City of Ruin, page 5
Chauncey smirks and dips his chin. “As you wish.”
With a derisive sound, I set my empty tumbler on his desk, anxious to catch up with Collins and my newest acquirements. “Don’t let me down, Chauncey. Your livelihood depends on it.”
8
SELENE
It’s been hours since we left the City District, the children and I crammed and jostling inside the coach. We have only stopped once for a brief reprieve, but neither the children nor I dare complain. Not when velvet cushions pad the bench seats, even if they are threadbare remnants of the world before. And despite the knocking about in our haste, the five of us are warm, and I can’t recall the last time we were allowed to rest for longer than our six hours of sleep each night. While I don’t miss the arduous workday, I’m fidgety in such idleness. I try to soak it in and treasure this momentary lull, because whatever the Collector has in store for us will be far worse than the orphanage.
Gazing through the coach window, I hum a song for the children that my mother once hummed for me. But it does little to soothe the foreign and unsettling world around us, shrouded with fog too thick to see through as we drive on.
I’ve never been to the Manufacturing District, a death trap where laborers go to die. Wherever the Collector’s estate and whatever conditions await, I’ve heard enough whispers about the man to know he has enough slaves to rival all of New London, and that many of them disappear just the same.
“Lean to the right!” Collins calls to us from atop his horse outside the carriage. He and the driver have seen to our hasty travel in the Collector’s absence.
“Hurry, children—over to this side,” I tell them, and Nell and the twins huddle closer to the right of the coach where Beatrice and I are already sitting. Wrapping my arm around Jon, I chance a glance out the window, gulping thickly. As I suspected, it’s another bridge in disrepair I can see far too easily over. I gulp again as we pass over what looks like a sinkhole rather than a creek bed in the night shadows below. Only when I can feel the sloshy road beneath us again do I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Where is he taking us?” Evie squeaks out.
I force myself to smile as best I can. “To our new home,” I tell her. “And no matter where it is, or what we must do there, we will be together. That’s what matters. Isn’t it?” I try to believe my own words, but my skepticism rings, even to my ears.
Evie nods, if a bit reluctantly, and I try not to think about my fate with our new master. Fearing I already know what it holds, it’s easy to find comfort in his absence. His man Collins has been all business, but not cruel or harsh toward the children, and I take a slight comfort in that. Perhaps it is he who will oversee our duties and the Collector will own us only in name.
As the night ticks on, the children are tossed in and out of sleep. For me, sleeping means our new, uncertain reality will come far more quickly, so I try to resist the pull as long as possible. The past nine years of exhaustion are stacked against me, however, and I’m unable to keep my eyes open in the respite of the moving carriage. Eventually, I drift to sleep as well.
Somewhere in my mind, I hear Master Orson’s angry protests as we’re herded out of the orphanage. I see his cheeks ruddy with rage, while his wife’s bright eyes practically gleam with delight as we climb into the carriage. I hear Orson’s threats about rights and property, and Collins’s easy rebuttal regarding the Council of Four’s landowner decree. But the Collector isn’t an average landowner, even if he is one of many in a long line of beasts at the helm of this fallen empire. His brutish family is responsible for stirring the sleeping wolves. Now they herd and trade us like sheep, all for the Council’s vision of a prosperous New London.
Eventually, I’m roused by a small moan, and eyes flitting open, I take in the outlines of the children, their forms almost an ethereal glow in the inky dawn light.
Lost in a dream, Jon’s arms squeeze protectively around his sister, and I realize that as cherubic as the nine-year-old twins appear, with their gold spun hair illuminated in the early morning light, their youth was stolen from them long ago—before their father didn’t return from the workhouse one ill-fated night, and before their mother died of the fever. Their innocence was lost the day they were born into this world, like the rest of us.
My heart aches as I consider Nell’s path ahead, because despite her tattered shawl wrapped tightly around her wasted frame, nothing can hide her femininity—not soot or stench or shabby clothes. She is beauty personified, and somehow the world hasn’t yet dulled her ocher eyes or rosy cheeks. Her ginger hair glows in the pale shadows, and I worry more than ever what the future will hold for her. The Collector now has two women of legal age to add to his menagerie, if he even regards such laws. And when I think about his dead wives, I know he will not be kinder to us than he was to them.
But it’s Beatrice I worry about most of all. Gently, I brush the crook of my finger against her soft, brown cheek. It isn’t only her arm that is broken, but her soul, and there is no sling or salve I can conjure to heal it.
I don’t know what’s worse, having everyone you hold dear taken from you throughout your life, or having nothing or no one at all. Roman was her companion and brother in all but blood, her best friend and the only family she’s ever known. In thirteen years, they’d never been parted, not since they arrived at the orphanage the same week they’d been born. And now he is dead.
Fleetingly, I question how many children the Collector had planned to purchase, if he only brought with him a small carriage. Or was the carriage meant for him, and that is why he is not with us? I can only think we are not walking because we would slow the journey, and the knot in my stomach tightens as our unknown future looms closer.
I lift the drape covering the window and peer out at the woods surrounding us. Less ominous in the waning darkness—beautiful, even. The trees are dense, and through the fog I can see green everywhere, no longer the dreary gray. That gives me a reluctant sliver of hope.
A shout emanates ahead, and I brace myself against the window as the carriage jerks to a halt. The children startle awake, and as I utter whatever reassurances I can, the coach door flies open.
“Come,” Collins says, and he steps out of the way, gesturing for our exit. “We’re resting the horses for only a moment. Stay on the road—stay close.” He nods at the wide-eyed children. “Ensure they take care of business and do it quickly. Master Blackburn expects us to arrive at Briarwood before midday. We won’t stop again.” The man’s words are curt, but they aren’t unkind. He turns brusquely, and apparently, Collins is the exception to the rule, because he disappears into the dense wood four strides later.
My legs and back protest from sitting for so long as I climb out ahead of the children. They follow, the coach creaking as it teeters. The damp chill of the morning air clings to my clothes and exposed skin, and I grip my shawl tighter around me.
Whatever Collins says, we’re not defecating where everyone can see. “Let’s go,” I say, glancing at the children. They peer up and down the muddy road into the foggy horizon with wide eyes. Like me, they seem awed by the wilderness, having seen nothing like it before.
If it’s the five of us running away that Collins is worried about, there isn’t anywhere for us to go. And, until now, I hadn’t even thought about it. Not with four children in tow, and no clue where we are.
“Come.” I take Evie’s hand and nod toward the forest, in the direction Collins disappeared.
“Where are we?” she whines, and Jon grumbles for her to shut up, their voices clinging to the morning silence.
“Enough,” I rasp. “Stay quiet and stay together.”
“He told us to stay by the carriage,” Nell whispers, glancing at me as she falls into step.
“Yes, well, we deserve some privacy, don’t we?” I shake my head. “I’ll remain out here so they know we haven’t run off. Help Beatrice, will you?”
Nell nods and hurries into the trees, taking Evie’s and Jon’s hands in hers.
“Be quick about it, and come directly back,” I tell them.
Turning my back to the children, I give them some privacy. The world is a purplish haze that blankets the trees. I can’t see the boughs above as much as hear their indistinct creaks echoing in the surrounding woods.
A night animal hoots in the distance, drowning out the children bickering behind me, despite my request to keep quiet. The cloud cover glistens in the muted morning light, ethereal and hauntingly beautiful as it gives way to hanging shadows.
When time stretches on for too long, I clear my throat. “No dawdling,” I tell the children, watching three white horses paw in front of the black, paint-chipped carriage. Their breaths puff in the air.
The longer the children take, the more I fidget. And when I realize their bickering has ceased, I turn around, walking farther into the trees. “Which part of quickly—” My stomach drops, and bile rises in my throat.
The children’s big, tear-filled eyes are wide and shimmering in the morning light. Evie and Nell whimper as the men grasping hold of them cover their mouths.
Three. Three menacing thugs leering at me with mussed hair and rumpled clothes that look as if they’ve been roused from sleep. Two elk are strung up from the boughs behind them. Hunters? Vagabonds? Bandits? The oldest man is grim, with a bushy, gray beard, and the two younger men—one with greasy red hair, the other short and stockily built—look unnervingly pleased to see me. Like ruthless, dirty ogres, they clutch the children against them with white-knuckled grips.
Nell and Evie have knives pressed to their throats. And the redhead grips onto Jon and Beatrice both. A numbing horror fills all the children’s eyes.
I swallow thickly, at a loss for words. “Wha—” I wet my lips. “What do you want?”
“I’ll be the one asking the questions,” the older man grumbles. “This blade is sharp, and I wouldn’t want to press too hard—”
My palm flies out the instant his fingers twitch the grip of it. “Please—don’t,” I plead, the words strangled in my throat. “We have nothing to give, nothing to offer you.”
He nods in the carriage’s direction. “A three-horse coach suggests otherwise,” he smirks. “How many of you are there—”
I shake my head. “Please,” I breathe. “They’re only children.”
“I won’t hurt them, if you tell me who you’re traveling with—”
“They are traveling with me,” a deep timbre growls from the shadows. All of our heads snap to the Collector, stepping out of the mist from between two tree trunks. His buckles clank on his heavy boots, and his steps crunch the debris as he eats the space between us with a slow, determined stride. He is the picture of wrath and collectedness all at once as he aims his pistol at the men.
Vaguely, I register the sound of his horse panting and pawing somewhere behind him. Then I hear more footsteps behind me.
“And as you can see,” Collins adds, “we are not unarmed. Let the children go, and perhaps Blackburn will let you live—”
“B—Blackburn?” the redhead stutters, and slowly, he steps away from Nell, as if he’s seen a ghost. “I—we—”
I motion for Nell to come to me, and the other two men let Jon, Evie, and Beatrice slip from their grips as well, though the older man, I note, seems to do so reluctantly.
“Don’t move,” Blackburn tells them, and I feel a wash of gratitude for the Collector as the redhead holds up his hands in defeat.
“We weren’t gonna do nothing,” the stout one says.
The older one doesn’t take his attention off of Blackburn and me, as if he’s trying to put pieces of a riddle together.
“Honest,” the redhead adds. “We just wanted whatever coins they have—”
“Well, they belong to me,” Blackburn retorts, stepping closer. “Therefore, whatever they have is mine as well. You would steal my possessions?”
I clench my teeth as the speck of warmth I felt for him smolders. Despite knowing we belong to him, hearing him say it so possessively is a reminder that this is the Collector, not a mere man, a fact I was foolish to forget.
“P—please,” the red-haired man splutters. “We’ll leave. Honest. We were just—”
“On my land,” Blackburn finishes for him. “Hunting my wild game and trying to take what is mine.” Blackburn pulls the trigger before he even finishes his sentence, and as the shot cracks through the air, I shriek and hit the ground, the forest floor damp against my knees. The red-haired man falls down, dead. His eyes are wide but empty, and his mouth is open, the words he would have uttered never leaving his lips. Blood oozes on the ground.
I forget my horror as the children scramble toward me. I gather Jon, Evie, and Beatrice into my arms. “It’s all right,” I promise, and it is, for now. I turn them away from the dead man lying on the forest floor. “Come, let’s return to the—”
Another crack rings out, another thud as a body falls to the ground, followed by the break of debris, crunching under desperate, retreating footsteps as the third man flees. I’m trembling with nerves and can barely think as I herd the children back to the road.
“Find him!” Blackburn commands, and the pounding rhythm of Collins’s footsteps immediately follows.
The driver gapes at the five of us as we exit the woods.
After Nell helps Jon and Evie inside the coach, I grip Beatrice’s arm to give her leverage. She winces, but is too unnerved to protest. “Sit there, Bea—”
“Were you not told to stay by the carriage?” the Collector roars behind me, and I spin around, nearly running into his chest.
“And force the children to defecate in front of your men?” I snap reflexively. “And—” I stagger a breath, wondering where this ire has come from and why I’m not cowering away from such a looming, imposing man who looks as if he might strike me.
“And what?” he prods.
My heart is fluttering, my blood racing in my veins, and a distant voice tells me to shut my mouth and climb into the carriage, but his words taunt me. “If you were so worried about your belongings, perhaps Collins should have warned us it was dangerous in the woods.” I don’t know where such rashness comes from, but I can’t help the words falling from my lips as I turn and climb back into the carriage.
The Collector grips the doorjamb. “You were given a command,” he fumes. “Listen next time, or all of you will suffer the consequences.” His chest heaves and the mist on his skin glints in the subdued sunrise as something terrifying flashes in his gray eyes.
Recalling the men’s faces when they learned who he was, I remember myself and clear my throat, tucking my unkempt hair away from my face. Master Blackburn could easily shoot me right now, if he felt so inclined.
“Do you understand?” he growls.
“Yes.” I practically seethe the word.
Though his jaw ticks, he takes a step back from the carriage, shutting the door swiftly. Blackburn strides toward the front of the carriage, and only when he’s out of view do I take a deep breath. I can feel the children’s eyes on me, but I hold up my hand, needing a moment to settle my nerves and swirling thoughts.
I would never speak to Master Orson the way I just spoke to Master Blackburn, who is far more terrifying. That I could be so reckless makes me feel sick to my stomach, because the consequences he speaks of will come back to haunt me. I just pray it isn’t the children who suffer for it.
Swallowing my guilt and self-deprecation, I exhale again, vaguely hearing mutterings from the driver’s perch, and I strain to listen.
“—not find him,” Collins says, out of breath. “But he headed toward Northshire.”
There’s only a brief pause.
“I’ll deal with Draven later,” Blackburn says. “We must continue onward. Bart will be waiting.”
“Will you give him the twins?” Collins inquires, and my hand flies to my mouth, as if I can hold in my devastation.
“He’s only expecting one child,” Blackburn replies, and Evie and Jon cry out as his words reach their ears.
Nell gathers them closer, her arms wrapping around them possessively. I’m not sure if I hate Blackburn more for separating the two children, or for giving them away to someone else so easily. As I remember the Collector isn’t known for his kindness, I pray the child left with Bart will be far luckier than those of us that remain will be.
9
SELENE
The fog thins as the morning stretches on. The children have fallen into a silence so riddled with dread, I don’t dare speak should my words shatter what modicum of strength we have between us. All I want to do is reassure them we’ll remain together, that I will figure something out, but I know I can’t promise such things. This day was always coming for us. I just hadn’t expected it would go quite like this. So, instead of empty platitudes and comforts, I prepare myself for what comes next: saying goodbye to one of them, likely forever.
“Come here,” I say, unable to stand the quiet a moment longer. The last thing I want to be left with is regret. I wave Evie and Jon to come sit with me. Beatrice seems to sense my thoughts, and claims their empty spot by Nell, giving me more room with them.
As if they are still six years old, I pull them both into my lap and kiss the crowns of their soft, blonde heads. Their hair tickles my nose and chin, and I close my eyes, squeezing them against me as I inhale their scents.
Jon sniffles, though his quiet sobs tell me he’s trying to be strong, and I love him all the more for it. Evie cries softly into my breast. Her warmth and the weight of her against me breaks my heart into a thousand little pieces.
“Look,” I say, clearing my throat. I move the window covering with my little finger. The hills are green and rolling in the dim morning, at least what we can see of them, and dew makes the world glow like low lantern light. “It’s a beautiful day. And do you know what they say about those?”
