The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga #1)(47)
“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 at Holx III once, 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.”
Ari’s words froze Florence mid-step. To her place? Wasn’t their flat in Dortam her place?
“Keep moving, Flor.” Arianna glanced over her shoulder and Florence took the steps two at a time until she was right behind Cvareh again.
“What do you think?” she whispered to the Dragon.
“Me?” He seemed surprised she engaged him.
“Who else?” Florence put on a brave grin, trying to imagine how the city might look to someone who didn’t have the same history with it that she did.
“It’s quite unlike Nov—anything I’ve ever seen before.” He caught himself mid-sentence, giving a quick glance to the crowded walk around them. “Why is it so different from Dortam? Or Ter.5.2?”
“Every territory has evolved to fit the needs of its guild. Dortam and Ter.5 have much more condensed cities, usually protected by mountains, to make use of flatter land for explosive testing.” Talking about Ter.5 and the Revolvers, even for a moment, made her feel worlds better. “Whereas Ter.4 is the home of the Ravens. The ground is reserved for experimental vehicles. Trains run above. Airship platforms are up top. There are also the walkways we’re on now that kind of weave between all of them.”
“And the Underground?”
“Shh,” Florence hissed. She glanced at the group of vested men who had walked by. Only one glanced back at them. “You don’t speak about it.”
“Why?” Cvareh obliged, but seemed honestly confused.
“Because of what happens there.” Florence gave him a small grin. “Because it’s difficult to regulate and that means that we don’t want Dragons to know about it.”
Cvareh snorted in amusement.
Arianna led them to a quieter section of town. The closest station was far enough away that the train whistle had to echo to get to them. The alleyways below were too narrow for even a trike. It was purely residential, which meant that most people weren’t milling about during normal working hours.