“Wait,” ordered the general. He stepped between Desmond and Azaleen. “Your father made it that far north?”
“Pardon me,” he said with a suave smile, bowing, touching his fingers to his heart. “I presumed you wished for the short version. My lovely wife is always chastising me for being too presumptuous.”
Azaleen quirked a brow at him, leveling her pointing stick in his direction. “First, tell us why this Coppertown is valuable enough to mark on my map, and then I’ll decide if your story is worth our time.”
Desmond Shaw struck her as a snake oil salesman—a little too slick. She scrutinized his every move, watching for his glossy exterior to crack. The nearby guards held their position.
“It’s in a secluded valley surrounded by the Pocono Mountains, shielded from the nuclear blasts that destroyed the large cities,” he began. “They’ve reopened the old coal mines.”
“Coal?” Rosalind questioned in surprise. “You mean that horrid black stuff that was banned nearly a century ago for all the sooty smoke it put into the air?”
“Precisely,” Shaw confirmed. “They use it to melt down metals and recast them into usable items—tools, pipes, weapons, construction materials. They’re manufacturing everything from pots and pans to swords and shields.”
“Bullets?” Stark asked, his tension easing as curiosity drew him closer.
Desmond shook his head. “No gunpowder. Still, it’s an independent municipality we might want to trade with.”
Azaleen glared at him with an icy distrust. “We? You mentioned something about being from Appalachia, and why, exactly, did you stealth your way into my council chambers uninvited?”
“I beg your pardon, Queen Frost.” He held out empty palms at his sides. “Word travels fast within the capital—capitol guard to miller to a neighbor—that Franklin Pickett has gone missing. I’m here to offer my services as your secretary of procurement.”
Absurd!Does he think he can simply waltz in here and charm his way onto my council? Secretary chairs aren’t bought or traded like melons in the market.
“What impudence!” Vera’s nose wrinkled as though the very sight of him offended her.
“Arrogant, aren’t you?” Azaleen decided he deserved a reprimand. Still, she needed to learn more from him. She wouldn’t let her impressions impede the acquisition of information.
“I don’t mean to be, Your Excellency.” He bowed again, this time removing his leather outback hat.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Azaleen coolly suggested. “There’s an empty chair between Secretaries Keane and Sutherland. General Stark.” She sent him a glance to stand down. “Let’s hear your story, especially the part about why I’ve never met you.” She took her seat, followed by the general and the flamboyant newcomer.He could be a spy. No, much too obvious. A conman? A grifter?
“Thank you, Queen Frost.” Desmond made himself comfortable, propped a foot over his knee, and dropped his hat into his lap. “I was born four years before the War of Ruin—what the cultists call The Great Correction—in a small rural community along the Youghiogheny River in what’s now the northern edge of Appalachia. With no targets nearby, we hardly knew a war was happening until the power grid collapsed, destroyed by EMP waves from the mega bombs.”
Azaleen listened, weighing his testimony against what her parents had described. She was aware that a plethora of electronics once did everything from produce light to transmit information around the world in the blink of an eye. Now they had candles and pigeons.
“What I mostly remember from that time was my family hiding out in caves and old mine shafts so raiders wouldn’t kill us, and everybody being terrified. By the time I was ten, we were back on our farm, living in our old house again. One day, white-robed missionaries showed up proclaiming the good news of the Oracle. They said we were now part of a new country called Appalachia and that the Oracle would take care of us and tell us what to do to be safe. After years of uncertainty and hardship, that’s all anybody wanted. Most of the community embraced the message. Some of the young people went with them to study in the capital city, Clover Hollow.”
“That’s where the computer core is supposed to be,” Stark commented. “But I’d always thought it was just propaganda spread by the ruling oligarchy.”
“No, it’s there,” Desmond stated gravely.
Azaleen detected a hint of fear in his eyes.
“But returning to the story, my father had gone north on a business trip and wasn’t at home the Day the Sky Fell. When I turned eighteen, my cousins and I struck out across the border in search of him, in case he’d survived.” He paused, lowered his chin, and released a breath. “We didn’t find him; we found Coppertown instead.”
It must be hard not knowing,Azaleen thought.She knew how and when her brother, then her father, died. She had been at their sides, buried them, mourned their losses. If this story were true, Desmond’s family wouldn’t have had that closure.Did they hold out hope still?
“And they have functional forges producing metalworks?” Silas asked.
“I swear.” Desmond’s voice sounded truthful. “After we returned home with only a few pots and pans and a couple of sharp machetes to show for it, I met Jamila, the love of my life. She didn’t like that I’d started making salvage runs, since it was such risky business, but she didn’t leave me. Then word arrived from the capital. The Ministry passed a new law that all marriages in the country would forever be arranged by the Oracle. The Oracle knew best.” He bit the words through clenched teeth, his grip tightening on the arms of his chair.
Sabine’s jaw dropped; it was the first time she’d spoken since the meeting began. “Are you saying people are forced to marry computer-chosen partners, not their desired ones?”
Desmond nodded. “Most folks near the capital were all-in on the Core Cult by then, so they didn’t care. They had been brainwashed to believe the Oracle knew best, only Jamila and I weren’t buying it. We made a bold move to flee Appalachia and travel south through the dangerous borderlands to Verdancia. It wasn’t easy to leave everything we knew behind, and, if we’d been caught, we would have been dragged to Clover Hollow for ‘reindoctrination.’” He shook his head. “We knew some folks it happened to. Anyway, we said goodbye and never looked back. That was over twenty years ago. Our oldest is nearly grown now.”
“If you’ve been here so long, what have you been doing?” asked the general. He was as suspicious as Azaleen.
“We spent our first winter in a small village on Lake Jocassee, where I made a living hunting and fishing. But when the hamlet was attacked by warg and mutants—you don’t want to get bit by one of those,” he emphasized, “we moved on, following old roads. We arrived in Nelanta three years after leaving home with Jamila pregnant. I worked at a cotton gin, then a waterwheel mill, but we wanted our own farm. After our third child was born, I got back into the salvage business—even did a few runs for Pickett. I made the money to buy a homestead, fix it up, and have a place to raise our children.”
