Forged(17)

“And it needed a paint job,” Charlie says, emerging from the loft. He rubs his eyes with a fist as he descends the stairs. “Colors were all wrong and she had to get the Franconian emblem on its side.”

“True,” Badger says. “But that was four days ago, and they’re due back today. I’m confident everything’s been seen to. So that just leaves uniforms, and I’ve got Mercy over on Mooring Street whipping up three sets.”

“Three?” I echo.

“One for me,” Badger says, “and a pair for the rest of the team.” He points at Bree and Sammy. “They are the only two setting foot inside. You and your brother are too recognizable given the way your face is strung up across AmEast—half the time on Order wanted ads, the rest in this crazed string of new propaganda. And the kid”—he nods toward Clipper—“is young, could raise suspicions. You can come on the boat if you insist, but the only way I do this mission is if you stay on it.”

“I came so I could help, not sit around,” I say.

“You want to help?” Badger tilts his head, blinks his beady eyes. “Go pick up the uniforms with your brother. They should be ready.”

“Great. Running errands. What would you do without us?”

“How is Mercy making uniforms when she doesn’t have our measurements?” Bree interjects.

“I gave them to her,” Badger says.

“How?”

“By using my eyes.”

Twitchy and skittish as he may be, Badger doesn’t miss a thing.

“Why are all the eggs gone?” Charlie asks, surveying the spread on the table.

“We ate them,” Adam answers seriously.

“All of them?”

Sammy makes a show of inspecting the empty serving plate. “Looks like it.”

“I’m the host! I’m supposed to be able to eat in my own house.”

“You should have gotten up with the rest of us then,” Adam says. “Or were you too busy reading?”

“Course I was reading. Those fictional characters are way more fun than you.”

This opens up the floor for a bunch of friendly jabs. Bree: “The characters are probably better looking than Adam, too.” Sammy: “Wouldn’t take much to be smarter, either.” Soon, the group seems to have forgotten all about the mission awaiting us, or the fact that Blaine and I are supposed to sit around like ducks during it.

When Aiden starts asking about the dogs in Charlie’s book, claiming none can possibly beat Rusty, Badger leans across the table.

“You said you wanted to make yourself useful, so why are you still here?” I glare at him, and he slips me a piece of paper bearing Mercy’s address. “Bring a case of water to cover the payment.”


The crate of water is even heavier than it looks and the handholds boast rough edges perfect for wedging splinters in even the toughest skin. Blaine and I carry it awkwardly through the streets, trying not to bang it against our thighs. The address Badger provided is meaningless to us, so we stop to ask directions from a few local kids kicking a ball outside the bookshop. We’ve got hats on, and scarves wrapped to cover half our faces because of Badger’s paranoid nudging. I doubt the kids can even tell we’re related. They point us toward the Gulf and instruct us to head north along the water.

“It’s a really skinny building,” the shortest kid says, as if they aren’t all narrow. “Painted bright red. Mercy’s shop’s on the fourth floor.”

The thought of lugging the crate of water up four flights is enough to make me want to drop it here and now, but we carry on in silence.

The harbor is busy with boats. Most are modest rigs, the vessels of fishermen who are supporting their families and selling the extra catch in town. Nothing like the massive Order ship that chased the Catherine in December. The water laps at the barricade dividing the street from the Gulf, providing a steady rhythm for our march.

“Why you didn’t tell me?” Blaine asks.

The pain of the crate driving into my palm is more preferable than his words.

“There’s no easy answer,” I say, tugging the scarf below my chin so talking is easier.

“I can’t understand or relate or help if you don’t tell me anything, Gray.”

I stop, and he does, too, the crate swinging between us.

“You can’t understand, period. That’s the problem. Our lives used to be exactly the same—same routines, same fears, same end waiting for us on our eighteenth birthday—but then we got separated and started living different lives and . . .”

Is that all life is? Growing apart from people? I haven’t seen Emma in months, Kale in even longer. My own brother feels like a stranger. We’ve always been opposites, but now it’s something else, something far more complex than having conflicting personalities. It’s like the more you grow to know and accept yourself—to find your own way in life—the more distant and mysterious everyone else becomes.

“We’ll get through it,” he says. “When this is all over, everything will go back to normal.”

“You know it’s not that simple, Blaine. There’s no going back to how things were.”

No longer able to bear the stricken expression on his face, I glance away. Between the shoulders of bustling townspeople, on the far side of the street, I spot a girl standing in the mouth of an alley.