The Wind Merchant Page 6

  Lunch was one of the many small-picture things that had slipped Ras’ mind lately. He shook his head, wiggling the mask and distorting his vision.

  “There’s a cafeteria you can buy something from, but I don’t recommend it.” She paused. “I have an extra sandwich if you’d like.”

  The generous offer struck him. “Out of curiosity, do you know why I’m down here?” It was a loaded question, but Ras had grown weary of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “I do,” she said, “Just about everybody does.”

  “Why are you being so nice?”

  Her mask lifted slightly, indicating a smile. “Down here we come from a line of people accused of ending the world by accident…but we’re still alive, and I figure we’ll still be alive after all this gets sorted out,” she said. “Of course you’ll run into some folk that aren’t going to enjoy their job getting harder, but everyone down here appreciates a good second chance. Don’t waste it.” She placed a hand on Ras’ shoulder, then shoved him out of the elevator. “Now, off to work with you.”

  The morning passed quickly. Nobody spoke to Ras, but he also imagined nobody knew who he was in a jumpsuit and gas mask, so he didn’t take it personally. The work was tedious, but necessary, and Ras took a small amount of pride in the part he played.

  At noon he left to find his way to Sub-level Two, and after a few errant turns, he found his way to the crowded mess hall, which was filled with long benched tables. Billie sat at one in the corner, and beckoned Ras over before reengaging two men in a spirited debate.

  A fiery red haired man in a white lab coat gesticulated wildly with an unlit pipe. “Forget The Collective! If Verdant won’t fit through the main pass of The Bowl, then all we need are wind merchants willing to collect outside The Bowl to feed her engines!”

  “Have you ever been outside The Bowl?” A man with an eyepatch and a short military-style haircut spoke with a gruff voice. His dark green jumpsuit held a patch that read “8”, and Ras wondered what it meant. “Wind merchants have gotten soft, trolling around…half of them probably couldn’t navigate the mountain passes out of here, let alone fend off India Bravo to bring back what little they do find.”

  “Well, do you have a better idea?” the red-head asked.

  Ras sat down on the bench facing the wall next to Billie and she introduced him, “Ras, I’d like you to meet my two best friends: Finn,” she said, nodding toward the red-head. “He works in our medical wing.”

  Finn extended his hand. “Ras.”

  Ras accepted the handshake and found his hand vigorously shaken twice before release.

  “And this gentleman is Guy,” she said.

  “That’s generous,” Guy said. The man with the eyepatch managed to make a point of not extending his hand, but acknowledged Ras’ presence with a nod. “At least you showed up.”

  Billie slid a wrapped sandwich over to Ras as Finn continued. “Yeah, but the only reason they got soft is because The Collective did the dirty work, fighting the pirates. Thanks to the kid here, they’ve finally buggered off and we can go back to being self-sustaining.”

  “We’re never going to be self-sustaining with The Winnower just sitting there. I mean, I don’t remember getting to vote on building a giant dome over the Origin,” Guy said.

  Ras took another bite of his sandwich, taking in the exchange. He swallowed and said, “What if they took away The Winnower and just used it as a refinement plant to bring collected Energy?”

  Guy shook his head. “What business would start paying people for what it already gets free? Besides, it’s how they fuel their war with the sky pirates. Little fear goes a long way, and most people can still sleep easy in their beds if a few cities fall from the sky as long as they feel like someone is keeping them safe.”

  “They set themselves up nice,” Finn said. “Opposing them means being for the sky pirates.” He sighed. “We don’t want to rape and pillage, we just don’t want to fall from the sky.”

  “I just want to know,” Guy said, jutting a thumb at Ras, “How someone like him flew below the clouds.”

  “Easy on the new guy,” Billie said, shooting Guy a menacing look. “He’s been here a whole four hours. We’ve got six months with him—”

  “Chief is saying the city’s Energy reserves are only buying us one month if we don’t get a new influx,” Finn said, inspecting his pipe.

  “Then we have a month to get to know him. Maybe we can make it two or three. Maybe more. He’s here to help us eke out every ounce of efficiency we can out of the old girl, and that won’t happen if we don’t work together.”

  One month, Ras thought. Wonder if they knew that during sentencing.

  “I’m fine taking my chances on the ground,” Finn said, nodding to Ras. “If they’re saying there’s no more Energy in The Bowl, why not?”

  “Yeah, that’s great, let’s just pretend a Convergence won’t come flying by and kill us all. Or maybe you’d like to get torn apart by Remnants!” Guy said, picking up his tray and slamming it on the table before storming off from the bench.

  “Don’t mind him,” Finn said. “He likes you.”

  “Really?” Ras asked.

  “No. I was just trying to be nice.”

  The rest of the afternoon, Ras made a point of avoiding Guy even though Billie placed him on Guy’s maintenance crew. His duty consisted of running any errand for the twenty men and women assigned to the well-being of Engine Eight. When not being sent out, he observed the crew’s personal sign language to overcome communication barriers while working around the large, droning beast of an engine that stood at least sixty feet high.

  Some signs were easy to understand, like ‘wrench,’ and ‘break.’ Other’s like ‘I want you to go to Engine Three and ask for a three-quarters inch thick lead pipe,’ took a lot more work and usually broke down to scribbling on a piece of paper Ras had begged for from Billie during one of his trips. After his fifth trip request to retrieve a specific tool from halfway across Verdant, it became apparent his job was to get out of the way for long stretches of time.

  Upon returning from his seventh trek, he found an entirely different crew working on Engine Eight. He looked down to his watch and saw his shift had ended twenty minutes prior.

  The main office was filled with staff when Ras found it, and he spotted Billie, a handful of curly hair clenched in her hand as she stared at the documents on her desk. Ras stood silent for a few moments, then coughed politely.

  “I see you,” Billie said, still reading.

  “Do I need to sign anything to check out?” Ras asked.

  She looked up. The hair she had been holding stuck up at an odd angle. “No, I got you.”

  Ras nodded and began to turn around, but stopped. “Can I ask why you put me on Guy’s team? All I did this afternoon was run around.”

  “They’re just getting you acquainted with the city in their own way,” she said, giving a tired smile. “It’ll probably be the same tomorrow.”

  “What does Guy have against me?” Ras asked. “Besides the usual?”

  “That’s something you’ll have to talk with him about.” She waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “Shoo. I’ve got an engine to run. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”

  With his blue jumpsuit doffed and slung over his arm, Ras leaned his weight on the heavy metal door leading back to Verdant’s streets. The door creaked open, revealing a streetlamp lit square populated with one inhabitant: Callie.

  He didn’t want her to see him like this, but those feelings couldn’t override the grin she brought to his face. She even looked cute engulfed by her father’s overstuffed brown coat.

  “Walk me home?” she asked as if she needed to.

  Ras offered his arm before remembering he probably smelled of engine grease and sweat, and hoped Callie wouldn’t notice. She graciously accepted and they began their trek to the residential district.

  “What brings you out this way?” he asked. He noticed the s
treetlights were dimmer than usual, which allowed for the stars to make a more prominent appearance in the sky.

  “I thought you could use a friend.” She walked along the sidewalk in an uneven pace as though following the rhythm of some song in her head. “How was it?”

  “Made a few friends, I think,” Ras said. “How are things up here?”

  Callie shrugged. “Fine if you don’t listen to the news reports. Everybody keeps talking about what happened when the city of Worick lost their Energy source just after The Winnower started up.”

  “Worick sank?” Ras asked.

  “No, they bought Helios engines, but it didn’t stop the people from panicking and throwing people over the edge hoping they’d overload and make a Convergence,” she said.

  Ras could feel her shiver and hug his arm tighter. “How sky pirate of them,” he said. “I thought Convergences strong enough to support a city were made from tens of thousands of people from The Great Overload.”

  “Logic wasn’t their strongest suit,” she said. “At least that’s not happening here yet.”

  He tried not to imagine the citizens of Verdant panicking and throwing wind merchants and Engine workers overboard as a last ditch effort. “Does your dad know you’re here?”

  Her laughter cut through the chill of the night. “I might have mentioned it.”

  “Might have?”

  “I’d give it a five percent chance,” Callie said.

  “You’re trying to get me killed, I hope you know that,” Ras said as they turned a corner to walk along one of the main avenues. He took note of a man with a dark, wide-brimmed hat watching them silently from underneath a drugstore stoop.

  She slipped her arm out from his crook and stepped up to a raised walkway, playfully balancing with arms extended and keeping pace with Ras. “You still haven’t told me what the Convergence was like.”

  Every time Ras looked back to check on the man with the hat, he was met with a stare. “Ah, how about you tell me about your book first?” he asked. He didn’t want his distracted explanation of a Convergence alerting her to the man interested in them.

  “You’re still going to read it, right?”

  “Of course, I’d read it even if it’s about an untalented wind merchant named Russ that accidentally crashed his city.”

  “Oh, come on, you’re not untalented,” she said, shooting him an accusatory look.

  “I’m talking about Russ. Did you think I meant me?” Ras asked, feigning hurt feelings. “Seriously though, I know it’s about the train from your dreams, but what’s the story?” He looked back to see the man with the hat now walking on the sidewalk twenty feet behind them. He picked up his pace, and was relieved when Callie instinctively quickened her step to match his.

  “Well, I’m having to do a lot of research to make sure it’s as accurate as possible,” she said.

  “History piece?”

  “Set during The Clockwork War.”

  “I’m already interested,” Ras said, distraction creeping into his voice.

  “There’s nobody named Russ in it, but I can fix that if you like,” she said, hopping down from the ledge. “Anyway, the train is carrying children away from cities that The Elders are bombarding.”

  “Uh huh,” Ras said, checking over his shoulder once more. The man wasn’t there. “So where do they go?”

  “You’ll have to read it,” Callie said.

  They rounded the corner to the entrance of the residential zone and almost bowled into the man with the hat.

  A gray mustache accentuated his gaunt face, and he bore the haughty look of a man accustomed to having authority. His disquietingly blue eyes looked down a long nose at Ras. “Erasmus Veir?”

  Ras paused for a moment and gently reached out for Callie’s arm. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, yes you can.” His tone held a roughness to it. He wrinkled his nose as though Ras offered an offensive odor. “If I could borrow you for a word.”

  Ras glanced over to Callie and said, “I’m afraid I promised to get her home. Perhaps another time.” Ras couldn’t imagine a stranger having good news for him and thought it more likely the man would lead him to a waiting lynch mob.

  The tall man narrowed his eyes. “I am a patient man, Mr. Veir. I can wait.” He stepped aside to let the pair pass.

  Ras and Callie took their cue and continued walking, remaining silent until they were well past the man.

  “Who—” Callie began.

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Creepy,” she said.

  “All right, maybe we should take a skiff,” Ras said.

  “Can’t. The city is cracking down on Energy usage. It’s not much further.” She hugged herself for warmth. “It’s kind of thrilling, isn’t it? Being followed.”

  One thing Ras always admired about Callie was her incredibly romantic imagination. The few days Ras had spent cooped up inside his own house led to pure boredom, but somehow Callie never got bored. She read and she wrote, and Ras imagined this moment being an addition to whatever book she was planning on writing next.

  “I suppose thrilling could describe it. What happens next, oh worker of fiction?” he asked.

  “Well, the couple unsuspectingly—”

  “Couple?” Ras blurted, wishing desperately to pull the word back.

  “…yes, couple. Two people makes a couple. Three makes a few. What does four make?” She hid well whatever embarrassment Ras caused.

  “A crowd, I think.”

  “Or death, classically.”

  “Then let’s hope Mr. Hat hasn’t brought a friend,” Ras said.

  They glanced over their shoulders to see the man keeping pace with them, not caring about being detected. “Nope, still a few.” She resumed walking, “Where was I? Ah, so the couple doesn’t suspect that the reason they’re being followed is because he has a secret mission for one of them that the other can’t know about.” She narrowed her wild eyes, reveling in her storytelling.

  “You doing spy work on the side?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Hah, I knew it.”

  “What?”

  “All your books. They’re just secret cyphers you’re sending out to The Elders or The Clockworks.”

  “Same thing,” she corrected.

  “Hmm…that’s something a spy would know.”

  “Or someone who didn’t sleep through history classes,” she said.

  “Or that,” he said, “So what sort of spy job are you getting this time?”

  “No clue. I’m not the one he wanted to talk to, remember?”

  He did remember, and began to wonder about the old man’s reason for pursuing him. They were only a block away from Callie’s house and the man still followed them. “Hey, if I’m missing in the morning…”

  “I’ll put it in my story that you put up a heroic fight, but in the end were no match for an old man.”

  “Thanks, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. Just give me more muscles in the story.”

  “Your muscles are fine.” An awkward moment. “I mean, unless of course you wanted to further the irony,” she said.

  They made it up to her porch, and Ras turned to see the man across the street, staring. “Maybe if I get to be a spy, your books will start making more sense to me.”

  She crinkled her nose. “Now you’re just being mean,” she said, opening the front door. “See you tomorrow?” She rested her head on the door and gazed at him with blue eyes that sparkled in the porch light.

  “Wouldn’t miss it. You’ll have to show me the secret spy handshake.” He smiled. “Goodnight, Calista,” he said. He usually called her Callie for the familiarity of it, but he liked the way Calista rolled off the tongue.

  “Good night, Erasmus,” she said, and gently closed the door.

  Ras would have savored the moment more if he hadn’t felt the bore of the man’s stare on the back of his neck. He turned around
to address his stalker only to see an empty sidewalk.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Engine

  Clutching his sack lunch, Ras closed the front door to his home. He eyed the horizon for any men with wide-brimmed hats, but failed to find anyone walking along the streets.

  Checking his watch, Ras saw he had a very small margin to stop at his favorite basement window before the morning shift began. He stepped off his porch step toward the Tourbillon home, and a deep voice from the neighboring front porch made him jump.

  “The Engine’s the other way, if I recall,” Mr. Tourbillon said, setting a newspaper neatly in his lap as he continued to rock in his chair.

  Ras looked over his shoulder as an excuse to not have to talk over the rush of his thumping heart. “So it is. I just thought—”

  “While I’ve appreciated that you’ve finally begun thinking, I’d recommend none of those thoughts correlate with my daughter,” he said before pulling up a mug of coffee and taking a long sip.

  Ras glanced toward the window. He saw a bit of motion, but nothing he could focus on without earning further ire from Mr. Tourbillon. “I was trying to help Verdant.”

  “I remember you saying so during the trial,” he said, unblinking. The infrequency with which the man blinked disquieted Ras. “It’s a shame intention didn’t stack up with reality.”

  The front door opened, and Mrs. Tourbillon stepped out with an unmarked wooden box. She stared at Ras as she set the box on the chair next to her husband. “Erasmus.”

  “Ma’am,” Ras said. Mrs. Tourbillon usually treated Ras with more warmth than her husband, but not today.

  She turned to Mr. Tourbillon. “We’re going to need at least a dozen more of these for the odds and ends.”

  “I’ll see what’s left at the office today,” Mr. Tourbillon said, “We’ll probably have to unload the boxes we have on the ship and reuse them.”