The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 30

Inside, the atmosphere sparks with tension and low murmurs of conversation sound from all sides. The tables are crowded with men and women packed tightly together, and where chairs are scarce, people have taken to standing in the pathways and against the walls. Some are even perched on the bar top, while Samus works feverishly around them to hand out mugs of ale.

I pull my spine up as straight as I can, squaring my shoulders and using them as leverage to clear a route toward the front of the room. I feel Will close behind me, his solid presence propelling me forward as I fight to ignore the hush that follows our progress.

Near the head of the tavern I spy Harry, his broad frame taking up the space of two men. I smile at him, relieved to see a friendly face among the skeptics. Wordlessly, he hands me a drink, which I accept gratefully, wrinkling my nose at the sour taste. The burning sensation in my throat helps to calm my nerves, somewhat.

Harry and Will help me clear a table and I step up to stand on top of it. Scanning the room, my legs quake slightly, for a brief moment having the clarity of mind to be amused that I'm nervous while standing a mere three feet above the ground.

From this vantage point, I can tell there is a clear divide down the centre of the room. One side of the bar looks to be mostly courtiers, a few of whom I recognize as Will's friends. They shift positions uncomfortably, clearly feeling out of place in the dingy setting. To the other side of the room and in greater proportion are the commoners, their faces hard and scuffed from a day of work.

Both groups shoot glances at their counterparts and mutter to their companions. Several pairs of eyes are trained on me, their expression questioning.

I swallow, scanning the room once more; my heart sinks when I fail to find Lara.

"Friends," I begin, my voice hoarse.

A few more people look up and I feel Will nudge my calf. I clear my throat and try again.

"Friends!" I say, louder this time.

The conversations die out as people turn one by one to look at me.

I lock my knees and imagine I am standing high above the City, about to make an exhilarating leap to the next roof.

"Many of you know me," I begin.

Someone lets out a whoop and there is a scattering of laughter.

I relax, somewhat. "I am one of you," I tell them. "I grew up here, my father worked alongside you in the quarry, my mother sewed your clothes and my brother served with you in the Wastelands. Your struggles are my struggles. Two hundred and nine years is too long to labour under a system that favours the rich and spits on the poor. I say the time has come to rise up, to usher in a new era!"

There are a few more whoops this time, but I notice the courtiers shooting sidelong glances at one another uncomfortably.

"People raised in the Commons are no different, no better or worse than anyone from the Court. We don't want power or gold, all we want is to be treated fairly." I look pointedly at Will's friends. "The courtiers here tonight are not our enemies; they are our friends and our supporters. I, for one, welcome them and commend them for their bravery."

Reluctant murmurs of agreement are followed by laughter when Harry gives one of the courtiers a too-enthusiastic slap on the back, causing the man to sputter and choke on his drink.

I wait for the din to die down before continuing. "So the question is, what are we going to do about it?"

"Spit it out, Runner!" a voice calls from the back.