The First Book of Ore: The Foundry's Edge (29 page)

hoebe felt like every last ounce of strength had been drawn from her veins with a hypodermic needle. Her friends were beside her on a hard bench in the back of an Aero-copter. Micah's left cheek was swollen, his nose caked in blood. Dollop's glistening eyes stared into space. A dozen Watchman soldiers surrounded them, all sitting ramrod-straight and motionless.

Her stomach lifted uneasily as the aircraft descended. Through the slit window across the aisle, land swept into view. At first, she didn't know what she was looking at. There was a vast, soggy field of brown and a thick thorn poking at the skin of the sky. She watched as they approached, and the spike grew to titanic proportions. It could only be one thing.

The Citadel.

One hundred and nine spires curved outward from a wide base, then met high above at a tight, twisting apex. They appeared to be smeared with dripping mud or tallow, obscuring a murky gold inner sanctum. The fortress was brimming with activity, with silver scars of train tracks crisscrossing the ground and black aircraft dotting the sky.

Phoebe realized this was the only way they ever could have gotten here.

They never had a chance.

The Aero-copter touched down on a steel landing that jutted out from the melted gray spires. The prisoners offered no resistance as Watchmen dragged them outside. The roaring wind from the rotor threatened to blow them off the platform, but Kaspar stood as immovable as death. He grabbed the kids by their collars and yanked them forward.

Watchmen hauled Dollop in the opposite direction. He hung between them like a discarded plaything, his bulbous eyes popping with fear.

“Dollop!” Phoebe cried.

Kaspar shoved her ahead. They crossed the smooth steel platform, clearly an addition constructed by the Foundry. Gobs of liquefied metal were hardened around the entrance to the tower like some kind of horrible sculpture, drooping with faces contorted in agony.

Then she remembered what Mr. Pynch had said about the Citadel's creator. The cruel megalarch Kallorax had sacrificed his victims with fire.

This was no sculpture.

The cascade of molten corpses was fused into a ghoulish gray flesh that coated the entirety of the fortress. All of the towers were drenched in a veil of the dead. Dissolving fingers reached out to her, entwined with broken limbs and screaming mehkan faces trapped in throes of eternal burning death.

They entered the spire, which was made from a golden ore forked with bloody veins, and wound down a stainless steel staircase. Kaspar led them into an elevator, and after a silent ride down, they stepped into a bright hallway.

It was as if Kaspar had teleported the kids back to Albright City. It was a nauseating contrast to that wall of melted corpses. The corridor was exquisite with rich wood paneling, platinum chandeliers, and luxurious burgundy carpet. The only thing out of place was the occasional Watchman soldier standing like an armed statue against the wall.

Kaspar swung open a pair of heavy doors inlaid with diamond-shaped silver panels. The warm and cozy aroma of cedar smoke and roasted garlic wafted over them. Kaspar shoved the kids through and locked the door.

The dining room was decorated with potted ferns and lush oil paintings of Foundry Bay. A bronze Muse-o-Graph sat atop a stand, trickling dulcet tones from the concentric arches of its amplifier. An expansive table was set for three. Before a crackling fireplace, a broad and impeccably dressed figure stared into the low flames.

Goodwin turned to face Phoebe and Micah.

“What a relief it is to finally see you safe.” A smile twinkled in his ice-blue eyes. A Watchman they hadn't even noticed stepped forward with a tray. The kids took a wary step back, but he offered a pair of steaming towels with shining tongs. Phoebe took one hesitantly, but Micah refused with a sneer.

“Oh, son,” Goodwin said with concern as he approached them. “You are bleeding.” He took a warm cloth and reached out to wipe the boy's nose. Micah recoiled, hawked up some phlegm, and spat the bloody gob into the towel.

“I ain't your son,” he scowled.

“Indeed,” Goodwin agreed. He set the bloody towel aside to take a fresh one. “You two have been through a terrible ordeal. You must be famished. Please, sit.” The Chairman swept around to the head of the table.

“Where's Dollop?” Micah asked.

“Where's my father?” demanded Phoebe.

“Don't worry, they are safe,” Goodwin replied. “How about a Fizzy?”

“I'll show ya where you can shove your Fizzy, Fatty.”

Goodwin clucked his tongue. “A shame your years with the Plumms have made no impression. But I suppose your manners befit your upbringing.”

“You don't know me!” Micah tensed to charge, but Phoebe held him back.

“Micah Eugene Tanner,” Goodwin began. “Age ten. Born in the southern Sodowa town of Oleander to Randall Harris Tanner and Deirdre Beth Davidson. Request for a restraining order against Randall filed in provincial court, then withdrawn. Separated multiple times, but not divorced. Your father has quite the record, assault and battery, driving under the influence…shall I continue?”

A look of shock registered on Micah's swollen face.

“Sit,” Goodwin said with a smile.

Phoebe looked at the towel in her hands and eased her face into it. The steaming cloth against her raw skin was invigorating. She felt renewed and awake. What a mess they must look to a man like him. She plucked off her gloves and cleaned her filthy hands with the cloth. Then she tucked her skirt behind her knees and sat at the table like a lady. Time to play Goodwin's game.

“You gotta be kiddin' me!” Micah blurted at Phoebe.

Goodwin smiled his approval. “Two Fizzies,” he said to a Watchman, and perused a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

“Please, Micah. Let's not take Mr. Goodwin's hospitality for granted.”

“I ain't sittin' with this chump! You can't make me—”

“Could you please pass the butter?” she asked their host.

Micah was dumbfounded.

“Of course, Phoebe, there you are.” Goodwin laughed as he handed her the dish. “You truly are your father's daughter.”

“Thank you, sir.” Phoebe buttered her roll and nibbled daintily, and though she was famished, she resisted the urge to cram the whole thing in her mouth.

“He is a fortunate man,” Goodwin said. “The two of you have risked everything to find him. Truly remarkable.”

“He would do the same for us,” she said, burying her doubts.

“He has been worried sick about you these past three days. We all have. You evaded us every step of the way, despite our best efforts to rescue you.”

“Rescue,
ha
!
” Micah scoffed, and flopped down next to Phoebe. The Watchman butler served the kids two frothy pink beverages. Micah pointed at the glass. “Hey, is this poison?”

Goodwin chuckled. “I am not in the habit of poisoning children.”

“Drink it,” Micah ordered as he slid the beverage toward the Chairman. Without hesitating, the big man took a sip.

“Hmm, pink lemonade. I prefer lime myself,” Goodwin said and passed the drink back. Micah chugged it in one gulp. Phoebe took a small sip of hers—the sugar and bubbles were like tart lightning in her mouth.

“You can't imagine the stir you have caused,” Goodwin continued. “Three security captains have lost their jobs, and all of our protocols are being re-examined. In some ways, I should thank you. Your little visit has prompted us to fortify what appear to be egregious leaks in our defenses.”

The idea that they had accidentally helped the Foundry disconcerted Phoebe, but she hid her worries.

Micah shrugged as he crammed down a crab cake.

“I do not believe you truly appreciate the magnitude of your accomplishment. Do you know that in the entire history of the Foundry's existence not a single unauthorized person has ever crossed over?”

“We're sorry if we caused any trouble,” she said. Micah scowled at her.

“It was only because of your little stunt in the Vo-Pykarons that we managed to pick up your trail and alert our spies in Sen Ta'rine. Without that, we would not be talking now. I must say, I am duly impressed.”

“Whoop-dee-doo!” Micah said. “You think you can blow smoke up our butts and fatten us up, and we'll do what you want? Think we're that stupid?”

“The very fact that you are here in Mehk proves the contrary,” Goodwin countered. “Ah! Dinner is served.”

Watchmen strode in bearing silver-crested platters. They set the dishes down, withdrew the lids, and out poured the most sumptuous smells the kids had ever known. After a few days of starvation, they couldn't resist. Goodwin ate deliberately, and Phoebe attempted the same with moderate success. Micah, however, inhaled the meal with abandon. He snapped his fingers at a Watchman and pointed to his glass, smirking as the stony-faced attendant refilled it.

“I hope everything is to your liking,” Goodwin commented.

“Thank you,” Phoebe said, dabbing her mouth. “May I ask a question, sir?”

He nodded. “Of course, dear. Your mind must be brimming with them.”

“Why did you take my father?”

“I had hoped to save that discussion for after supper, but I appreciate your eagerness,” Goodwin said, draining his wineglass. A Watchman quickly refilled it. “We live in challenging times, Phoebe. Meridian's enemies are organizing, plotting to take from us what is rightfully ours. The Foundry has—”

“It's not ours,” she interrupted. Goodwin's brow rose.

“Pardon me,” she said, trying to mask her loathing, “but it's not ours. The Foundry doesn't invent anything. You steal it all…sir.”

“Yeah!” Micah added, his mouth full of food.

A gush of adrenaline spurred her heart.

“I understand your concern,” Goodwin commented. “However, your perspective is narrow. This is new to you, and I can imagine it is all rather upsetting. But if you would allow me to speak,” he said with a hint of warning, “I believe I can help you sort through your confusion.”

She nodded.

Goodwin adjusted himself in his high-backed chair. “Creighton Albright's mining operation first stumbled upon Mehk back in 1623. No one can change what he chose to do with his unprecedented discovery, and now the world depends on us. Can you fathom hospitals without machinery? Can you imagine life with no Auto-mobiles or Computators? Technology is essential to prosperity, the key to the future, and it is the Foundry's job to control it.”

“It's all built on a lie,” she said.

“And why do you think that is? What do you think would happen to Mehk if its existence were to become public—if it were discovered by, say, the Kijyo Republic or Greinadoren?” He stabbed a morsel of steak with his fork to punctuate his point. “It would be pillaged and picked clean in a blink. We are not the enemy. We are stewards. The secrecy of the Foundry, our
lie
, is the only thing that prevents the complete and utter annihilation of mehkan-kind.”