I take a long hard look in the mirror. What game does my father plan to play with me today? There is only one way to find out. I quickly dress in my usual clothes and open the door to find Findley standing at my window and staring out through the opening.
“I had a talk with your friend last night,” he says, keeping his focus on the window. “He told me about America.”
“And you believed him?”
“I see no reason not to. He had to come from somewhere, and the history books talk of the country across the sea. Did you know that it was one of our colonies until the late 1700s?” He glances at me over his shoulder.
“No,” I say. “I only learned of how it is now. About how the entire world is now, after it recovered from the comet.”
“Knowledge is power,” Findley says, turning back to the window. “And that was the last thing they wanted you to have. Yet you managed quite well without it.”
“I learned as I went,” I say with a shrug, and Findley chuckles.
His use of the word they interests me. I don’t trust him and I find it interesting that Levi talked with him, although he had nothing to lose now, since I told my father who he is and where he is from.
“I hope Levi is none the worse for your conversation,” I add, recalling the cuts and bruises that marred his face.
“It was all quite cordial, I assure you,” Findley says. “And you can thank Mr. Pruitt for any damages he might have gotten while in his care.”
“Mr. Pruitt?”
“The jailer,” Findley says, turning once more to look at me. “You met him yesterday? It seems that your friend, Mr. Addison, is quite clumsy. Always tripping in his cell and running into walls.”
I know better, and I also know that this is not a point to argue with now. Nothing I say will make a difference to the man Pruitt. All I can hope for is a swift and safe escape from the man’s tender care for Levi.
“What do you think of the things Levi told you?” I ask. “About America.”
“He told me about the Indians. About a saying they have. One that applies to both you and the boy’s mother.” He looks at the door to the hallway and I turn that way also. Is Ellen listening outside the door? I do not believe Findley would be this open if he thought that were true. Besides, the walls and the doors are thick and strong. I have never heard anything from the hallway, until someone pounds on my door. I turn back to Findley and he continues. “It is something like this … ‘Do not judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.’”
“I can see where that would be wise.” I wonder if Levi told him about his scars and the sun dance ceremony. I am doubtful that he shared that experience with Findley. I know Levi well enough to know that there is a purpose to everything he says and does. “In other words, you think I should be kinder to Ellen.”
“You don’t need any more enemies.”
His humor reminds me of Pace’s, and I can’t help but grin. “Then you should be glad to know that I’ve already decided to treat her more kindly. She is his mother after all.”
“And that, Miss MacAvoy, is what I call a plan.”
“So you approve?”
He walks to the door. “Your father is waiting,” he says, and, as always, he waits for me to precede him through the door.
7
It has been over two weeks since I’ve been outside, not that I consider being in the dome outside, but it is much different from the close quarters of my room. The air feels different from what I am used to. It is lighter now that it is no longer encumbered with the coal smoke that was so prevalent before. I have no idea what to expect from my father, beyond the news from Ellen that he is taking me out. Findley became his usual stoic self again once we were outside my room, so the trip down the many flights of stairs was done in silence.
I did expect to be walking wherever it is my father is taking me, as that is the only way I have ever traveled around the dome, therefore I am surprised to find a steam carriage waiting for us at the curb when Findley and I exit the building. My father is already outside, and from the look on his face I can see that he is impatient with waiting. I take a petty bit of pleasure from knowing that I have once more inconvenienced him.
I’ve never seen the inside of a steam carriage before, as they sit too high to look into from street level. This one is painted dark blue, much like the uniforms the bluecoats wear, and the ornate trim that decorates the carriage is a bright gold. An insignia is on the middle of the door, and I imagine there is one to match it on the opposite side. It serves as notice to everyone that the Master General Enforcer is riding among the people.
Findley opens the door and I climb the five high steps that fold down from within.
There are two benches inside, one faces front and the other is opposite, facing the back. They are both covered in fine, soft leather that is dyed blue, and the seat and backs are heavily padded. A driver sits up front with a guard, and there is another guard who stands on a platform on the back. Both carry the awkward rifles that the rovers use. What will my father do when he sees the sleek, new models that Lyon’s men use? I like to imagine that he would be shocked. The armed guards also trouble me. Does my father expect trouble, or is this just a show of power?
There is no roof on the carriage, nor is there a need for one, given the fact that it never rains inside the dome. But it must now, as there is a hole in the roof. A large hole that lets in rain, wind, and warm rays of sunshine, something that my father can no longer deny.
I sit down on the bench facing forward, and my father sits beside me. Findley closes the door and sits across from us. He sits back and crosses his arms, and even though his face remains remarkably impassive, I know he is relishing the thought of watching my father and me in our coming battle of wits.
“I thought it was time that you see what you have wrought,” my father says as the carriage lurches forward and settles into a steady putt-putt.
We move down the promenade, past the center fountain and dais where the inhabitants of the dome gather for news and would assemble for my execution, if Ellen had her way. I look up, trying to find the hole. The smoke is still there, close to the top, but it is weaker and wispier, as if a stiff breeze would blow it away.
Break the glass … I imagine what it would be like to do so. To swing a hammer and a pick and shatter the sides of the dome and let in the fresh, clean air and let it sweep the inside clean. What a wondrous day that would be, for everyone. If only I could make my father see that.
I recognize the area we travel through. We are on the same streets that I walked with Pace weeks ago, when we were trying to figure out where Alex got out of the dome. The day we walked upon them, they were busy with workers going to their shifts to shovel coal to power the fans. Today the streets are much, much quieter. The roar of the fans is gone, along with the hustle and bustle of people going about their lives. The air close to the street is clearer than that above, which drifts and sways over us like the canvas awning Lyon’s wife, Jane, erected outside to protect us from the sun.
The occasional workers that we do pass are subdued. They step away from the curb and keep their eyes downcast. They act as if they are afraid to be seen, and when we pass by they hurry onward to their destination. It is evident that they live in fear. Is this what my father wanted me to see? Is he adding this to my list of sins against the dome, another result of my rebellion? Does he want me to think that instead of freeing the people I’ve added another yoke around their necks?