The August 5 (7 page)

“I'll do what I can,” Mr. Leahy said. “Henry's daughter arrived a couple of days ago.”

“Does she know what Henry did?” Gavin asked.

There was an awkward pause, and Tamsin imagined Mr. Leahy pointing at the ceiling. It may have occurred to him that she could hear the two men talking through the grate. It sounded like a chair scraped along the floor, and their voices grew quieter as they moved toward the kitchen but she could still hear them. She wondered if she should feel bad for eavesdropping, but there wasn't really any way to avoid it.

“Can you make her fake identification?” Leahy asked. “She'll have to find work eventually.”

“Now that the presses are running, we can start forging cards,” Gavin said. He stopped when someone knocked at the front door, which opened and closed loudly. Their voices were muffled as they talked to the newcomer in the kitchen. After a while, Tamsin heard someone climbing the squeaky stairs and a timid knocking on her already open door. Navid, the Leahys' only child, was standing on the threshold, holding a tray with soup and a slice of bread. Tamsin pushed herself to a sitting position.

“What time is it?” Tamsin asked the boy. She felt disoriented. Maybe it wasn't even the night of the gathering she'd overheard earlier.

“It's only half past eight at night,” he said, giving her a wide smile. “How's your head?”

Navid was an endearing combination of little boy and young adult. He was a tall, lean kid with wiry arms and legs, but his face was still round with baby fat.

“Healing up, thanks,” she said, smiling back. The wound in her side had gotten infected, and she'd been fighting a fever ever since she arrived at the row house.

“Good,” Navid said. “You haven't seen any of Sevenna yet. Have you been to the city before?”

Tamsin nodded. “I visited Papa here once. Maybe when I'm better I can work in the garden with you?”

“Well, if Mama says it's all right,” Navid said. He set the tray on her lap and plopped down at the foot of the bed. “You don't look so good.”

Tamsin pretended to be offended and swatted his shoulder, but she actually loved the honesty of children. There was no guile, no hidden agendas. The burns on her neck felt scabby and raw and she'd been cooped up inside for a week. She could only imagine how sickly and pale she must appear.

“I just need to brush my hair,” Tamsin joked. “Then I'll be ready for the formal dance.”

Navid looked doubtful. Apparently her humor was lost on him.

“You were at the customs house?” she asked. “Your father told me that Papa was arrested, but I'd had so much root tea, I can't remember everything he said.”

“Are you sure you want to talk about this?” he asked. “When a bad thing happens to me, Mama tells me to think happy thoughts.”

“That's good advice,” Tamsin agreed. “But I need to know what happened to Papa. What happened on the last day of the Rising?”

“They brought cannons on rovers,” Navid told her. “They hit the building over and over, even after the fires started. The Zunft had the building surrounded, and when the first man tried to flee the smoke and flames, they shot him.”

“Who was that?” Tamsin asked. Mr. Leahy hadn't told her that part of the story.

“Christopher Stevens. Jack's son.”

“Did he die?” Tamsin asked.

“Right there on the street,” Navid said.

Tamsin felt sick. Jack was one of her father's friends and another journalist. His son, Christopher, had been a childhood playmate and her first crush—although she'd never told anyone but Eliza. She hadn't seen Christopher in four years, but she remembered how they'd dodged fireflies on summer evenings and raced with the other children along Miller's Road. She and Christopher had been the same age, but she was faster and would leave him gasping in the dust, yelling at her to slow down and wait.

“What happened then?” Tamsin asked.

“The fire engulfed the roof. It was about to cave in. They must have split up because they came out in two groups, one group out the east door and another through the north door. They tried to take cover but the soldiers had them surrounded on all sides. There were sparks flying everywhere so I had to run while they were still shooting.”

“Did you see my father?”

“Yes, he came out the east side.”

“Did he have a gun?”

“No, none of our side had guns,” Navid said.

“What happened then?”

“Your father led his group away from the customs house while the soldiers shot at them,” Navid said. “They couldn't get down the alley because they were blocked by the flames.”

Mr. Leahy had told her this part. Nine were killed on the spot. Five escaped death, including her father. The soldiers had arrested the survivors. Her father was in the hands of the Zunft. His trial would be a farce to humiliate the rebels and condemn the cottagers. Michael Henry would be found guilty and executed. There would be no justice for the cottagers—the August Rising had failed. Fighting off a sense of hopelessness, Tamsin reached out and gently squeezed the boy's hand.

“I'm sorry,” Navid said. “I like your papa. And your mama, too. She made me a toy rabbit the last time we were on Aeren.”

“I remember,” Tamsin said. “Do you still have him? Can I see him?”

Navid's face brightened. “Sure, but don't tell the fellows. I'm too old for toys.”

“Run and get him for me. I could use a bit of home.”

As Navid ran to his tiny room at the other end of the corridor, Tamsin wiped the tears from her eyes. Navid returned, clutching the fuzzy rabbit whose soft ears had been well loved.

“You can sleep with him until you're better,” Navid said. When he handed the toy to her, Tamsin saw that his palms were a mass of angry red scars.

“What happened to you?” Tamsin asked.

Navid shrugged. “I got caught by a soldier on top of a warehouse. He glued my hands to the roof and left me there. When I tore free, it took all the skin. I can't feel as much with them anymore.”

“That's horrible, Navid,” Tamsin said.

“Yeah, it was,” Navid agreed. “I wish I could take all the Zunft and put them on a faraway island so they can't hurt anyone anymore.”

“Me, too,” Tamsin said, hugging the rabbit tight. She wondered if her mother already knew the fate of her husband. Her mother was the realist. She would make sure that their family soldiered on, no matter what. Her father was the dreamer, but now his dream had died in the ashes of the Grand Customs House.

8

CHAMBER PASSES ANCESTRAL HOMES ACT

With the passage of the Ancestral Homes Act, all cottagers must carry official identification cards that list their current registered addresses. Those without cards may be arrested and deported by the Zunft.

—
Zunft Chronicle,
August 15

The ocean waves lashed at the pier while Tommy kept watching the dusky horizon. As soon as the ferry arrived, the twins were leaving for Sevenna and their new life as Seminary students. The capital city was peaceful again, or so their father said in his most recent letter, which had arrived with the official seal of the chief administrator's office. Tommy still couldn't believe that his father was now the most important man in the Zunft. From the day of the August Rising to this moment on the pier, everything felt unreal to Tommy. It was like a strange dream that occupied his mind even after he woke up. He could try to guess its meaning, but he'd probably be wrong in the end.

While leaving Aeren felt like a momentous occasion to Tommy, the sleepy port of Blackwater was unimpressed by his presence. Blackwater was the largest city on Aeren Island, but it was still small compared to Sevenna or even Stokkur Town on Norde. The port's population was about ten thousand during the winter months. Now, in late summer when many cottagers were working in the Middle Valley, the town felt as sleepy as a provincial village. Soon the fishmongers would set out their wares, and the town bells would ring the start of the workday. But for now, it was only Tommy and Bern, waiting for the ferry to arrive. Tommy paced up and down the dock anxiously while Bern dozed on the wooden bench, oblivious to the crashing waves and crimson sunrise.

Normally, the twins would have boarded a ferry in Port Kenney, but most of the village had been razed by the fire. So they had endured a bumpy carriage ride north to Blackwater with Bern pouting the entire way because Colston's new rover had been co-opted by the Zunft for the hunt for the rebels. Their driver was a Zunft soldier, and Tommy had expected that the soldier would wait with them until the ferry arrived, but he unceremoniously dropped them off and left.

The longer Tommy waited for the ferry, the more nervous he became. He wandered down the pier and kicked at a heavy coil of rope. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. It wasn't like he expected a brass band and people throwing confetti to commemorate this next stage in his life, but he hadn't expected it to be so desolate. Finally, a dark shape appeared on the horizon as the steamer emerged through the gloom and sailed toward the pier.

“Wake up, the ferry's here,” Tommy told Bern, who ignored him.

As a kid, Tommy loved ships of all kinds, especially the steam-powered, iron-strapped wooden boats that carried passengers between the islands. All the Zunft ferries seemed a little outdated now because the new volt-cells hadn't been incorporated into marine technology yet, at least as far as Tommy knew, but they were better than an old-fashioned sailboat. As the side-wheel steamer glided up to the pier, Tommy realized what he was missing. There was no one to say goodbye to. It wouldn't have been appropriate for Mrs. Trueblood to come, and his mother was long gone. On rare occasions, he still found himself missing her—or perhaps he was missing the idea of having a mother. When that happened, it felt like ripping a scab off a painful wound.

A young man swung the plank off the side of the ferry. It thudded loudly onto the cobblestones and startled Bern, who finally sat up and rubbed his eyes. Some of the lads had thrown a farewell party the night before, but Tommy had declined to join them. It seemed disrespectful to celebrate with the cottager violence so fresh in people's minds. Mrs. Trueblood and the other servants were still talking about arrests and death tolls. Tommy waited patiently until the man secured the plank to the pillar and tipped his cap.

“This all your gear, sir?” he asked Tommy in the lilting accent common among Aeren's cottagers.

“Yes,” Tommy said, handing the man a coin as Bern brushed past them and stomped up the plank in search of a coffee.

Bern went into the lounge, but Tommy opted for a secluded bench near the boat's stern where he could avoid other travelers. He was too nervous about Seminary to try to carry on small talk with strangers. Of the four main islands, Aeren and Sevenna Island were closest to each other so it should be less than an hour's run to the capital. If everything ran smoothly, Tommy would have time to eat potato pancakes at his favorite restaurant near Seminary Square before signing in with the head porter and seeing his new room. Though technically he could choose one of two specialties—jurisprudence or engineering—his father had made it clear ages ago that both boys were going to study engineering, even though neither had a natural aptitude for mathematics.

As he watched the green shores of Aeren fade in the distance, Tommy remembered a beautiful tune that Mrs. Trueblood had taught him when he was a boy.

“Alas, the emerald land of our fathers gone / Forlorn the empty hallowed home / King of Grief with golden crown / By the fields of Aeren, I am struck down,”
Tommy sang to himself.

A shadow fell across the deck and Bern stood next to him holding a copy of the
Chronicle
.

“Are you singing a cottager tune?” Bern asked. “I'd be careful with that if I were you. In fact, I'd forget everything Mrs. Trueblood ever taught you.”

Tommy scanned the deck, but no one was near enough to hear what he'd said. Bern was right. He'd have to watch what he said now that he'd be living in the capital. On Aeren, he spent more time around cottagers than with other sons of the Zunft. That wouldn't be true anymore.

“What does the paper say?” Tommy asked.

“Father got the Ancestral Homes Act passed,” Bern said. His brother sat down beside him to read the paper. He had to fold the pages in half to keep them from blowing in the wind.

“I heard Mrs. Trueblood talking about that,” Tommy said. “They have to carry identification now, right?”

“Yes, but that's not really the point,” Bern said. “He wants the cottagers to go back to working the estates. If an Aeren cottager is caught in Sevenna, he'll be sent home. I guess we won't have so many empty cottages along Miller's Road. Oh, and Hywel is still missing.”

“There's no sign of him at all?” Tommy asked.

“I can't believe that he didn't go back to Sevenna for the Chamber session,” Bern said. “How could someone neglect his duties in a time of crisis?”

“Maybe he got hurt,” Tommy said.

Bern rolled his eyes. “Then why didn't he send a messenger to say so?”

“Can I see the paper?” Tommy asked.

Bern handed Tommy the
Chronicle
, and Tommy glanced at the headlines—“Trials Set for the Rebel Leaders!” “More Arrests Expected!” “The Grand Customs House to Reopen!” He handed the paper back to Bern.

“Did you hear that they let girls into the Seminary?” Bern asked. “They're supposedly math geniuses, and some professor wanted them in the engineering program. They had to close off an entire floor of one of the residence halls to accommodate three girls. It's a travesty.”

“It says that in the
Chronicle
?” Tommy asked. He never read the society pages, which were usually vapid news for ladies about social gatherings.