My father trusted Tristan. Even when many others didn’t.
And so shall I.
As we approach the first cross street, I cast my thoughts aside as the parade passes. Although there are hordes of sun dwellers, just like in the last subchapter we were in, I can see the action pretty clearly, as those in the parade are raised on high platforms, which are being pushed by muscular, shirtless men of all different colors, black, brown, white, their heads down, their muscles toned and flexing.
“Are those…?” I say, trailing off.
“Slaves?” Roc says. “Is that what you were going to say?”
Honestly, I’m not sure what I was about to say, which is probably why I didn’t finish the question. As far as I know, there’s no such thing as slavery. At least not anymore. We didn’t learn much about the old ways in history class at school, but we did learn that people used to use slaves to do things they didn’t want to do, but that it was abolished long before Year Zero.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “Do they volunteer for that?”
“They’re not slaves,” Roc says. “Well, not technically. They’re servants, like I am…I mean, like I was. But they might as well be slaves. They don’t get paid, just fed and sheltered and clothed.”
“Why don’t they just leave?” Tawni asks, lowering her voice as we get closer to the back row of the crowd.
“It’s called a breach of contract under the law, punishable by being sent to the Lower Realms or by imprisonment—usually both. Wealthy sun dwellers travel to the Lower Realms to find servants. They promise them an extravagant lifestyle, easy jobs with lots of time off, gourmet food, things we could only ever dream about.”
“You mean, you were a moon dweller?” I ask.
Roc laughs. “My father’s father was a star dweller.” His laugh fades and he screws up his face, wincing slightly, as if he’s just been slapped. “I guess he’s not my father anymore,” he murmurs, staring off into space.
“So the man who raised you—his father was a star dweller?” I ask, trying to distract him from his dark thoughts.
“Exactly,” he says. “He was recruited by President Dervin Nailin to come and work as a servant for him.”
“Mine and Roc’s grandfather,” Tristan adds without turning around. Apparently he’s been listening to every word.
Tristan plows into the cheering crowd, jostling his way through. I dive after him, heavier things on my mind than bumping into a bunch of sun dwellers. As I swim through the sea of parade watchers, I notice something. These people seem different than the ones in subchapter eight. They’re less…horrible. At least that’s my initial impression. There are kids, for one, riding on their parents’ shoulders and laughing and craning their necks to see the next float coming down the street. And the adults seem more civilized and fully sober, cheering and making noise, yes, but in a much more respectful manner than the young partiers we came across in the last sun dweller city.
A different crowd.
Even their clothes are different, albeit still strange and unusual to me. The women wear long, elegant gowns in silvers and purples and greens, some sparkling, some shining, all beautiful. The men are in gray or white suits, the kind I’ve only seen people wearing on the telebox. In my subchapter you’d look ridiculous wearing a suit like that. But here it just seems normal. The kids are dressed like their mothers and fathers, their faces bright and cheerful as they dance with delight at the parade passing by. I wonder whether the people here are really bad, or just ignorant. On the face they don’t look bad, which gives me hope.
The throng parts momentarily and I have a good view of the parade. Girls wearing flowery dresses dance and wave flags over their heads and around them, fully synchronized. Behind them are men dressed in sun dweller red, riding horses, carrying rifles and wearing black hats.
My first thought is: Horses! And then: Soldiers! Instinctively, I duck, trying to get out of their sight.
But then Tristan’s by my side, holding my hand. “They’re not real,” he says, his lips practically touching my ear. “It’s just for show.”
My heart slows and my face goes warm. Duh. Of course all the real soldiers would be fighting in the war.
I gaze at the horses, having never seen the majestic animals in person before. They’re much bigger than they look on the telebox, their majestic heads held high above the heads of the people. Magnificent. That’s the only word to describe them. With lustrous black, brown, and white coats, they prance along, bucking their heads from side to side at the people lining either side of the street. Growing up, I always wanted to see the horses, especially after my grandmother read me a story about a girl and her horse, and the adventures they went on together. Why there are no horses in the Moon Realm, I do not know.
Tristan pulls me away from the parade just as a squad of smallish acrobats dressed in bright gypsy outfits appears, leaping and somersaulting and springing through the air. Watching the parade and the horses, I’ve almost forgotten why we’re here. There’s no time for fun when death awaits.
Due to the much thinner and more well-mannered crowd, we manage to make good time getting to the end of one of the longest streets I’ve ever seen. Three quarters of the way to the end, the line of people end, wrapping around a bend and onto another street, where the parade continues along. It’s weird walking along with just the five of us again, our voices naked in the hushed silence where the only sounds are distant and almost surreal. The road ends at a T. To the left is a sign that reads: To Nailin Tunnel, Spoke 3.
“We’re heading that way, right?” I say to Tristan.
“Yes. Once we get in the tunnel, it’s only a little over a mile to subchapter one.”
Roc adds, “This is called the Capital Cluster. It’s four subchapters—one through four—number one being in the center and the other three surrounding it. Subchapter one is connected to each of them by a separate tunnel, like the spokes of a wheel. The spokes have numbers, always one less than the subchapter they lead to.”
“Which is why we’re heading into Spoke 3 when we’re in subchapter four,” I say to confirm my understanding.
“Exactly,” Roc says.
“So if the trains aren’t running today the only way to get out of subchapter one will be…” I say.
“Through the tunnels,” Tristan says.
My heart sinks. In other words: once the alarms sound, the tunnels will be blocked and we’ll be trapped.
Chapter Sixteen
Tristan
I hate seeing the look on Adele’s face when she realizes we don’t have an escape plan, when and if we complete our mission. But it only lasts a second before being replaced by narrow eyes and tight lips and a proud incline to her chin. I have the urge to kiss her right here, but the others are watching and now’s not really the time.
She understands the situation, so I don’t say anything more. Instead, I start down the road that leads to the tunnels, seeing no one. The entire subchapter is at the parade, enjoying the festivities like the rest of the sun dwellers, while the other two-thirds of the Tri-Realms fight for their lives. It disgusts me, although this is one of my favorite Sun Realm cities. The people here are kinder, less radical, a slightly older crowd, more family-oriented—but they’re still spoiled, just like everyone else up here.
The road runs right up to the cavern wall, which rises hundreds of feet above us, all the way to the diamond-studded roof. Cut into the rock is a massive tunnel, arched at the top and rectangular at the bottom, wide enough for a hundred men to walk side by side, and tall enough for a dozen people or more to stand on each other’s shoulders, if they were into that sort of thing.