The August 5 (12 page)

“I don't hate you,” Tommy said, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying any attention.

“Half the students are ‘new' Carvers, like my dad,” Kristin said, reaching for a water glass. “Hywel isn't a good name to have now. She asked that we all use her mother's name, which is Sommerfield.”

“I won't say anything,” Tommy promised. “And I'm sorry about how people treat you.”

“Ellie says the lads act that way because they're like sheep, too stupid to think for themselves,” Kristin said. “You should talk to her sometime. I've never met anyone like her.”

Tommy didn't know what to say, so he waited while Kristin took a drink of water. “One time, my brothers and I were playing out in the garden when a fox came out of the bushes. It must have been ill because it walked sideways. The gardener put this crate over it and trapped it, and it went crazy, slamming itself against the plank and screaming. I didn't know animals could scream, but they can.” Tommy felt confused. “Are we still talking about Ellie?”

“It's a metaphor, dummy,” Kristin said playfully. “I'm trying to be philosophical.”

“So, Ellie is like the screaming fox?” Tommy guessed.

Kristin laughed. “She's like the fox the moment they put the crate over its head. I always have the feeling that she's about to
start
screaming.”

“Because of how the lads act?” Tommy asked.

Kristin nodded. “She's really unhappy with the state of the world.”

A few Zunftmen crossed the room to the drink table. Tommy tipped his head toward the balcony and the two walked into the chilly night air. Kristin took a deep breath.

“At home the sky is crystal clear,” Kristin said, staring up at the stars. “I hate Sevenna's yellow haze. It's like seeing the sky through cheesecloth. Have you ever been to Norde?”

“Only to Stokkur Town on a sailing trip,” Tommy said. He hadn't been very impressed by the squat ugly buildings and fishermen's huts, but the sweeping expanse of stars had been riveting.

“Stokkur isn't anything like the rest of Norde,” Kristin said. “Our manor house is on a cliff overlooking a valley. The forest goes on
forever
, Tommy. I don't think my father even knows where his land ends.”

“It sounds nice,” Tommy said. “Nice and cold.”

“You get used to it,” Kristin said. “It's better than Sevenna's humidity.”

“Are you all from Norde?” Tommy asked. “You, Ellie, Charlotte?”

“We were all born there,” Kristin said. “But Charlotte was tutored in Sevenna. And Ellie has bounced around from relative to relative.”

“That's hard,” Tommy said.

“She doesn't let anything scare her,” Kristin said. “Charlotte is about to snap from the way the lads treat her, but not Ellie.”

“Charlotte's in my history class,” Tommy said. “Or at least she was. I haven't seen her lately.”

“She sits in her room day after day. I don't think she's going to lectures. One of her professors was a total bastard to her. He said things to her that you shouldn't say to a dog.”

“Professor Rannigan?” Tommy asked.

“How did you know?” Kristin asked.

“He was giving her a hard time in class,” Tommy said.

“Ellie and I are really worried about her,” Kristin said. “I think she should go home, but she's afraid her parents will be mad at her. They were so proud of her when she was accepted.”

Kristin nodded toward the room that was now crowded with boisterous Zunftmen. Her father stood next to Tommy's and they were both watching Bern as he animatedly told a story. He made his fingers into claws that swiped at the air, and the room burst out laughing.

“Do you wish you were in there?” Kristin asked.

“Not even a little bit,” Tommy replied. They watched as Mr. Anderson clapped Bern on the back. Then Colston began speaking and the room quieted down in rapt attention.

“It was my father's idea for me to go to Seminary,” Kristin said after a moment. “He wanted me to have the best education possible. That was back when he was a staunch supporter of Hywel and his views on open education. But he was shocked by the cottager violence. I think it made him feel vulnerable, and that's unacceptable for a man like him. Now that he's a Carver … I suspect my days in Seminary are numbered.”

 

 

Later, the butler led the guests toward the small ballroom where a piano had been set up for the evening's entertainment, but Bern intercepted Tommy and hustled him into the kitchen.

“What?” Tommy asked. Not that he was keen to listen to the piano, but his conversation with Kristin had been interesting. If he had to spend the rest of the evening at his father's house, he wanted to sit next to her.

“Father gave us permission to leave,” Bern said. “I told him we had plans with the lads, and he supports our attempts to develop connections with our future colleagues.”

“What are you talking about, a pub crawl?” Tommy asked. He had no intention of going out with the lads, but he followed Bern down into the cellar where there was a door that led into the back garden. Leaving was fine with him. It wasn't like he would never talk to Kristin again. She lived in the same dormitory.

“Pubs are so pass
é
,” Bern told him. “We're going to a cabaret.”

“What's that?”

“Live performers doing skits,” Bern said. “It's pretty hilarious. You should come with us.”

Hilarious
must be Bern's new favorite word
, thought Tommy. His brother placed a high value on being entertained.

“Well, not tonight,” Tommy said. “I want to get some work done.”

“What were you and that girl talking about?” Bern asked.

“Who, Kristin?” Tommy asked. “The one you were sitting next to for three hours?”

“How should I know her name?” Bern asked.

“Didn't you introduce yourself?” Tommy said. “Weren't you saying something earlier about doing what's expected of you?”

“I was talking about people who matter,” Bern said.

“She's the daughter of Karl Anderson,” Tommy pointed out. “He matters. Bloodlines matter. You do the math.”

When they came out of the cellar into the back garden, they startled one of the cottager servants who was throwing away platters of uneaten food from the party into the trash bin near the cellar door.

“Do you know anyone who wants that?” Tommy asked the woman. “It seems like a waste to throw it away.”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Bern said.

“She could take it if she wanted,” Tommy said.

“Who are you?” she asked, looking uncertainly between the boys.

“He's no one,” Bern said. “Come on, Tommy.”

“I'm Colston Shore's son,” Tommy said. “There's no reason to waste that food.”

“I was told I had to throw it away,” she said. “But if I'm allowed to take it, I will.”

“You're so stupid, Tommy,” Bern said. He turned to the servant. “Keep doing what you were told.”

“If she wants to keep it, then she should,” Tommy said. He was furious that Bern was contradicting him. Bern always had to be in control. He always had to be right.

Bern grabbed Tommy's arm and dragged him out the gate and down the path. Near the gate, he shoved Tommy hard. Tommy stumbled over the curb and fell into the deserted street. When Tommy got up, he could see past his brother and through the gate to the backyard. The servant was standing there, staring at them helplessly.

“She was given an order—don't confuse her,” Bern said. He strode into the street and cuffed his brother's ear. Humiliated, Tommy stalked off down the road, rubbing his sore wrist and hating Bern for being bigger and stronger than he was.

12

MICHAEL HENRY MASTERMINDS KIDNAPPING OF HYWEL

The rebel Michael Henry is responsible for the kidnapping of Toulson Hywel. Officer John Sanneral, head investigator for the state, said that Henry planned the crime as a fail-safe in case his August Rising rebellion was quelled. Henry is already in custody for his role in the destruction of the Grand Customs House.

“Given the continued demands of the extremists, there is every reason to believe that Mr. Hywel is still alive,” Sanneral said. “We'll find them. It's only a matter of time.”

—
Zunft Chronicle,
Evening Edition, September 25

As she stepped into the alley, Tamsin blinked her eyes uncomfortably. After hours inside the dark cabaret, her eyes were having trouble adjusting to the light of dawn. The sun was rising, and the sky was a pale orange in the narrow opening above her. Tamsin remembered mornings on Aeren, hiking the ridge above Port Kenney under a sky like this. She longed for her sisters and the quiet of the forest. She missed waking up in the morning and not feeling angry at the world.

The coins earned from her shift at the Estoria felt heavy in her pocket, but Tamsin had been sending her wages back to her family on Aeren and knew it wasn't nearly enough to provide for them. Before her father had been arrested, he'd been the one to send money back to Aeren. Now the responsibility was hers. Only the thought of her little sisters being hungry could have compelled her to work in a place like the Estoria, a cabaret that occupied a sprawling cellar near the waterfront. It was wildly popular with Zunftmen, especially students from the Seminary but also with off-duty military from the compound.

So far, Tamsin had been assigned to kitchen duty, but she'd asked to be trained as a barkeep, which would mean better pay and better opportunities to hear what the Zunft officers had to say about politics after they'd had too much to drink. Even from the kitchen, she'd already heard conversations about the sinking of the
Jubilee
and the high number of arrests and deportations since the passage of the Ancestral Homes Act. She didn't know what good such information would do her—except to fuel her rage—but it made her feel like she was doing
something
.

As she left the alley, someone touched her shoulder. She jumped in surprise, but it was Gavin, who had been waiting for her on the busy street near the entrance.

“Tamsin? I didn't mean to startle you.” Gavin's cap was pulled down low over his forehead and his bangs nearly covered the right lens of his round spectacles. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up under a dark wool vest. There were circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept in a while.

“Sorry,” Tamsin said, lowering her hands.

“Were you going to hit me?” Gavin asked.

“If you had been a Zunftman, maybe,” Tamsin said.

“Do you know how to box?” Gavin asked.

“Papa taught me a little,” Tamsin said. Before he'd been a street speaker, Michael Henry had been a brawler. “He used to show me how to fight. Even if he hadn't left, Mama would have made him stop teaching me.”

“Why?” Gavin asked.

“Because I'm not a boy,” Tamsin said.

“If I had daughters, I'd teach them how to fight,” Gavin said.

“I would, too,” Tamsin said. “But Mama likes to hide, not fight. She thinks it makes her safe.”

A pained expression crossed Gavin's face. “Can we talk?” he asked.

“Sure. Were you waiting for me?” Tamsin asked, but she already knew the answer. He'd waited for her after work at the Plough and Sun several times. They'd gone for tea twice in the last week alone, but this was the first time he'd met her at the Estoria.

“Do you want to get breakfast?” Gavin asked. He seemed worried, and Tamsin realized that his unexpected presence meant that something bad had happened. She was tired of being blindsided by one thing after another. It seemed like life was a relentless wave of tragedies and injustices.

“If there's news, please tell me,” Tamsin said.

“Let's go down to the caf
é
on the pier,” he said. “My treat.”

“Gavin, please tell me,” Tamsin said. She could tell by his forced cheerfulness that something was terribly wrong. “Is this a conversation you want to have in front of an audience at the caf
é
?”

“I guess not. If you don't mind a short walk, we can talk on my front porch,” Gavin said.

“You have a front porch?” Tamsin asked. “Such things don't exist in the city.”

“You'll see,” he said. “It's close.”

She followed him through the crowds along Linden Boulevard. They turned right at Shadow Bridge and then took the North Wall Quay until they reached a block of low-rent flats near the harbor. They ducked inside one of the small covered markets that sold mainly rugs and cheap wooden furniture. Gavin led her through the crowded stalls and out the back into a dingy corridor that led to a public stairwell. At the top of the stairs, they crossed a rickety walkway over an alley that ended at a private stairwell up to the roof. Gavin used two separate keys, one for the bottom of the stairs and one for the door at the top.

They came out on the flat roof of a one-story building squeezed between two taller buildings. A small shedlike building with a blue door stood at the far corner of the narrow roof. There were no windows on either of the neighboring buildings, only red brick walls towering on either side. A large kitchen garden planted in wooden boxes dominated the center of the roof. Two carved benches faced each other with an outdoor fire pit. She wondered if that was Gavin's only way to cook hot food.

“Your front yard is lovely,” Tamsin said honestly. This secret little place felt like another world.

“It's hard to grow a garden up here. With these walls, I only get sun for a few hours a day, but you should come back in the spring. I'm not a bad gardener, when I find the time.”

“You live in there?” she asked, pointing to the shed.