To think, she had even been excited by the notion of the journey when Arianna had first suggested it. Now Florence would give anything to rewind the clocks and beg for a different decision to be made. Or at least beg to be left at home.
The buildings were similar, almost identical to those in Dortam, just as the structures in Ter.5.2 had been. No matter what city she went to in the world, the same, gray, towering spires would meet her with their black shingled roofs, stone awnings, and exposed clockwork. The Rivets were Loom’s primary architects, and once they had perfected designs that worked in nearly every climate with most available building supplies, they were copied and repeated across the map whenever a new city needed to be constructed.
It wasn’t at the cost of foolhardiness. They’d made use of the natural quarries and mountains when building Dortam. Ter.5.2 had seen more windows on coastal facing walls to let in sea breezes. And here, in Ter.4.2, buildings were wound up with the bridges and tracks running at three different levels of the city. They spanned canals and roadways with graceful arches. The buildings themselves moved to meet the Ravens’ innate and insatiable need to spread their wings.
“Flor, it’ll be okay.” Arianna’s hand clasped around hers.
Florence turned away from the city and looked into the lilac eyes of her teacher. Was the woman ever afraid of something? Was there nothing that could turn her insides into a squirming pile of grub-worms?
Even Dragons—who Arianna hated—she did not fear. She challenged them with open eyes and broad shoulders. Florence never wanted to meet the thing that brought Arianna to the quaking precipice of terror.
“We will move fast.” Arianna’s encouragement meant nothing other than good intentions. Even if they moved as quickly as possible, Ter.4 was wide. It would take them at least a couple weeks to cross, and Arianna planned on traveling the majority underground to prevent Cvareh’s magic from being sensed by the Riders.
“When will you head to—” Florence glanced over her shoulders at the crewmembers preparing to dock. “—to see myfriends.” She almost choked on the word.
Ari turned, and Florence followed her attention out to a distant point on the horizon. Standing against the choppy waters and undercurrents of the inner sea was a rocky outcropping—a desolate, barren island dominated by a single large structure. Sheer walls towered upward, unmarred by windows or doors. Iron spikes lined the ground, as much for intimidation as function. At the building’s center, a tall tower rose up like a single guard looking over the highest security prison in the world.
“By tomorrow night,” Arianna announced.
“So soon?” Florence looked back sharply at her teacher. Arianna usually took days, weeks even, to prepare for bigger jobs. But she wanted to tackle the floating prison in one day.
“Yes, soon.” Arianna had the audacity to smile, as though they were commenting on a mere train delay, or Florence forgetting to buy the necessary powders for a canister. “I promised you we would move as quickly as possible.”
That made Florence feel the tiniest bit more at ease.
“Plus, the sooner we get to the Underground, the better.”
And that returned Florence’s mood to rock bottom.
The ship turned in a wide arc, gliding into its place at the end of a long pier. Sailors and dockhands were there to tie off ropes and secure lines as the gangplank was lowered. Florence gripped her bag tightly, staring at the line where the gangplank met the dock. That was it: her last chance to run. If she crossed that line she would be committed to the rest of the journey. Time was running out to return home. Once Arianna freed her friends and went underground, there would be no going back.
Florence looked at the crew. They’d been lovely people, half Ravens, but none had recognized her. The youngest was Arianna’s age and Florence didn’t think it likely that she had any real overlap in the guild with them. If she asked, she knew they would let her stay for the ride back. She could work for her passage and head back to Dortam.Someone needed to look after the flat…
“Flor?” Arianna noticed she hadn’t fallen into step with her and Cvareh. “Are you coming?”
Florence took a deep breath. It expanded her lungs, making more room for the crippling fear that locked her knees in place. Then she exhaled it, and moved forward.
“Yes, sorry.”
Luck had brought her and Ari together, and the past two years had been the best of Florence’s short life. She’d learned more than she ever thought possible. She’d seen new sights. She’d even met a Dragon and run from Riders. Compared to all that, facing Ter.4 should be nothing.
Gripping her bag tightly, Florence descended the gangplank onto the hard poured concrete and stone of the dock. She didn’t look back atHolx IIIonce, their business concluded. Instead, Florence looked at the black skyline that zigzagged against a gray sky. The sounds of engines whirring filled her ears with an uncomfortable din, reminding her of futile hours spent in workshops trying her hardest to connect gearshifts, cranks, and Rivet-designed pistons to axles.
Those milling about the pier paid them no mind. The trio didn’t carry much, only one bag for each of them that was now lighter in the absence of what they had consumed already on their journey. Cvareh was back to wearing his mask, goggles, and hood, bundled up tightly. Arianna covered her face as well, rather than drawing on a mark with a grease pen.
Cvareh had argued about the necessity of it the night before, given how open they had been with the crew, but Arianna was insistent. The crew had been likely to find out the truths of their identities on such a long voyage in confined quarters; appealing to their honesty outright had earned them some endearment even. But people on the street needn’t be the wiser. Furthermore, while the occasional Dragon could be seen in major cities across Loom, it was incredibly uncommon and would attract immediate attention.
The streets of Ter.4.2 were set up in a grid pattern. Much like the naming system of cities across Loom, they were numbered based in the order they were built. It was simple, straightforward, and easier than remembering unnecessary names. The only named streets or cities were the very first, and that was always after the founder of the city or, in the case of Guild cities, the first Vicar of the Guild.
The smell of burning oil was so thick in the air it was heavy on the tongue and the revving of engines echoed off buildings as three-wheeled trikes tore through the streets at breakneck speeds. Ravens shouted and hollered to each other, trading jests and challenges as they wove through the narrow alleyways and slid around turns. Florence was older now than the first time she’d seen the gangs that dominated Ter.4. As a child, she’d been fascinated with the pitted bronze bodies and curving handlebars that wrapped around the leather seats of the trikes. That fascination still existed, alongside her apprehension.
The motor-trikes moved without rails, at speeds regulated by single riders. It was a rite of passage in the Ravens to build your first bike, win your first race, and join one of the gangs that prowled the streets. It had seemed foolish then, the idea of riding such a tiny machine at speeds so fast it could wipe tears from your eyes. She’d seen what accidents had done to riders.
But,then again, now that she was a bit older she could see it was no less reckless than deciding to play with explosives for a living. Adulthood just meant finding the variety of crazy that resonated the most with you and doing it until you died or it killed you—whichever came first.
“Where are we headed?” Florence asked as they wound up an iron spiral stair to the narrow pedestrian catwalks suspended between the ground and the bridged rail above.
“To my place.”
