Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(43)

Chatham City was an old, soot-stained world with steep gables and cobblestone streets. Torches stood at intervals along the roads, which teemed with people and stray dogs. Despite the questionable puddles, stench of burned coffee, and occasional piles of refuse, Chatham City had an endearing personality. Whether it was the constant hum of life, the tall brick houses with flower pots and white shutters, or the scrollboys on every corner trying to sell the latest Chatham Chatterer, I couldn’t tell.

“Did Leda pass her Political History test?” Michelle asked as we passed under the soaring arch and into Chatham City. A few Guardians waved to us. When one winked at Camille, she shot him a haughty look, but a pleased little smile danced on her lips once he was far behind us.

“I think so,” I said. “She started her next class already.”

Leda had politely informed me that morning that she’d prefer putting a fork in her eye to visiting Chatham City, so we left her behind, dutifully working away in the library.

We picked our way carefully through the streets, avoiding the horses that clopped by within inches of us. The air smelled of pastries and burning wood. A walking merchant tried to shove a pile of scarves into my face, pleading with me to buy, but I ducked away. Camille ignored the low whistle of a few homeless grubs.

“Oh,” she said, coming to a stop near a blacksmith shop. “What’s going on here?”

A sea of people loomed in front of us, crowding around one man standing on a platform at the street corner. The queue took up the entire road, blocking the horses and carriages that wanted by. A couple of frustrated drivers hollered, but no one paid them any heed.

“Our Protectors will soon be dying under his command if we don’t do something about it!” shouted the man on the platform, his face reddening from the effort. I recognized him in an instant.

“Clive,” I muttered with a grim purse of my lips. The angry little dragon in my heart roared to life, instantly on guard. A thick Chatham City accent started to burn through Clive’s words, although I didn’t recall hearing it when he spoke to Jansson in the library. “It’s one of his rallies to get signatures against Papa.”

“The High Priestess doesn’t want us ta know, but the fighting has already begun! The Guardians are in the Borderlands as I stand in front of ya, facing the West Guards.”

A low murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd. My stomach churned.

“He’s lying,” I whispered to Camille. “The fighting hasn’t begun yet.”

Camille looked at me with a worried expression. “Are the West Guards in the Borderlands?”

“No . . . and yes,” I said, thinking back to my conversation with Papa. For good measure, I tacked on, “They aren’t in the Borderlands, they’re just along it on the other side of the border.”

“No one’s going to care whether they are fighting or not,” Michelle said, glancing around. “The fact that they are so close is bad enough. Let’s get out of here. I have a bad feeling.”

“Wait,” I said, pulling away from Camille. The restless crowd surged around us, nearly knocking me down. “I want to hear what he says.”

“Tiberius!” A voice shouted from the crowd. "Tiberius leads the Guardians! He’s never lied ta us!”

A chorus of applause and cheers followed the response.

“Yes,” Clive agreed with a charming smile. “Tiberius has been good ta us. Is it too much ta ask that we trust our Head of Protectors just as much as we trust the Head of Guardians?”

“No!” the crowd roared.

“Bianca,” Camille said more firmly, grabbing my arm. “Let’s leave. I don’t think we should stay. What if someone recognizes you?”

“What about Derek?” Clive demanded when the shouts died. A chorus of hissing sounds filled the air. Their collective menacing took on a new personality, filling the air with something vile and horrible. Two men near me snarled.

“Liar!” they shouted. “He lied ta us! He broke our tradition!”

“We can never get that back can we?” Clive bellowed, whirling around to face all sides of the audience. “He broke the tradition set by Esmelda. He’s not to be trusted!”

“Wait,” I said, breathless, knowing I should listen to Camille but unable to leave. “They’re talking about my father.”

“I know,” Camille said, distressed. “That’s why we need to go.”

Michelle locked eyes with me.

“She’s right, Bianca. It’s not safe.”

“The West is coming!” Clive yelled. “They are almost here, knocking on our borders. We need protection! We need a Head of Protectors that will take his job seriously. I’m just like the rest of ya! I’ve got a family ta take care of.”

Another round of furious grunts echoed through the crowd. Every shout and mistruth they called out expanded the roiling anger inside me. The magic grew more and more unstable. Above the crowd bobbed a thick scroll and quill, moving from hand to hand to gather signatures.

“And now he’s keeping his daughter at the castle!” Clive cried from the box. “He’s insulting us as a people! He breaks the rules, and then shoves it down our throats!”

“The High Priestess is letting him!” someone shouted.