.

“Swede!” Hazel yelled. “Kick this down.”

Swedish took two steps and slammed his foot beside the latch.

The door flung open and we tumbled into a yard where wet clothes dangled on the line. From there, we dashed into a neighborhood of cramped houses, slipping under crooked stairways and past smokestacks. We raced blindly until we turned a corner and almost crashed into
a mariachi band playing to a packed crowd. We were in a clearing above a sheer thirty-foot drop. This whole neighborhood was built on a rise, and we'd reached the end. The
dead
end—a granite cliff side.

A flash of motion blurred above the band as a wide bronze hull sped through the air.

“The guardship!” I yelled, shading my eyes as the wind ripped through my hair.

Hazel tugged Bea into the alley. “Get back, before they see us!”

Too late. The ship swooped closer, and the troopers hopped to the ground, pulling swords and steam-bows as they chased us.

We dashed past a trash fire, then veered down a half-hidden stairway into a courtyard where old women sat on planks, coiling copper wire around spindles. Another dead end, with four high wooden walls and heavily shuttered windows.

“Oh, no!” Bea cried.

“Don't panic,” I told her, trying to sound calm.

“Why not?” Loretta asked.

“Because if she panics,” I said, “I'll freak out.”

That got a trembling smile from Bea . . . but it didn't last long, as the shouts of the troopers grew closer.

“Let me think,” Hazel muttered, tugging on a braid. “Let me think, let me think. . . .”

“Looks like you're in a spot of trouble,” said one of the
old women, taking a corncob pipe from between her lips.

Hazel spun toward her. “Please, ma'am—please help us.”

“You're polite for a slumgirl,” the woman said.

“Listen, you old bat,” Loretta snarled. “She asked you to help, not—”

A trooper shouted into the courtyard from the top of the stairs: “Halt! Hands on your heads or we'll fire!”

“That's it,” Swedish muttered. “We're dead.
They
always win in the end.”

The old woman pointed her pipe at a curtain on the courtyard wall. “Through there.”

In a flash, Hazel grabbed Bea's hand and dragged her toward the curtain.

Boots sounded on the stairway, and the roar of the guardship engine grew louder. Someone whimpered—maybe me—as we raced toward the wall. I was two steps behind Hazel when she pulled back the curtain . . . and I suddenly wanted to cry.

There was nothing behind it but another plank-shuttered window.

Closed tight. No escape.

“On your knees!” a trooper shouted from the top of the stairway. “Down, now!”