Flight of the King (28 page)

A mechanical bird caw sounded over the hubbub of the fairgoers, and a flank of Dominae guards, all dressed in gray uniforms, marched down the main thoroughfare between the tents. Three
Clamoribus birds perched on angled staffs held aloft by guards leading the march. Behind the solemn guards, a welcoming smile drawn wide across her all-too-familiar face, was Viviana. Tremelo took
a deep, calming breath, which did not, in fact, calm him at all. Viviana was headed directly toward the Science Competition tables.

“Mr. Loren!” called a cheery voice. Jerri, Shonfield's assistant, approached him. His customary clipboard was held closely to his chest, and his brass spectacles were slightly
askew on his angular nose. “Are you mentoring any of our entrants in today's competition?” he asked.

“Just observing,” Tremelo said. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to keep one eye on Viviana.

“Ah, yes,” murmured Jerri, following his gaze. “Commanding, isn't she?”

“Hmm,”
hummed Tremelo, hardly listening.

Jerri waved—Ms. Shonfield was hustling over, squeezing her way through the mass of citizens and students jostling to get a look at Viviana.

“Here we are, Jerri,” she said. “Viviana and the judges are coming 'round. Who's first on the list to present?”

Jerri consulted his clipboard.

“Colubride, Victoria.”

“Tori? Now?” Tremelo asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the procession surrounding Viviana draw closer to the students' tables.

“Certainly,” said Jerri. “Best to start off strong when the quality's watching!” He cocked his head toward the oncoming Dominae, and followed Shonfield to
Tori's table. Tremelo stayed close, trying to hide his shaking hands in his pockets. An older gentleman with a white goatee and a woman wearing a slightly askew purple cap approached from
Viviana's party: the judges. As they, along with Shonfield and Jerri, admired the Halcyon, a worried Tremelo caught Tori's eye. To his surprise, she winked.

“The Halcyon plays randomly generated musical notes, depending on the listener's Animas, and the strength of their connection with their kin,” said Tori. She'd expertly
rehearsed what to say.

“How lovely,” Shonfield said, eyeing the two sour-faced judges. “Could we hear a demonstration?”

“Of course!” Tori laid her beaded bag on the tabletop and two black snakes emerged. They nosed around the base of the Halcyon, then slid into a niche in the side of the machine.
Here, where the interior metal connected to a series of sensitive wires, the snakes curled into sleek spirals. Tori fastened a metal cuff around her wrist. The Halcyon began to emit strains of
music—in Tori's case, the chords were just slightly off-tone, but beautiful, almost mischievous. Tremelo smiled. The crowd in front of the tables parted, and he saw Viviana. Her eyes
darted as though she was looking for the source of the strange sound. Then she placed a hand on her temple to shield her eyes, shook her head slightly, and walked on. Tremelo breathed out a gust of
air that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in.

“Oof,”
exhaled Ms. Shonfield, as the judges moved to the next table. “Enough pressure for you, Miss Colubride? You did very well. I daresay they were fairly
impressed.”

“Thanks,” said Tori, a little too nonchalantly. “But I had a little help.” She placed her hand palm up on the table, and Shonfield laughed as the two black snakes left
the machine and found their way back into Tori's bag.

“Yes, I see!” Shonfield smiled and moved to the next entry.

“Well done,” Tremelo said to Tori, as soon as Shonfield and Jerri were out of earshot.

“All that fuss, and Viviana hardly even looked,” said Tori, sounding almost disappointed.

“Just wait,” said Tremelo. Once the orb was in place, he was sure they'd attract her attention.

They lifted the Halcyon off the table and carried it behind the row of canvas tents to Tremelo's motorcar. Tremelo carefully set Lyle's orb in the nest they'd made for it
inside the Halcyon's frame.

“Let's try it,” Tori said. “Where's Fennel?” She nearly had to shout over the noise of the bustling fair.

Tremelo looked around for his kin. He'd sent Fennel to find the RATS, with a message for both Digby Barnes and Gwen. He had not heard from Gwen since she left Fairmount, and the RATS were
impossible to find, even for him. In the days since he'd sent the Clamoribus into the mountains in search of the Velyn, he'd gotten no word in return. He hadn't admitted as much
to Tori, but he was worried help would not come.

“Tremelo—look!” Tori said. She pointed at the causeway mobbed with fairgoers—among them was the missing teacher, Dr. Graves. Half his face was hidden behind his bundled
scarf, and he stood alone to the side of a tent bearing an advertisement for
MADAME VICTROLA
'
S GENUINE SNAIL-SLIME FACE CREAM
, looking about as
comfortable as a hairless cat in a snowstorm. He snuck glances down the long alley of tents like he was expecting someone.

“Do you think he's looking for Bailey?” Tori asked.

“The sneaking cockroach,” spat Tremelo. “Stay here.” His blood boiled at the sight of Graves—he was the reason Bailey had left Fairmount and run straight into the
clutches of the Jackal. Tremelo cursed himself again for not being there when the boy needed him.

Tremelo wove through the crowd. Barreling into the causeway, he was on Graves before the hook-nosed man had a chance to react. Tremelo grabbed him by the scarf and pulled him under the spectator
stands.

“What are you doing here?” Tremelo snarled once they were out of sight. He backed Graves against a wooden post. “Who are you working for?”

“Madman! Let go of me, you don't have the slightest clue—” Graves sputtered, trying to pry off Tremelo's hands. Tremelo only held on tighter. Tori appeared behind
him, a little out of breath. Alongside her trotted Fennel, tail swishing, back from her trek into the Gudgeons.

“Where's Bailey? Are you working with the Dominae or the Jackal?” Tremelo asked Graves.

Graves's jaw fell open in shock, and then his brows twisted downward angrily.

“The
Jackal
? You must be insane. Never mind, I
know
you're insane.”

Tremelo wrenched Graves away from the post, and then slammed the little man back again. Fennel yipped. Graves cried out and put up his hands in protest.

“Tell me what you know about Bailey, or so help me—”

“Get off me!” Graves said, shirking away from Tremelo's glare. “I'm not working with the Dominae!”

“Who, then?” growled Tremelo.

“The RATS, of course!” said Graves.

“What?” said Tremelo. “What do you know about the RATS?”

“I am
one
of them,” hissed Graves. “From a nest north of the city.”

Tremelo's hand shook, but he tightened his fist around Graves's collar.

“Prove it,” he said.

“Barnes was against it—but Merritt Locksman and the northern RATS voted to send me to Fairmount. It was just after the Elder and the girl left to find you. We knew they went looking
for something important, and that Viviana had spies there. I was able to keep an eye on you, and suss out Dominae infiltration in the school. We didn't know which side you'd be
on.”

“Which
side
?” scoffed Tori. “Do you even
know
who you're talking to?”

Graves regarded her as he might a cricket who had just landed on his sleeve.

“I knew your reputation when I arrived, Tremelo—as well as that of your father, the Loon. But your tinkering was suspicious.…Your experiments correlated with reports we'd
received from the Red Hills of Dominae-engineered technology.”

Tremelo let go of Graves's collar and stepped back in disgust.

“You thought
I
was tinkering for the Dominae?”

Graves's face turned redder than before, and he took the opportunity to huffily straighten his scarf and tweed cape.

“Is that really so preposterous? You've hardly been involved with our goings-on in the last decade—too busy smoking your pipe! And once I learned the Dominae were watching
certain children”—he cast a glance at Tori, who stood behind Tremelo, fuming—“and saw
your
interest in them, I had to act. That's when I confronted young Mr.
Walker. I only wanted to protect him!”

“Well, you mucked that one up, didn't you?” snapped Tori. “And now he and Hal have been kidnapped by the Jackal!”

“Nature's left ear,” snarled Graves. “If that's true, why wouldn't you alert the RATS?” He faced Tremelo with an accusing stare.

“The RATS make themselves difficult to find,” said Tremelo, matching Graves's ire. Tremelo glanced down at Fennel, who sat at his feet, but he did not have to focus long on her
to understand that she had not had any luck in the Gudgeons.

“I knew there was something about that boy,” said Graves. “
He's
the Animas Tiger, as I suspected—and you allowed him to vanish, at the mercy of
who-knows-what!”

“Tremelo! Tori!”

The familiar voice jolted Tremelo out of his anger—it was Gwen, running across the causeway. To his amazement, Phi was at her side. Tori let out a yelp of surprise, and ran forward and
hugged Phi as Fennel bounced toward them, ears happily perked. Gwen rushed to Tremelo.

“Thank Nature you two are all right!” he said, clasping Gwen's shoulders and grinning. “Where have you two been? Are you hurt? Where's the Glass? Is it
safe?”

“We're fine, and so is the Glass,” she said. She patted her rucksack. “I have so much to tell you!”

Phi was looking around anxiously.

“Where is Bailey?” Phi asked. “And Hal?”

“They took off on their own, weeks ago, and were captured,” Tremelo explained. “But they're here, somewhere, in need of help.”

“Well, we've come with help of our own.”

Gwen looked up into the sky, where Tremelo saw a huge black shape circling.

“Is that Carin?” he asked Phi, but even as he asked it, he knew that what he was seeing was too large, its movements too steady. This was no real bird—it was a Clamoribus.

“It's your messenger,” Gwen said. “The Velyn received it, and they've answered.”

She led them through the scaffolding and past the motorbuggy, where the fairgrounds backed up to the woods surrounding the Gray City. Here the sounds of the fair became muted, and the crowds
seemed far away. Gwen pointed to the trees.

Men and women began to emerge from the shadows between those trees, and out into the light of the fairgrounds. The Velyn, led by Eneas Fourclaw, crossed the threshold of the forest and
approached Tremelo.

“You came,” Tremelo said, hardly believing what he saw. “I didn't know if I would reach you.”

Eneas stepped forward and shook Tremelo's hand.

“Not all of us did, I'm afraid,” he said. “There are many Velyn who aren't ready to be seen by the rest of the kingdom yet. But I was beckoned by the True King.
We're ready to follow you.”

Tremelo was dumbstruck; he was hardly ever at a loss for words, but at this moment he could barely speak. His heart swelled with gratitude.

“I don't believe it,” said Graves, who stood with his jaw hanging open. “The Velyn—they're
here
. They're alive!”

“Well, while you all are getting acquainted,” Tori piped up, “some of us have friends to find!”

“We don't even know where to begin looking for the boys,” said Tremelo.

“I think I can help with that,” said Graves.

His nostrils flared as he breathed in. “
I
am not the Dominae spy you're after, but I just might know who
is.
We find them and we find the boy.”

BAILEY AND TALETH CROUCHED
together in a metal cage covered by a canvas tarp. Outside sat two of the Jackal's mercenaries from the Dust Plains.
The Jackal had not exaggerated when he'd described his army of outlaws; these men dressed in shabby clothes and carried large knives for weapons. They'd been hired to keep watch for
members of the Dominae—or anyone else who might try to take Bailey—while the Jackal and his usual guards patrolled aboveground.

They had set out from the compound in a caravan of motorcars a few days before. Bailey had caught his first glimpse of Hal since the day they'd been taken: the Jackal's guards were
strong-arming him into a separate motorcar while he and Taleth had been shoved into a trailer for livestock. Hal had looked thin and haggard, with deep bags under his eyes.

They had arrived at the fair many hours ago, and Bailey sensed that he and Taleth were underground. From above came a steady rumble of music and footsteps, and he could smell damp earth all
around. During several hours that morning, he could have sworn he heard the sounds of a Scavage match being played above him—running, and the sound of cheering. He curled against
Taleth's side, feeling her breath in his ear. She hated being in the cage: every few minutes she would shudder and adjust her position, breathing out her apprehension in a wet huff. She
jostled against Bailey, forgetting that she could easily crush him if she wasn't careful. For his part, Bailey had never been more exhausted or afraid.