The Rebels of Gold

  Instead, Willard led her into a great hall. Square skylights dotted the ceiling, letting in natural light to blend with the electric sconces that dotted every column of the main stretch. Between the columns, down the center of the room, were sturdy wing-backed chairs, high tables—impromptu meeting areas and spaces to sit and think. On the perimeter, between the columns and the outer walls, doorways adorned with nameplates lined the room.

  Arianna adjusted her harness, which suddenly felt too tight and tightening with every step.

  The Vicar Rivet led her back to the far corner. Her feet weaved her among the couches and chairs, familiar with the path rutted into the plush carpeting. This was the hall of masters, a place she had visited frequently to consult with a man whose door she now faced.

  “You kept it?” Her voice was stunted, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. Her eyes fixated on the plaque that read Master Oliver.

  “In a way.”

  “Oddly sentimental for a bunch of Rivets.” Arianna buried her hands into her pockets and told herself that Oliver’s untouched old quarters meant nothing.

  “Sentimentality only had little to do with it.” Willard tapped one of the two door locks.

  Every master’s door had its own lock fused with the metal door. But Oliver had conceived a second addition that he welded into the doorframe himself. It was the most complicated lock Arianna had ever had the privilege of seeing crafted, with multiple tumblers and no clear seams or screws.

  “You can’t open it.” She grinned knowingly. “Why not break the door down?”

  “Perhaps that was the sentimentality—violating a master’s workshop like that. But now . . .”

  “You want me to open it?” Arianna arched her eyebrows.

  “Well, of course. You know the combination, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Arianna thought briefly about concealing the fact, but she’d have much more fun watching Willard squirm as he pined for access into the physical manifestation of his rival’s mind.

  A long moment stretched on. “Well . . .?”

  “I’ll have to think if I want to open it or not.”

  “This is going to be your chambers, now.” He stopped her with a sentence as she turned away. “Everything within is yours.”

  The words buzzed between her ears louder than the electricity that hummed throughout the guild. “It’s not mine to have,” she whispered without facing the vicar.

  “It is.” Willard patted her shoulder, passing by her and heading for the exit.

  “He did not give it to me.” She wasn’t good enough for it. Arianna knew she was ten times more brilliant than most other Rivets and she was still only half as smart as Oliver was.

  “I think, in his way, he did.”

  “Don’t you want to see what’s inside?” she called across the room.

  “Oh, more than anything.” The old man stopped. “I’ve wondered what things Oliver was working on behind that door for years; I’ve fantasized over his brilliance. But he imparted his master status to you. He gave you the key to that door. He gave you his tutelage. Whatever is in there is meant for you, not me.” The conversation shifted before Arianna could formulate a reply. “In an hour I will meet with Master Charles to discuss outfitting a line for your boxes. I’ll need you in attendance. I trust you still remember the way to the vicar’s quarters.”

  She remembered it well, as if she hadn’t left the guild at all. “I do.”

  “I will see you then.” Willard nodded and departed, leaving Arianna alone with what suddenly felt like the most important decision she would ever make.

  COLETTA

  Coletta was an excellent judge of other’s pain.

  She had seen men and women die in combat countless times. She had seen Yveun inflict agony with the grace of a dancer. She had watched hordes of nameless, worthless test subjects die under the influence of her experimental poisons.

  So, she knew, from the moment she walked into the Gray Room, that Yeaan was not faring well.

  “He has poisoned me.” Yeaan pointed a long finger in the direction of a cowering Fen. “He has cut me open and he has poisoned me.”

  “I highly doubt he would be the one poisoning you.” Coletta couldn’t resist the bit of levity. Who could blame her? The agony of others put her in such a good mood.

  “I did not poison her,” the Fen insisted.

  “Then why is she in such pain?” Coletta approached Yeaan. The woman was nearly doubled over, clutching her stomach.

  “I-I don’t quite know.”

  Coletta ignored the incompetence and pulled Yeaan’s hands from where they clutched her gut. Sure enough, there was a long, angry line down her abdomen. The red skin was oozing gold, a pale, almost puss-like color from where the skin was visibly rippling with not quite right magic—the body not quite able to mend itself.

  “Why isn’t it healing?”

  “I don’t know that either.”

  “What do you know?” Coletta asked quietly, letting her whispering tones express every ounce of discontent she felt.

  “I tried to implant a stomach, as you asked. I used the organs you provided me.” He eased some as he spoke. “I implanted them, clumsily perhaps. But I did everything right. It’s fairly straightforward actually. And unlike a Fenthri, I didn’t have to adjust other organs’ positioning to make the size fit . . .”

  Coletta frowned at the incision. “Take it out of her.”

  “My queen, if I do, she will have to regrow her own.”

  “I would rather that than this agony.” Yeaan bared her teeth in a snarl.

  “Do it. She’s useless to me like this.” Coletta cupped Yeaan’s cheek gently—comfort amid pain. Cling to me, she wanted the touch to say, let me be your rock in this storm. For the more her flowers saw her as their foundation, the less likely they would stray. “I will find you better organs next time, from among the sun. I will not try to force lesser scraps of meat from underneath the island into you.”

  “Thank you, Coletta’Ryu, thank you.” The woman took Coletta’s hand from her cheek, bringing it to her mouth, kissing it gently.

  “Stay strong for me, my flower.” Coletta turned to the Fen. “See that she is stronger than before.”

  “I—”

  “No excuses,” Coletta snapped, punctuating the demand with a forceful slam of the door. Her day was filled with flowers. The wilting one that needed attendance had consumed her morning and now she returned to her garden, full of life in many forms. Topann patiently waited by her laboratory, hands folded and back straight, poised.

  “How is your progress with the Flowers of Agendi?” Coletta asked, headed right for her work table. There was no time for pleasantries.

  “We have almost finished burning all of Lysip,” Topann reported. “We shall move to Gwaeru to look for any next.”

  Coletta paused at the mention of the island where House Tam made its home. “See it done with the utmost caution.” If they played their cards right, it shouldn’t matter if the flowers of Agendi were on that island or not.

  “I will.”

  “That’s not all I need you to see, Topann. I require your attentions elsewhere.”

  “My queen?” She stood when Coletta motioned for her to approach.

  “I have taken the time to translate this ledger for your benefit.” She placed the book Louie had acquired on the table between them. “Head to Loom with the Riders Yveun is sending to suss out the location of this resistance, and bring gold back with you.”

  “How much?”

  “All of it.”

  “All of it?” Topann repeated, surprised.

  “We require it.” Coletta tapped the table in thought. The last missive from House Tam had not gone well. They were growing impatient, and the refineries on Nova were a grand idea by Yveun but an utter failure in practice. They didn’t possess enough resources or manpower to make them effective.

  “Then I shall bring as much as I can.”

  “Leverage
the Riders and anyone else you see fit.”

  “Should this be my priority? Above the flowers?” It was a fair question.

  “Yes. I’ll see that Yeaan assists with them.”

  “Very well. I shall begin my preparations with haste.” When Coletta said nothing more, Topann gave a bow and departed.

  FLORENCE

  She was back in the Underground once more. It was a place she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried or how far she ran. The force of it was too much; she kept being drawn back in.

  The oppressive blackness and heavy feeling of stone all around her were now almost like familiar friends. That may have been too strong of a word, but at the very least, the Underground had become a familiar acquaintance that Florence was required to interact with by some unspoken law.

  Returning this time felt different. This time, the Underground was filled to the brim with life and noise.

  Activity echoed through the caverns, filling every available space and making the unseen terrors lurking in the shadows slightly less terrifying. Those terrors were the first thing Florence had asked after when she had arrived at Ter.4—had there been any Wretch attacks? She had been surprised to hear that the answer was no. Usually, the Wretches used sound to track easy prey.

  The Fenthri that now occupied the tunnels and pathways of the Underground were anything but. They were armed to the teeth and settling in better than Florence could have expected. If anything, she wondered if the Wretches were afraid of them. After all, she reasoned, the influx of Fenthri might sound to a Wretch like one giant beast. If they could be fearsome to Wretches, then perhaps all of them together might add up to something strong enough to slay Dragons, too.

  Florence started up the sloping walkway. The new inhabitants of the Underground had made fairly quick work of setting up the rocky tunnels and antechambers as home. Most of the main tunnels had been outfitted with a patchwork of illumination—from glovis eyes to bioluminescence.

  She had been given a lantern that now guided her through the dark tunnel. Those building out the infrastructure—no doubt Rivets—hadn’t made it to this corner of the Underground yet. Florence suspected it would take some time, if they ever reached this far at all.

  The eerie glow of another lantern winked into existence from the darkness before her. It grew into the shape of a man with a Revolver tattoo on his cheek. He nodded and continued onward; it was the only assurance Florence had that she was headed in the right direction.

  After what seemed like forever but was likely only about three minutes—darkness distorted time in weird ways—the tunnel opened into a large cavern. The ceiling was obscured by blackness that clung to it like heavy clouds, but Florence was struck by a sensation of spaciousness above her—a rare commodity in the Underground. In the center of the room there was a giant metal basket, within which countless glowing orbs rested. Florence tried to make sense of what the basket contained—not glovis eyes, nor typical bioluminescence. Whatever it was gave off enough light to bathe most of the cavern in a pale, bluish-green glow.

  Light and shadow carved out silhouettes of people hunched over faintly glinting gun parts. Some lay out on bed rolls, perhaps sleeping, or just wiling away the boredom that accompanied waiting for an attack from above or below. A few took notice of her, but none seemed to recognize her. If they did, they didn’t seem to care.

  Florence progressed through the room, looking for someone familiar. A few of the faces she recognized, though none by name. In that moment, Florence made the decision to move in with the rest of the Revolver journeymen, rather than the more comfortable accommodations above she’d been offered by the vicars. While it was true that her status was unofficial, the Vicar Revolver had called her one of the guild. Even if he’d only done so to manipulate Arianna, she’d twist it to her advantage.

  In the far corner, separate from everyone else, torchlight painted a head of white hair a soft blue color. Shannra had set out her own lantern, hunching over it to work on her weapons.

  “I’m sorry I’m late for today’s lesson.” The other woman jolted as if she’d received a physical shock. Her head whipped around and she looked up at Florence. “Careful you don’t break your neck.”

  “Or have a heart attack. Neither are implausible when one sees a ghost.” Shannra’s mouth cracked into a smile. The woman with the moonlit hair stood, embracing Florence without hesitation. “I was worried about you.”

  “I told you: You have nothing to worry about.” It was awkward to leave her arms by her sides, so Florence wrapped them around Shannra’s waist.

  “So it would seem,” Shannra admitted. “How was the journey here? No issues?”

  “No, no issues.” It was easy to get lost in the concern so evident in the other woman’s eyes—a mix of both elation and relief.

  “I have something I need to ask you.”

  “It sounds important.” Shannra sat, motioning for Florence to join her.

  “I would like you to tell me if it is.” Florence debated where to start. In her satchel, she carried a notebook—one Arianna had meticulously transcribed for her. It was the copy of a ledger Louie had her steal from Holx, a ledger containing information on gold storage across Loom. Florence thought about going directly to the Dove with the information, and she still might. But she first wanted to see if Shannra knew anything about the matter. “How much do you know about Louie’s . . . operations?”

  “This again?” Shannra’s mouth fell into a frown. “Is it too much to ask if you will ever be capable of putting aside my affiliation with Louie?”

  “For now, yes,” Florence answered honestly. “But how much you help me can only quicken that process.”

  Shannra sighed. “Very well. What is it?”

  “Louie wanted something stolen in Holx, and I want to know why.”

  “Louie steals lots of things. I can’t claim to know the reasoning behind every one.” Shannra ran a hand through her wild white hair. “Maybe if you’re more specific . . .?”

  “He took the most current ledger from the Ravens’ Guild that contains information about all the gold storage locations across Loom.” Florence studied Shannra’s face. Her surprise seemed genuine. “Do you know why he would want this information?”

  “For Louie . . . it doesn’t seem abnormal for him to go after gold.” Shannra shrugged. “I have no doubt that he saw an opportunity and capitalized on it.”

  The same idea had crossed Florence’s mind. While she wanted to believe that Louie would not use the current situation to his advantage if doing so would be detrimental to Loom, she had all evidence to prove otherwise. Still, the request sat uneasy with her. Louie had always been obsessed with organs and magic; he had never once shown much of an interest in gold. Reagents, surely, but never gold.

  “Very well. But I will still bring this to the attention of the Vicar Raven.”

  Shannra sighed. “Do you really want to risk alienating Louie? After all, the Vicar Raven herself knew who she was getting into bed with. She went to him personally to ask him to acquire organs and these magic flowers Arianna seems to need.”

  “Arianna can take care of herself. And unlike Louie, I believe her when she says she’s on our side.”

  “Very well.” Shannra waved away the unappealing notion. “It’s not my business anyway.”

  “Are you still in touch with one of Louie’s men through whisper?”

  Shannra merely shrugged. The lack of answer was the distance between them embodied.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She didn’t know what she expected from Shannra, but apparently, she harbored more optimism than she cared to admit.

  “One more thing,” Florence said as she stood. She needed to go somewhere else to cool down. “By the time you report to Louie, I will have already informed the vicar of his actions against her guild. So, you may want to use whatever means of communication you have at your disposal to let him know. That way, you can try to remain in his good standing.”

>   “It’s not like that, you know,” she muttered. “I’m not constantly looking for an opportunity to betray you to him.”

  Florence arched her eyebrows.

  “I’m not,” the other woman insisted.

  “Why does he have your loyalty at all? Why are you involved with him?” Not that it mattered. Whatever her reasons, the fact remained that Shannra was one of Louie’s. And that meant Florence should stay well away.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me,” Florence pressed.

  “I was frustrated with the limitations the Revolvers’ Guild put on their students.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I had all these ideas for projects, but none of them would get approved. They were all deemed too radical, too dangerous.”

  “So, you found someone who would fund your ideas.”

  It wasn’t a question but Shannra nodded anyway. “By the time I fully realized how he was using my work, it was too late.”

  “He had enough information on you to get you thrown out of the guild.” Under Dragon law, being exiled from your guild meant death. Florence finished the story in her mind, a simple, cautionary tale central to the Revolvers’ Guild itself: just because one could, didn’t mean one should.

  “It doesn’t really matter now. The vicar knows of my involvement with Louie because of all this. I suspect the only reason he hasn’t kicked me out yet is because Loom is so short on manpower. Especially the Revolvers.”

  “So why stay with Louie then?” Florence crouched down again so that way she could speak in the quietest voice possible. “He doesn’t have anything on you anymore. And even if you do get kicked out, the guilds are reverting back to what they were before the Dragons. There are no more death sentences. There’s nothing keeping you to a single guild or location.”

  “Yes, that may be true. But if I’m kicked out, I have nowhere else to go.” Shannra picked up her gun parts, slowly assembling her weapon once more. “And if that’s the case, I would rather stay in the company of someone who will actually appreciate my work.”