Chapter Thirty-One. Eban
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EBAN
Darius leaves us at the docks. It irks me to no end, how he decides to play nobleman while we’re once again relegated to doing all the dirty work.
That he’s so comfortable among the very people who subjugated us.
I could never bring myself to hobnob with the highborn.
On the other hand I’m also more than happy to be free of Darius for a while.
He’s so confident that he can pass himself off as a lordling, while no one would mistake me for anything but a gutter rat from the slums. No wonder Gin favors him.
Gin and I wait beside the road for the servant caravan to arrive.
The first few trickle in slowly, one or two at a time.
Minutes later, more show up, until there’s a veritable parade coming from the Sleeve.
We step in with the line and shuffle along with the rest toward the servants’ gate at the back of the estate.
Guards are stationed there, their weapons prominently displayed.
A couple of them stand apart and scan the surrounding area, as if they’re prepared for a fight at any moment.
Absurd, in my opinion. Who would attack on a mundane morning like this?
Then I realize with some amusement that’s precisely what we’re doing.
The procession inches forward. I strain to see around the people ahead of me, to try to catch a glimpse of what’s happening in the front of the line.
I want some type of clue as to what we should expect, in case we need to pivot.
I notice there are some dejected-looking hopefuls walking away from the house.
Their heads are lowered and shoulders drooped.
It turns my stomach, the way our people are forced to beg for scraps.
We’re here to beg to serve our oppressors.
I remember the shining city of Ophir, those crystal palaces filled with music and art.
There’s something odd about those being turned away.
Many of them are women. Most, in fact. Highly unusual.
Kitchen and serving staff tend to be women.
They always have the best chance at being hired during the high holidays.
I scoot over to get a better look. It’s hard to see around everyone, but I do see an imposing guard walking up and down the front of the line, sizing people up.
He looks them up and down, spending more time on a few than the others. His face is unnervingly passive. He shows no emotion as he scrutinizes each hopeful worker. They shrink under his gaze.
Out of nowhere, he pulls one young woman away from the rest. “Not you, we don’t need you.” The woman begins crying. She pleads with the guard. “Anything, I’ll do anything. My children haven’t eaten in days. Please.”
The guard’s expression doesn’t change. He’s entirely unmoved by her cause.
He continues inspecting the crowd until eventually her begging cries irritate him and he shoves her away with one hand.
The threat of further violence is implicit.
The woman turns away then, and skulks away, back to the Sleeve.
I whisper to Gin from the corner of my mouth. “Did you notice?”
She nods, brow furrowed with concern. If she can’t get in, our entire plot is foiled. Only Gin has the strength to blast the door of the vault. I might be able to pick the lock, but if I can’t, I’m counting on Gin’s newfound power of the gods to get us through.
Then the guard pulls a young man from the bunch. Muscular and fit. He’s directed to go into the house.
The same happens again—another young man, fit and strong. And then a younger boy, maybe thirteen, is sent away like the woman.
They’re only choosing the strongest. Why?
Something is amiss. A slight flutter of panic rises in my chest. What’s going on here?
But it’s far too late to turn back, not that we’d get another opportunity.
And we can’t contact Darius. Whatever’s happening, we need to see it through. We’ve got to get into the palace.
The closer the line inches to the entrance, the better we can see what’s happening, and my suspicion is correct: All the young, old, and most of the women are being rejected, while the hardy and well-fed are sent inside. “What do you suppose is…”
Gin shakes her head before I finish the sentence. She notices it as well. “I’m not sure.”
As we reach the gate, Gin steps in front of me. “I should go first. That way, if I’m not chosen, we can figure out another way.”
I agree, though I don’t know what the alternative might be, or else I would’ve already changed tack. Only two left ahead of us. And then we’ll be up.
A girl is sent away. One more.
There must be another way. “Maybe we should…”
Gin shoves the man in front of her. “I told you to watch where you step!” she yells as he falls to the ground.
The man is confused. “What are you—”
“Get out of here!” the guard shouts at him.
The man gets to his feet and hobbles away without another word. He looks back over his shoulder and shakes his head at Gin.
“You.” The guard points at Gin. “Go inside.”
A subtle half smile graces her lips.
It’s my turn. I must be chosen. The guard’s eyes seem to bore right through my soul. I’m certain I’m about to be rejected, or worse, uncovered as a fraud and arrested. I try not to look anywhere except in the guard’s eyes as he considers me. I stare him down, refusing to appear intimidated.
“You’ll do,” the guard says finally. “Follow the others.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding and hurry to catch up with those who were accepted for the task right before me—whatever that task may be.
As we step inside the gates, we’re greeted by the most incredible residence I’ve ever seen.
The palace is filled from top to bottom with automatons like the ones in the city.
In the center of the expansive courtyard, elaborate fountains feature animated statues: One collects water in a jug, then spins to pour that water into a vibrant display of flowers.
Another carries buckets on her shoulders, and once they fill with water, she tips them to the side and it pours out.
Then the same happens with the other side.
There are automatons elsewhere, too: a dancing couple gliding back and forth in front of a window; a massive clock on the wall, easily the size of two grown men, that appears to be operated by a crew of fairylike creatures who crank the clock and flit around pressing various knobs and pulling levers.
All around the perimeter, instead of stairs, automated lifts carry people up to the higher floors.
If I wasn’t filled with dread, I’d be enthralled with the strange sights.
They’re bigger, more impressive, and more numerous than those in Lacon City.
The others in the group stare in wonder, too, while simultaneously wringing their hands, equally anxious about what’s to come.
None of this is playing out as expected.
It’s unusual that we’re being herded into the courtyard instead of led straight into the servants’ quarters.
It’s also concerning because this increases the odds of some Blackcoat recognizing our faces.
There’s a bounty on my head still. We’d done a lot to disguise ourselves, but it’s always possible, particularly since Gin has a history at House Eternal and these guards tend to move around from estate to estate as needed.
Any one of them might know her. In fact, they may have seen her already, as we filed into the courtyard.
She and I got separated in the rush, so I scan the crowd, searching for her face.
She’ll stand out from the rest; her thick, glossy hair that falls in waves, the slight curve of her …
“Hey.” Gin sidles up to me from behind. She whispers in my ear, “This is weird, right?”
“Oh, hey, I was just about to go find you.”
She leans close. “What do you suppose is going on here?”
I shrug. “I wish I knew. Definitely not the usual protocol.”
The air is thick with tension. We’ve been standing around for a while now, and people are getting restless.
Arms crossed, shifting on their feet. Someone says, “I thought we were here to work?” Typically, guards usher new servants directly to the back rooms, where they’re ordered to bathe before dressing in the palace uniforms, and prepped for the night’s work.
But none of that seems to be happening. The guards aren’t following the normal procedures.
Instead, the new servants are being dressed in the courtyard. I spot a smaller group being led to the other side of the fountain. Once there, they’re given a simple uniform to change into, tunics and pants in a multicolored, woven pattern I’ve seen in the Lashing.
Something pokes me in the back. “Hey!”
I turn to see a guard, shoving me forward with the hilt of his sword.
Another pushes Gin. “Watch it!” she shouts, scowl on her face.
I glare at the guard who’s messing with her, even as I’m being jostled myself.
A little voice in my head reminds me: Don’t draw attention.
I fix my face to be more compliant, and nudge Gin.
She looks up at me, momentarily annoyed, but quickly understands what I’m trying to tell her.
She tries to wipe her angry expression, too, even as the guard continues to push her forward.
We’re led over to where I’d seen the others changing.
Other guards shove uniforms into our hands.
Gin and I slip on the jackets and button them.
Across the courtyard, where we’d just come from, the other servants strain to see what’s going on.
I want to assure them it will be okay somehow, but I don’t know how.
And besides that, I can’t guarantee anything.
I have no way of predicting what’s about to happen at House Dominant.
After we have our uniforms for the evening, we’re brought together, along with the rest of our small group, and instructed to walk.
We’re led through a concealed door, masked to look like the fresco wall around it, and down a bare service passageway.
We pass the enormous kitchens, one situated on either side of the passage, where dozens of staff are already busy at work preparing a banquet.
It’s hot, smoky, and chaotic. Pots and dishes clang, and cooks in long aprons shout at their harried assistants.
They run back and forth, carrying bowls full of chopped vegetables and jugs of water, which splash over and drip on the floor.
Teams of servants stand by huge cooking hearths, continuously turning roasting spits.
From there our group moves into a sort of mechanical room.
It’s dim, and smells damp and earthy, like wet stone.
Alongside the furnace, and various pipes and tubes I can’t identify, there are tall steel boxes with blinking lights, and gears of various sizes, clacking and screeching as they rotate.
It’s almost as loud as the kitchens, though there are very few workers present.
Except they’re hidden in the shadows, seemingly manning the wheels that make the gears turn.
As my eyes adjust, I notice there’s a large platform in the center of the room, with thick steel cables at each corner that reach up to the ceiling.
“Step here,” the guard commands. “Everyone together.”
Strange. I consider saying no, though at this point, what choice do I have? Gin and I share a glance. She’s thinking the same thing. She shrugs. Maybe we’re needed to power some type of automaton. Maybe there will be a show.
Bodies bash into me. We’re all being herded onto the platform. My heart races. Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen. After all, we’re necessary for this holiday celebration to succeed.
The guards shove us closer together to make room for more.
We’re all pressed up against one another.
I can smell the skin of everyone around me, their sweat and the musky scent of unwashed hair.
Some murmur to each other, wondering what’s going on, what will happen next.
Most are silent, though, their muscles tensed, anticipating something, though they aren’t sure what.
Finally, we’re all on the platform. Nothing happens.
The seconds drag on. How long will we stand here?
More murmurs rise up from within the jam-packed servants on the platform.
The guards stroll back and forth lazily, with no urgency or interest. Even I’m getting angry.
“What do you think we’re waiting for?” I ask Gin.
Her body heaves forward as someone pushes behind her. “Watch it!” she calls back over her shoulder. Then to me, she says, “I don’t know. But I don’t like it.”
There’s a wrenching jolt from the floor beneath us. Gin exclaims “Oh!” and grabs on to me. I put my arms around her to steady her. Those around us also shout out and grab on to the person beside them. Others reach for the steel cables and use those to brace themselves.
Because suddenly, the platform begins to rise.
It’s hard to breathe. People squish toward the middle of the crowd, trying to avoid the precarious edge of the platform.
Then a hush falls over us. As we ascend, we hear noises. Voices. A crowd. Cheers echo in the distance.
“What is that?” Gin asks. Her voice is shaky.
I have a pretty good idea what it might be. But I hope I’m wrong. Before I have a chance to say, the ceiling above us slides open. Light pours in. We squint and look up, unsure what’s about to befall us.
Then I see. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of people seated all around us. Once they see us, the audience begins clapping and stomping their feet.
It’s … an arena.