The August 5 (15 page)

“Well, thanks for the outing,” Tommy said, and they started laughing again. But now the shock had worn off and it dawned on them all at the same time: there was nothing funny about the situation. The Zunft soldiers had attacked a peaceful demonstration. People had been hurt, and maybe killed.

“If my father finds out I was there, he'll be furious,” Kristin said. “Your father would probably kill you, Tommy.”

“Let's not tell anyone else,” Tommy said. “Or talk about it again.”

“At least not where anyone else can hear,” Ellie whispered as they trudged up the stairs and into Tauber Hall.

14

FIFTY INJURED IN MAST SQUARE

Mounted soldiers attacked a peaceful demonstration in Mast Square today. More than fifty people were injured. Four women sustained life-threatening injuries. There were at least ten arrests, including Meg Stevens, the wife of Jack Stevens, who is currently incarcerated and charged with treason for his involvement in the August Rising. “The Zunft gave no warning,” said one man who wished to remain anonymous. “They didn't ask us to disperse. They charged in, hitting women and children with clubs.”

—
JFA Bulletin,
September 29

“Mama, I'm here,” Navid called down into the root cellar. From the top of the stairs, he could see a flicker of candlelight among the stacks and barrels. “Ma-ma! Do you need help?”

Katherine Leahy appeared at the bottom of the steep wooden steps with a heavy sack of potatoes to make stew for the evening crowd. Navid scampered down partway and helped haul up the heavy load.

“How was school?” Katherine asked. Navid was too old for state-sponsored school, which ended at age ten for cottagers. But Gavin Baine and some of his friends ran a small school for a couple of hours during the day, which kids like Navid attended around their jobs and chores.

“It was math day,” Navid said, dragging the sack into the kitchen.

“Well, you're good with your numbers,” Katherine said.

“I like writing days better,” Navid said. “Or politics days, when we read the newspaper.”

“Maybe you'll be a journalist,” Mrs. Leahy said. “Like Michael Henry.”

“Some of the fellows said he kidnapped Mr. Hywel. Is that true?” Navid asked.

“Who was saying that?” Katherine asked.

“Some of the boys at school,” Navid said.

Katherine looked hard at him. “It's not true. It's more Zunft lies.”

“Well, they thought Mr. Henry did the right thing,” Navid said. “They said Henry should have shot him, and
bam
, one less Zunftman.”

“I don't want to hear you talking like that,” Katherine said sternly. “Death is never that simple.”

“I know, Mama,” Navid said. “Do you need help with the stew?”

The pub was half-full even though it was only early afternoon. By four o'clock, the tables would be filled with hungry patrons.

“Not with dinner, love. The pies are already cooking,” Katherine said. “This is stew for tomorrow, but I do need you to run some errands for me.”

Navid nodded in agreement. He'd much rather do errands than help in the kitchen. He loved running through the streets, taking secret shortcuts that no one knew but him.

“You're such a good boy.” Katherine smiled at him proudly. “Hold up two fingers.”

Navid did. This had been their system for years.

Katherine tapped his first finger: “Head to Seminary Square. Visit Abel Toys. Talk only to Samuel Abel. Say, ‘I would like to buy a deer. A purple deer. I will name her Anna.' Repeat.”

“I would like to buy a deer. A purple deer. I will name her Anna.”

She tapped his second finger: “Go to Ash Street Garden. Sign my name for two packages. Leeks and carrots.”

“Leeks and carrots.”

Katherine kissed him on top of his head. “Thank you, love. See you at dinner.”

Before she even finished talking, Navid was already out the door, flying across the teetering boards laid across the muddy yard, through the open gate, and into the alley behind the pub. On Killough Street, he stuck close to the wall as he dodged pedestrians and slow-moving wagons. Navid crossed Shadow Bridge and ran down the Strand. When he reached the crossroads at Linden Boulevard, a Zunft soldier stopped all foot traffic for a line of rovers that crawled south. Navid waited impatiently, like a horse before a race. He paced along the wooden fence, which was plastered with posters in support of the August Five: Michael. Brandon. Hector. Kevin. Jack. He knew them all personally. They'd sat in his home or in the pub, eaten with his family, laughed with him. He and Jack regularly played kick ball in the alley behind the pub. Their ink-drawn faces stared out at him, larger than in real life. Navid wondered if one day his face would be on a poster like that. Maybe he didn't want to be a journalist like Michael Henry after all.

When the rovers finally passed, Navid darted across Linden and then ducked into Long Alley, which ran all the way into the city center. Long Alley was the collection site for Zunft merchants' trash, and the smell was unbearable, but it was nearly deserted and made for quick travel. Besides, Navid carried a scarf for these occasions. He covered his nose and mouth and ran as fast as he could.

At the end of Long Alley, the layout of the city changed. The city looked like a pretty painting, with white-stone buildings, trimmed lawns, and well-dressed people.

Zunft soldiers would target a cottager kid in Seminary Square, so Navid had to be careful there. His parents had never registered Navid's birth with the Zunft, and he didn't carry identification. The Zunft gave one bag of flour per year for every child, so by not registering him, the Leahys had less to eat. But his parents believed it was better to be anonymous, and Navid was happy to be a nonperson in the eyes of the Zunft.

Abel's Toys was in a shopping district near the Seminary. In the northern districts, the buildings were farther apart, so navigating the roofs would be more challenging, but Navid was an excellent jumper. As he scampered up the fire ladder in the alley and onto a town house roof, he planned his route. He would face three dizzying jumps and two scary ledges—still better than being harassed on the ground. He could see the walled Seminary grounds with its pavilions and green fields for playing Litball. From his bird's-eye view, it looked like paradise. He imagined the lads in their crimson jackets, each sporting his team's colors on a scarf around his neck. Navid wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he envied their easy lives as sons of the Zunft.

When he was two blocks away from Abel Toys, he shimmied down a drainpipe, went two blocks out of his way to avoid the Records Hall, and finally relaxed when he reached Dawson Street, where both cottager and Zunft merchants sold their wares. The Zunft had the shops, but the cottagers had the open stalls, and the crowds frequented both. Buskers played music along the street, and Navid wished he had a coin to toss into the fiddler's hat in front of Abel Toys.

Navid pushed the heavy gilded door open and was greeted by the scent of cedar and vanilla candles. Abel Toys was the most famous toy store in the Islands. Its owner, Samuel Abel, had been an important Zunftman who left the Chamber to become a toy maker. He had a reputation for high-quality craftsmanship and whimsy, and almost every Zunft baby had an Abel's stuffed toy in the crib from birth. They ranged from palm-size to life-size, and they were every living—and fantastical—creature you could imagine.

Mr. Abel was helping a Zunftwoman, so Navid clasped his hands behind his back, to show that he was well behaved, and gawked at the shelves until the woman left with her package.

Samuel Abel turned his attention to Navid. “Good afternoon, young fellow. What can I do for you?”

Navid smiled shyly at the floor. He had been to Abel's shop many times before, and the toy maker knew exactly who he was. Abel was like a big kitten, but you had to pretend that he was as mean as any Zunft shopkeeper. Of course, most Zunft shopkeepers wouldn't have let cottager children inside their shop.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Navid said. He pulled off his cap to be polite. “I would like to buy a deer. A purple deer. I will name her Anna.”

Mr. Abel nodded. “I'll be right back,” he said, and disappeared into the storage room behind the carved door.

While Navid was waiting, another Zunftwoman with two young girls came into the toy shop. She impatiently rang the bell on the front counter while her children poked at the stuffed animals, knocking over a display of fuzzy mice.

Mr. Abel returned with a brown package, which he thrust at Navid. “Tell Mr. Smith to place his order earlier,” he said grumpily. “I'm not made of time.”

“Yes, sir,” Navid said, tucking the lumpy package under his arm. He cringed as one of the girls tipped over a blue horse while her mother ignored her entirely. Then the door shut behind him, and Navid was off running again. He took side streets until he reached the Lyone, darted up the quay and crossed Seventh Stone Bridge. When he was finally back on safe ground in South Sevenna, he narrowly dodged a wagon, waved as the driver cursed at him, and sprinted toward Ash Street Garden.

Navid was approaching the large flour mill at the corner of Ash Street when he heard shouting. A group of people, most of them holding empty flour sacks, were yelling at a woman standing on the steps of the open doorway, her hands on her hips defiantly.

“You're a foul-mouthed bastard!” she shouted at one of the people in the street.

Navid sidled up beside a boy of about seven, who looked worried as he watched the adults arguing in front of the mill. An Aeren seashell hung from a piece of twine around his neck, a sure sign that his family was political. Navid had seen him with his parents at the Plough and Sun, but he couldn't remember his name.

“What's going on?” Navid asked the boy.

“They don't have flour to sell, and the man is saying they sold it to the Zunft instead,” the boy said.

Several men shouted at the woman, who turned a deep shade of red. Navid assumed they were insulting her, but he didn't know what the words meant.

“Why do they think she did that?” he asked the boy.

“You're a traitor!” a blond man yelled. His fists were balled up at his sides. Someone else—Navid couldn't see who—threw a rock that barely missed the woman's head.

“Bastards!” she yelled again. She quickly ducked inside and slammed the door and the sound of a metal lock sliding shut rang across the cobblestones.

“Now we're turning on each other?” yelled another woman in the crowd.

There was a scuffle, and the blond man punched another man in the face. The victim stumbled back, regained his footing, and charged at the blond man. As soon as the two tumbled down into the gravel, more men started brawling in front of the flour mill. Navid and the other boy glanced at each other in alarm. A fight was no place to be if you were shorter than everyone else. It seemed like more people were arriving every moment and the street corner was getting crowded. Navid tapped the boy on the shoulder and jerked his head to indicate it was time to leave. The boys ran together until they reached the end of the street, then the seven-year-old veered off on McCall Street, waving goodbye to Navid.

“See you!” Navid called to the boy. He looked back at the fight, which had grown to a dozen people scuffling as the crowd around them jeered and shouted. Navid wondered how big it would get before the Zunft arrived, but he wasn't stupid enough to wait around and find out.

He was out of breath by the time he reached Ash Street Garden, a communal garden available to anyone who would put the hours into helping it grow. It was the only reliable source of vegetables for most cottagers who lived in the city, and Navid spent at least ten hours a week doing chores for the head gardener, a tiny, white-haired woman named Nova James. The garden was the size of a city block and completely walled in. Nova told him it had once been a prison, but they'd taken down everything but the walls.

Navid ducked in the little gate on the north side, which was the only gate that was ever unlocked, even during the day. He loved crossing from the gray, bustling streets into the quiet of the garden. Real glass houses lined the perimeter, and inside them summer plants thrived in the hot, moist air. In the growing seasons, the beds outside were planted in a spiral pattern with circular paths that wound toward a raised tier of earth. An elaborately carved wooden pillar marked the heart of the garden, which was now a lonely sentinel among the brown leaves and untilled soil.

Nova was coming out of one of the houses, sweat beading her age-lined face. Navid knew lots of people who were good with their hands, but Nova was a true master. She could make anything grow anywhere, and always seemed to find an extra bunch of carrots or bag of potatoes for a family in need. Nova smiled at him and handed him a basket filled with leeks and carrots.

“How'd you know?” he asked.

“Magic.” She smiled. “Now run home. Your mother is expecting you.”

“There's no magic, Nova,” he told her. It was a running discussion between the two of them. She insisted that she could cast spells. He told her there was no such thing as witches.

“What about my glass houses?” she said. “I make things grow even when it's cold.”

“Glass isn't magic,” he said.

“No, but it's very expensive,” she said, laughing and tousling his hair.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he shouted as he darted back to the north gate.

Before he plunged into the teeming streets of Sevenna, he glanced back at the garden and imagined a purple deer leaping through the lengthening shadows.

 

 

At dawn, Tamsin finished scrubbing the sticky filth off the tables at the Estoria and headed back to the Leahys' row house at the end of her shift. She was a bartender rather than a dishwasher, so the money was better. But now she worked constantly, often for days on end without a day off. Forget about writing anything for Gavin, there was no time left between shifts. Her father used to say that the Zunft made the cottagers work long hours so they wouldn't have time to rebel, and she believed him. The more she worked, the more money she had to send home, but increasingly her life felt like a hangman's noose with a knot she was tying herself.