“They wouldn’t leave us like that. They wouldn’t leave Levi behind.”
“Are you certain?” This time he stops to look at me. “Is there any doubt at all in your mind?”
I am puzzled why he would say this. He’s admitted that he does go outside. Does he know something? Or is he merely testing me once more because I am convinced that every time he converses with me there is an ulterior motive that I have yet to figure out.
“Is there something you are trying to tell me?” I ask.
“No.” Findley continues on. “But there is something I’ve been meaning to ask. How did you get back into the dome?”
“Through the hole in the roof,” I say, just to see his reaction. I am not about to tell him about the gliders, I would rather he think on it for a while, to see what he can come up with on his own.
“How did you get up there?” he asks.
“As I said, my friends are resourceful.”
“Hmmm.” I’ve given him something to think about, and he is silent as we make our way down the remaining stairs.
The steam carriage has been cleaned since our disastrous ride this morning. My father has chosen to make me wait on him this time, and Findley does not comment on my boots as he hands me up into the carriage. He remains by the steps to wait for my father.
“What happened to the people who attacked us?” I ask. There are no guards present this time, as we are going to the royal part of the dome and there should be no need of them. I am certain the driver cannot hear us over the steady chug of the engine.
“They have been dealt with.” Findley replies.
“In the same manner everyone who crosses my father is dealt with?”
“Not everyone.” His steady eyes settle on me. “There have been a few exceptions.”
“If I were lucky enough to go outside, would I see more bodies burned and staked?” I ask. He grimaces and looks away. “How many more innocent people have to die before you say ‘enough’?”
“How many more times are you going to ask that?”
“Until deaf ears are able to hear it.”
“Maybe you need to say it in a different way.” My father appears at the door and comes down the steps. “In a way that will capture his attention,” Findley adds as he goes to meet my father and attend him into the carriage.
My father considers my appearance before he sits down. My hair is freshly washed after this morning, and I left it down after brushing it. It hangs in dark waves down my back. The dress fits me well enough and I keep the shawl wrapped tightly around my shoulders to help disguise the extra clothes hidden beneath. I wish there was some way I could have brought my jacket. I know I will need it when and if I get outside, especially if I have to go back into the tunnels.
My father makes no comment. He sits, and the driver takes off as if he has eyes in the back of his head. I have to admit I am excited in a curious kind of way. I have never been to the royal part of the dome. I have only seen it from a distance.
We travel down the promenade, past storefronts that hold hats, dresses, and men’s suits. Another one is full of treasures that remind me of the things I saw aboard the Quest. I see clocks, statues, and other numerous things that are too small for me to identify from the rapidly rolling carriage.
The stores and the candlelit quarters above them give way and the street opens up to long and narrow lots surrounded by low walls. The carriage stops at a guarded gate and an attendant comes out. He salutes my father and the guards open the gate and we ride on through. Streetlamps and trees made from copper and bronze stand sentinel between the walls and the promenade. An attempt at privacy in my mind, as it seems that even the royals live on top of one another. The houses are four to five stories high and the dome curves down over them, with an abrupt ending on the street. I notice that the streetlights are lit with candles, and I feel a sense of satisfaction that we, who dug up the coal, found another way to have light without it. We used the waterwheel to generate power that lit our cavern and the tunnels, a much safer alternative than flame.
The lawns behind the walls are painted green, and the closer we get, the more I see that they are faded and chipped. Such a poor imitation of the real thing. The air around us feels old and stale, and I long to fill my lungs with the fresh scents that quickly became familiar to me on the outside.
To think that my friends are just on the other side of the dome. If only there was a way to just break the glass. The tunnel Jon found outside was a dead end, built by someone after the dome was closed. They never finished it, never made their way to safety before the comet came. To try to dig the way in to this part of the dome would be foolish. The enforcers could easily pick off whoever attempted it as they came through. As Lyon said, the best way in is to break the glass. Unfortunately that is beyond my capabilities.
We turn up a drive whose house is brighter than the rest. Every window is aglow with candlelight, and noise pours forth, a cacophony of music and voices rising together that echoes hollowly against the curve of the dome, sounding somewhat like my own familiar cavern that I used to call home.
Two men in formal suits stand at attention before the wide steps that lead up to a massive door. The steam carriage comes to a halt, and one quickly opens the door while the other unfolds the steps. My father goes first, then Findley, who waves the two men off and extends his hand to help me down the steps. I suddenly feel desperately out of place with my clunky boots. My legs are damp with sweat beneath the leather while my arms and back are chilled. I quickly look right, and then left, weighing the odds of my dashing off and getting lost in the darkness behind the houses.
There is too much openness of the lawns and too many people are around. I know Findley can outrun me, even though my lungs are in much better condition. Findley must know what I am thinking because he grabs my hand and keeps a tight grip on it as I go down the steps.
Years of being told my place consumes me. I do not belong here. Everyone will know I don’t belong; all they have to do is look at my eyes. How will they treat me? Will they call me names like the workers on the street? Will they hold me personally responsible for the recent disasters? Did my father just bring me here so I would be humiliated by Pace and Jilly?
“Where is the girl who proved her father wrong?” Findley whispers in my ear as I reach the ground. “You’ve got a captive audience in there. Tell them what you’ve seen.”
I look up at Findley. My father is watching us. For all he knows Findley could be reminding me of my place and how to act in such esteemed company.
“You’re on my side, aren’t you?” I say. “You want out as much as I do.”
“Indeed I do,” Findley says, and he hands me off to my father.
10
I am in the last place I ever thought I’d be. Never in my wildest imaginings did I picture myself in a royal house and certainly never at a party. My dreams consisted only of getting out of the dome, not of moving to a higher status inside. Yet here I stand, waiting with my father in a line to greet our hosts. I can feel everyone’s eyes upon me and the cloying smells of too much perfume and powder nearly overwhelm me.
The line consists of several people, including Ellen and a couple who must be Jilly’s parents. Jilly’s mother has the same bright red hair as Jilly. Everyone except Ellen is covered up with jewelry that glows in the candlelight.
What am I supposed to say to these people? I search the room for Pace and Jilly, but there is no sign of them. Beyond the three people I recognize is another couple wearing velvet capes and dripping with more jewels than I could ever have imagined. As the people in front of us come to them, they curtsey or bow. Dr. Stewart’s comment about the crown jewels being inside the dome comes to my mind, and I realize that these two people are our king and queen and the entire reason why the dome was built. To protect the royal bloodline. I steal a look at the royal couple. The man is short and stout with a receding chin and thinning hair that is artfully arranged across his forehead to hide the fact that he is going bald. His wife is much more attractive, which isn’t surprising as the king can marry anyone he chooses, or is his bride chosen for him also? Wouldn’t she have to be, to keep the family lines from crossing too many times?