My fingers grip the ship's rope like a vice as the balloon below me slowly deflates. Shit. My hiding place is literally disappearing around me.
I chance a look upwards and make a cursory assessment of the rafters overhead, in the next moment reaching up and grabbing hold of an overhanging beam.
As silently as possible I pull myself up, crouching low on the beam and shimmying down its length into the shadows, careful to keep my breaths even and my steps light.
Situated in the narrow gap between the dome's ceiling and the topmost rafters I am afforded a view of the goings-on below me. The silver balloon continues to deflate, sputtering softly as the helium slowly leaks free and the ship gradually sinks down to the ground. The sounds of high-pitched laughter echo up at me as the men aboard the ship breathe in the constricting gas, talking and joking in their temporarily-nasally voices. I nearly roll my eyes at the all-too-familiar humour, somehow expecting these cold-hearted soldiers to be above such childish amusements.
"Any cargo?" One of the shipyard workers calls out, giving a demonstration of helium's effects and spurring another round of laughter. He clears his throat and shouts a curse at the crew, finally garnering an answer.
"Nothing today." Someone, presumably the captain, yells back. There is a soft thud as the plank is raised against the side of the ship. "There were a couple brushfires a few miles back, however. Might be worth checking out the area tomorrow."
"Bloody pyros." The shipyard worker adjusts the plank, throwing a thumbs-up and standing back so the men can disembark.
I count the people filing out, storing the number away in case I need it later. The soldiers are dressed in their trademark dark clothing, layered with scarves wrapped around their heads and cascading down their backs into capes. There is the glint of polished steel at their waists and a clunky half-mask dangling around their necks. I pay careful attention to the masks, biting my lip as I consider their invaluability. The nerve gas gives these strangers a sizable advantage over us, but having those masks on our side would help to even out the playing field.
The strangers' footsteps are heavy on the grated floor beneath them, ricocheting off the low ceiling. The tight knit of the floor keeps me from seeing below the hangar, but my vantage point allows me to make a general assessment of the dome's topmost room.
There are only four airships staked and hovering alongside the one I just hitched a ride on. A small smile pulls at my lip as I consider the tight quarters. It appears as though this paltry collection makes up their entire air force. How interesting.
I watch as the men make their way towards a conspicuous pillar placed prominently at the center of the hangar, walking around to the far side and disappearing from my field of view. Keeping my back to the wall, I creep as slowly and silently as possible around the span of the dome, maneuvering so that I am behind the crew members.
There is a soft, grating noise and I freeze in place, pressing myself flat against the wall. I watch as one of the crew members reaches forward and pulls open a hinged gate, revealing an entrance into the pillar. One by one the men file inside. I feel my eyes stretch wide as the gate slides closed and the mysterious, mechanical groaning noise starts up again. To my amazement, the floor inside the tube begins to lower, pulling the men down into the abyss below.
The shipyard worker moves below me, professionally efficient and oblivious. I bite down hard on my lip, my mind whirring with a thousand questions as I register the man pushing the hovering ship into place against the wall, securing it tightly and disappearing down a set of stairs set against the far side of the room.
I remain perfectly still, every sense on high alert while I listen for the telltale sound of heavy footsteps tapping against the grated floor. Hearing nothing, I lower myself carefully to the ground, landing with near-silence as I bend my knees and tuck into a roll, absorbing my fall with a practiced precision.
The floor feels sharp and unfamiliar beneath my soft boots. I peer down through the iron grate. catching a glimpse of the room below me before I move towards the nearest airship. There will be time enough to consider the next floor; right now my priority is finding and donning a disguise.
I select an airship at random, pulling it closer using the rope that tethers it to the ground and heaving myself up and over the ledge, immediately darting over to the footlockers at the rear of the cabin.
The point of my dagger easily works the lock open. Heaving up the lid of the locker I peer inside and grin to myself. Bingo.
I pull off my dirty tunic, easing it over my head and unravelling the strips of Waster fabric from around my arms and legs. The strangers' clothes are a medium weight, dangling loosely off my limbs and effectively disguising my gender. I struggle for several minutes with the complicated headscarf, cursing as I fight to wrangle it around my chest and head, impatiently pushing my tell-tale red hair away from my face.
After pulling on a solid pair of black leather boots and gloves, I select a sinister-looking short, curved sword and place it in the scabbard at my waist. I walk up and down the length of the ship a few times, practicing my masculine swagger and swiping experimentally with my new sword. Not bad.
As an afterthought I kick my balled-up Waster clothes through the hatch at the bottom of the ship. They shouldn't seem too out of place down there.
Thus attired I jump back down to the ground, making my way over to the strange, mechanical pillar in the centre of the hangar. I sidle up close, peering through the gate and down into the hole below. The dark shaft of the tube stares back up at me, endless and impassive. I take a step back and consider the shiny panel installed next to the entrance, fingering the single heavy, brass button. Pressing it must call the tube's floor up to me. I mull over the merits of riding the futuristic (and at the same time, historical) piece of machinery before turning and jogging lightly towards the stairs.
It is difficult to muffle my footsteps in these new, heavier boots but I compensate by treading carefully, staring down over the wrought-iron banister as I slowly spiral down the stairs. Shipyard works mill about, talking loudly as they push heavy nerve-gas canisters and haul wooden trunks back and forth, storing everything in one of the many shelves pushed up against the cylindrical walls of the dome. I adopt a disinterested look and keep my face trained forward as I continue past them down to the next floor, scanning the room from the corner of my eye and mentally cataloguing my findings. The riotous shouts of the workers drown out my activities and I am able to pass by without drawing any suspicion.
My heart is beating faster now. I draw my shoulders back and prepare myself for whatever may come next. From what I have gathered after seeing the exterior of the dome, I fully expect to experience something on a positively massive scale.
That said, I don't think I ever could have been ready to fully register what unfolds before me.
Light floods in from every direction, harnessed by the massive mirrors fastened below the hangar. The mirrors are angled so that the sunlight coming in through the entrance at the top of the dome is reflected down into the open area below. The ingenious ways these people find to use mirrors is astonishing.
My fingers curl tightly around the ledge of the catwalk I find myself on. I peer over and take in the sight below, my throat constricting as I do so.
The sophisticated scaffolding system at my feet continues to wrap around the outer wall of the dome, ultimately leading down to the ground. Narrow catwalks offshoot from the wide, circular platforms and lead into the mechanical lift at the very centre of the vaulted feat of architecture.
The scaffolding is impressive but it wasn't what initially drew my attention.
A city covers the ground below me. Narrow, classically crafted buildings of various heights shoot out of the ground like trees, one in particular reaching nearly to my platform. The buildings are made of stone, similar to the ones in my City but they stretch considerably higher, reaching between the network of scaffolding, their roofs and cornices boasting ornately-carved designs.
My eyes greedily pick out an endless series of routes from here to the ground via the roofs and platforms, imagining the various hand and foot holds, licking my lips at the challenge they present. Spires and other unique edifices puncture the open air of the dome, inviting and foreboding all at once. I spend an extra moment studying the tallest steeple, noting that it is undoubtedly grander than the rest. In my minds eye I picture the Madam secured behind the majestic building's windows, hatching her schemes as she plays us against one another like pawns.
My leather-gloved hands squeak from where they grip the iron railing and step back, flexing my fingers and willing my mind back into focus. I am drawing deep breaths and committing the layout of the city to memory when a flash of bright green draws my attention. I blink and look closer, my breaths turning ragged and shallow.
Trees and grass fill the area between the buildings. More than that, there is water.
Great, twisting rivers of it, flowing below the bridges that connect the streets. Shining, shimmering currents of water, freely servicing the city and safely ensconced behind the walls of the mirrored dome.
How is this possible?
I shake my head to clear it, my eyes widening further as I register the impressive farmland located on the outer fringes of the space. Great stretches of lush, fertile land boasting an unimaginable variety of vegetation.
Food and water. The Madam has them in spades. The amount of leverage she has over us is suddenly overwhelming, dampening whatever hope I felt at seeing the pitiful size of her air force.
Stealing my resolve I shuffle forward, following the platform towards the centre of the half-sphere, aiming for the lift. Now that I know the layout of the dome I shouldn't risk being caught skulking around the outer scaffolding while clothed in my soldier's garb. If I am going to survive here long enough to find Will, I better start acclimating.
The brass button located next to the door of the lift is cold to the touch but releases a satisfying, pleasant little ringing noise when pressed. I stand back, ignoring the pounding of my heart while I wait for the floor to make an appearance, taking advantage of the opportunity to further study my surroundings.
A grating noise sounds from below and gradually make its way closer, arriving in front of me with a cheery ding. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it is empty, pushing aside the gate and stepping aboard. Another series of brass buttons greet me, numbered from one to forty. My finger hovers over the 1 before I notice the panel on the other side of the door. I furrow my brow, leaning closer to examine the second button plate.
The numbers descend from zero, counting down into the negatives.
"Negative twenty." I murmur under my breath, feeling my heart twist in my chest. Does this lift really descend twenty levels below the surface of the ground? Is that even humanly possible?
I nearly retch, imagining Will and our friends kept so far underground, imprisoned an unimaginable distance away from the sun. Whatever I felt being trapped inside the Palace gaol, this would be exponentially worse.
My hand darts out towards the first panel, pressing the number 1 with a precise sureness that bellies the anxiety churning through my stomach. The ground below me clicks and rumbles to life, shuddering into a steady descent.
I turn in place, noticing for the first time that the exterior of the lift is transparent, affording me an amazing view of the city. The facade of the surrounding buildings scroll past, revealing their flawless brickwork and ornate adornments. The leafy outcroppings of palm trees brush gently against the lift's walls and I reach my hand out instinctively, wanting to feel their lush stalks against my fingers.
The floor below me shudders again and I whip back around, pasting a bored look on my face as I stare straight ahead. The gate slides open and several people pile into the lift around me, talking in low voices and shuffling in place.
I don't know what I expected when I finally got a close-up look at these strangers, but the pure ordinariness of their features astounds me. The men and women are dressed in loose-fitting pants, tunics and togas, dyed into pale shades. A young couple on my right chat and joke, ignoring me completely as they lean into one another. The boy whispers something into the girl's ear and she releases a trill of laughter, smacking him playfully on the arm.
My heart twists at witnessing their innocent exchange. Do they know that their leader has been kidnapping my people? Do they know that she is withholding her plentiful supplies of food and water while we enter into a famine? Do they care?
The lift shudders to a stop again and everyone files out, dispersing in seperate directions. I keep my pace slow, following the giggling couple for a spell, noticing their casual attire and making a mental note to acquire a plainer outfit for blending into the city.
I wander aimlessly, trying not to gawk as I peer upwards, the sheer height of these buildings all the more astounding from the ground. The surface below my feet is paved clear with croppings of grass poking up on all sides, decorating the areas surrounding the buildings with a lush, pleasant bed of soft green vegetation.
Pausing at a bridge I allow myself a moment to peer over the fence, staring down at the steady flow of water traveling below me. Up close, the river is wider than I anticipated. Long, narrow boats creep along it, each one steered by a single captain using a pole.
I tear my eyes away from the sight of the boats and continue towards the massive central building. I keep my eyes trained forward but offer a cursory nod to the soldiers I pass, deliberately rushing so that they won't be inclined to stop and talk with me. The need to locate a plainer outfit jumps up a few levels on my mental priority list.
Shops and taverns dot the walls to my left and right, reminding me acutely of the former Court. My fingers twitch with the old impulse to slip into the pockets of the people strolling by and liberate a few coins.
I slow to a leisurely amble as I draw up outside the foreboding tower. The outer gates are open, revealing a manicured lawn and a wide, sweeping pathway leading towards the front doors. I lean against the gate, casually adjusting the sword at my waist while at the same time taking a closer look at the building I have pinpointed as being the Madam's personal domain. My ears strain, picking up the conversations surrounding me as I take in the breadth of the impressive entryway, noting the decorative statues lining the pathway and the fine attire of the guards and patrons wandering past.
The comments I hear from the talk around me is infuriatingly mundane. There is no mention of a 'Madam' or a 'disturbing underground prison'. Useless. I hang out for a few minutes longer before moving on, ducking my head low and avoiding eye contact with the citizens who give me a wide berth on my way by.
Of course, no one is going to be speaking freely around me so long as I'm dressed this way. I don't bother to hide my scowl of frustration as I wander the streets, mentally cataloguing the layout of the city.
Turning a corner around the side of a nondescript building I run smack-dab into the brawny chest of a soldier, hitting him solidly enough to emit a stunned oof as we collide.
"Apologies." I avoid the soldier's eyes and stumble back, nervously adjusting my head scarf. I make to maneuver around him, unwilling to linger for any longer than necessary.
"Yah, well. Next time, watch where you're headed." He huffs before placing a heavy hand on my shoulder, blocking my escape. "Where do you think you're going?"
My heart pounds once, heavily. "I'm off-duty. Headed home." I keep my voice low and my tone easy.
Glancing up I can see him looking at me with a strange expression on his face. The thud in my chest sounds again, so solidly I am certain he can see it through my layers of black clothing. Up close I can see that he is younger than I first thought, around my own age.
His grip tightens on my shoulder as he tilts his head, his brows raised in question. "What are you talking about, headed home? She's about to make the evening announcement."
"Right." I smack my forehead as though I only just remembered. "I nearly forgot."
At once the suspicious look slips from his face and he smiles, revealing a wide row of perfect white teeth, startling against his dark complexion. "I get it. I'd rather be tucked up with a cozy mug of ale myself, but it isn't worth the risk of shirking our duty and earning a remedy."
I fall into step beside him, my mind racing as we head back towards the main square. A large crowd has begun to assemble in front of the gates and even more continue to flood in from every corner of the city. The citizens stand back when we pass through, marching confidently up the clean white path towards the front doors of the Madam's building.
The path widens near the front steps, the open space packed by black-garbed soldiers, all standing at attention in neat lines. My helpful companion and I find a place near the back of the group, standing at ease with our hands clasped loosely behind our backs and our shoulders drawn up. The nervous fluttering in my heart turns into a steady rhythm as I take stock of the situation. Here I am, a City girl masked as a Waster impersonating a soldier, standing amongst the protectors of the Madam's lair, mere steps away from her front door. If ever a situation called for patience and calm, this would be it.
More soldiers file in around us and take their places. The amount of enemy warriors grows to a staggering amount, taking over the sizable square and demonstrating an unmistakable show of force. From the way the crowd gathered outside the gate shifts nervously, I can tell that the message hasn't been lost on them. Does this assemblage happen every single night?
As I scan the waiting crowd I notice two poles rooted to the ground on either side of the path. Looking up, I can see that they are topped with what looks to be giant funnels pointing outwards.
Before I can ponder their use any further I am rudely granted my answer. An ear-piercing sound shudders from the funnels, projecting out over the throng. I jump, recovering quickly and copying the alert stance of my fellow soldiers. The boy next to me shoots me another look, his own motions perfectly in synch with the men around us. I fall back on the mindless drills I ran for hours with Will and the rest of our army, letting myself feel a part of a larger force. The boy looks away and I relax slightly.
The funnels at the top of the poles crackle to life again, blasting an eerie tune. The soldiers and gathered crowd bring a hand up to their forehead and I do the same, feeling a shiver run down my spine as the last, lilting notes of the song fade away, followed by an unsettling silence.
After what seems like an eternity, a voice projects through the calm. I know immediately who is speaking.
It's her. The Madam.
"Good evening, citizens. As always, I wish to begin our announcements by thanking you for your unwavering service to Babel." Despite the static the voice is soothing, emitting a maternal reassurance. I find myself hanging on to her every word.
Babel. The dome has a name.
"Yields of corn, rice and grain have doubled, in no small part due to your hard work and your Enforcers' tireless efforts." I gather from the way the men around me draw themselves up a little straighter that we are the Enforcers. I fight to keep my lip from curling in disgust, instead staring past the lines of soldiers in front of me and noticing the way the silent crowd of civilians peer upwards, staring at something over my head.
It is only through great force of will that I manage to not follow their gaze up towards the balcony of the great building behind me. I know without turning around that she is up there. The Madam. In full view of everyone and somehow projecting her voice through these speakers and out over the gathered throng. More than anything I long to see her, to put a face to the name. Standing amongst the enemy, so deep in unknown territory I know I can't risk it. I keep my face impassive and stare blankly ahead, inside reeling from a combination of rage and curiosity.
"Only seven remedies were applied today, bringing the weekly total to forty. We are beginning to notice some powerful results and will continue to be successful so long as our citizens are willing to cooperate with the latest program."
I wrinkle my brow, trying to decipher her message and the businesslike tone with which she delivers it. It is becoming infuriating how every minute spent inside this dome raises more questions than answers. In any case, whatever the remedies are, I would be fortunate not to find myself on the receiving end of one.
"Tonight's curfew is set for nine o'clock. Please be secured into your abodes prior the ten-minute warning. Anyone caught out after curfew is subject to be remedied."
A curfew?
"Finally, I would like to issue a gentle reminder that floors zero and below remain off-limits to any unauthorized personnel as the area is still classified as unstable. Remember, your safety is Babel's number-priority." She expertly straddles the line of cheerful and threatening, sending a shiver down my spine.
"That concludes this evening's announcements. As always, stay vigilant and stay on task. Progress is power." The accosting heavy static sounds once more before the speakers shut off and the crowd shuffles back to life.
I wait, blinking heavily while the Enforcers stir and relax, some gathering in small groups to chat while others make their way out of the square. I adjust the black scarf over my head, trying not to appear nervous as I carefully check that no wayward strands of red hair have sprung loose. After that not-so-subtle threat of a curfew it now seems incredibly important that I find myself somewhere to bed down for the night.
A hand falls heavily on my shoulder and I plaster a smile on my face before turning around, stepping back at the same moment in an effort to keep a safe distance.
My new friend flashes his white teeth at me. "We're going to grab a drink. Want to come?" He indicates two men gathered over his shoulder, talking loudly to one another.
"Oh. Thanks, but I should probably get going. Don't we have to be home before..." I trail off, scratching the back of my neck. Crap. Not my best effort.
To my surprise, he laughs. "The curfew? Man, I knew you were new to the force but I didn't realize just how wet behind the ears you really are. What is this, your first week on the job?"
I smile sheepishly. "It's that obvious, is it?"
"Let's be honest, you don't look old enough to grow a beard. Don't worry about the curfew, that's just for the plainsfolk. Enforcers don't follow the same set of rules. Come get a drink, we'll get that first curly springing loose." He inclines his head.
"Oy! What's the hold up?" One of his friends calls out, to a smattering of laughter.
"We're coming." He shouts back before offering me his hand. "I'm Samy, by the way. Friends call me Sam."
"Frye." I tell him, shaking his hand firmly. "First round's on you?"
Sam and his friends lead me to a tavern located just a few blocks away, charming in that it provides outdoor seating right on the edge of the river. A glass of ale appears in front of me and I sip it slowly, feeling self-conscious as I listen politely to the crude conversation going on around me. Despite having spent a ludicrous amount of time holed up in close quarters with soldiers, their boorish sense of humour never ceases to amaze me.
It also never fails to surprise me that a man simply cannot hold his drink.
I wait patiently as the Enforcers order round after round, refilling my own drink each time but managing to keep a clear head. One thing I will say, for all their success with mechanical marvels and sophisticated architecture, Babel is rubbish at brewing a good, strong ale.
It is enough for Sam and the other off-duty Enforcers, however. The men's tongues become loose as they crack joke after joke, laughing uproariously at themselves. I smile agreeably, chuckling in all the appropriate places and even throwing out a drunken slur now and then, falling comfortably into my old skill of blending in.
"So, have you been down below yet, newbie?" Sam asks, sloshing his piss-poor ale over the rim of his glass as he gestures towards me.
I shake my head, rolling my eyes in an exaggerated manner. "Not yet. I'm curious as all hell, though. What's it like?"
"Cramped." Someone offers to refill my glass.
"Unhygienic." Another rambunctious Enforcer says at the same time, projecting his voice obnoxiously over the crowd and grinning at his own cleverness.
Sam seems to be thinking a bit more carefully than his comrades, searching for the right word. "Disturbing." He finally settles, appearing sober. "It's getting to be overcrowded and there is no sign of her slowing down."
A shudder runs through me and I grip my mug with both hands to quell it. A million questions burn on the edge of my tongue and I take a long sip in an effort to swallow them, using the opportunity to gather my thoughts. I know that I can't force my questions on these men; that I am playing the part of someone already equipped with a certain amount of knowledge about how this settlement functions. If I ask the wrong thing I risk revealing myself as an outsider.
At the same time, I cannot waste this golden opportunity to gather information.
"Why do you think she needs so many people?" I ask, choosing my words carefully.
"Who knows? I can't say why the Madam opts to do half of the things she insists on, but it's not my job to ask questions." Sam sits back in his chair, rocking dangerously as he grips the edge of the table. "I'm just going to keep my head down and do what I'm paid for. It isn't worth risking a remedy."
My head swims as I fight to sort through all of the information, searching for my next question. The hour has grown late and the streets are long dead, the bustling activity from earlier extinguished by the Madam's mysterious curfew.
"Any chance you lot could take me down below?" I ask, chancing the bold question. The Madam's warning about the underground floors being off-limits niggles at my memory, forcing my mind back on task.
Sam's eyes widen as he stares at something behind me, lowering his chair back down onto all fours and falling clumsily to the side. "Oy! The entertainment has arrived, lads!"
I furrow my brow, confused as I follow his gaze over my shoulder. A troupe of scantily-clad young women are filing through the gate, to the delight of our fellow patrons who shout suggestive comments and clamber over one another.
Turning back to the table my shoulders sag, noting the glazed expressions that have overcome the faces of my comrades. Clearly, I have lost their attention and compared to the display around me, nothing I say would have a chance in hell of bringing them back.
"Good evening, gentlemen." A slender girl appears next to our table, smoothly picking up a pitcher and refilling our drinks. "It's always a pleasure to see your handsome faces."
"You would know a thing about pleasure, my lovely." One of the Enforcers trails his beefy hand up the girl's arm and I have to fight to keep my lip from curling in disgust, turning deliberately away from the scene.
If she is bothered by his behaviour she doesn't show it, laughing flirtatiously and allowing herself to be pulled into his lap, playfully slapping his grasping hands away from her breasts.
"I see you've brought a friend tonight." She wiggles free of his clutches, stepping expertly just out of reach. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"
The familiarity of her voice suddenly shudders home, rooting deep within my gut and stirring up a multitude of memories. I am unable to stop my head from jerking up, my eyes widening when I find myself staring straight into a face I recognize all too well. A face I hoped I would never have to see again.
Lara.