Authors: Kassy Tayler
“Amazing,” I say. “So if there is a problem, he will send word.”
“Exactly. And since we haven’t heard anything from him, we can assume that everything
is fine and progressing as he expected. The hardest part about these expeditions is
keeping Dr. Stewart from going overboard on his samples. He has a tendency to wander
off, following his own nose, as Mother always says.”
“It all sounds so exciting,” I say. To me it is the most exciting possibility I could
think about. To be able to go where one wanted, when one wanted to. To have the entire
world at your pleasure and whim. I never dreamed such a world existed beyond the walls
of the dome.
“It is,” Zan agrees. “We are very blessed.”
“More so because you are generous,” I say. I look at Zan’s reflection in the mirror
and she squeezes my shoulder as she smiles. A loud whoop from somewhere outside interrupts
the moment.
“What is that?” she says, going to the window of her cabin, and then she laughs. “Oh
Wren, come here and look.”
I go to the window that is open to catch the breeze that flows inland from the sea.
The sun sits low in the sky that is once again streaked with glorious color. Zan points
down and I join her in leaning out over the sill.
“Oh my,” I say as I see the boys splashing with the dogs in the water. They are all
naked, and, while we are high enough above them that we cannot see anything specific,
just the fact that we can see their bare bottoms shining white against the ruddy red
and golden brown of their sun-kissed skin is enough to make me blush. They continue
on out until they are waist deep, but we can still see the whiteness through the water.
“I never really thought about all the different shapes a man’s bottom could have,”
Zan says. “Some are round, and some are flat. Some are wide and some are thin.”
“And some are hairy,” I say when George splashes out to join them.
“Some are nice and some I’d rather not see,” Zan says and we dissolve into giggles,
something that I had not done in years. Zan leans farther out and yells in a most
unladylike voice. “I hope someone doesn’t steal your pants as well!”
They look up at the two of us hanging from the window. “Enjoying the show ladies?”
Levi yells back.
“Imbecile,” Zan mutters. Levi grins up at me and waves while Peter, Jon, and Alcide
drop beneath the water. Adam splashes water at James, who makes a show of diving beneath
a gentle wave that laps into shore. “The lot of them,” she says, but she smiles as
she says it, and she is not in any rush to leave.
I watch also as they move into deeper water. I wish Pace was with them just so I wouldn’t
have to worry about him. I almost envy the men their easy play as they splash and
yell and dive beneath the water. How long as it been since I have done anything so
simple and fun?
As we lean out the window I catch a flash of yellow out of the corner of my eye. It
is Pip and he flies straight for the window. I stick my arm out and he lands on it
with a hop and then sticks one of his tiny legs out as he clutches the sleeve of the
robe with the other.
“He’s got something on his leg,” I say.
“Brilliant!” Zan exclaims. “It looks like a message, just like I was just telling
you about with the pigeons.” Carefully I put my hand around Pip and bring him inside.
I carry him to Zan’s bed where we both sit down to examine his leg. “Who would have
done such a thing?” Zan asks. “Maybe it’s a love note from Pace.”
“I think not,” I say, once more blushing. “But what else could it be?” The note is
tied with nothing more than a thread because Pip’s leg is so tiny. I do not see how
anyone could write anything on a piece of paper so small.
“It isn’t paper, it’s muslin,” Zan says as she unties the thread and unrolls the piece
of fabric. It is only a half-inch wide and maybe three inches long and clearly has
words on it. Zan hands it to me. “It has to be for you.”
I have to squint to see the letters that are written from top to bottom instead of
left to right. I suppose it was the only way to get the message to fit on the tiny
piece of fabric. I have to read it twice because I am so stunned by it.
HELP US IF YOU CAN.
And it is signed
LUCY.
My heart sinks as I realize the import of the words.
“Wren?” Zan asks. “What is it?”
“It is from our friends inside.” I look at Pip who has hopped over to Zan’s bedside
table and pecks at the crumbs from my toast.
“You mean Pip flew inside the dome?” Zan jumps to her feet.
“He must have.” I look at the tiny canary and wonder how he can fly so high in the
air when he has spent his entire life until a few days ago beneath the ground. “It
says they need help.”
“Oh my,” Zan says. “Is there anything else? Are they being held prisoner somewhere?
Are they hurt?”
“Help us if you can,” I read the note to Zan. “And it is signed by our friend Lucy,
the one I told you about that works above. Pip must have flown to the house she shares
with David. He was there before with us, so he’d know it. But how? We didn’t go in
through the streets when we went there. We came up from the tunnels beneath.”
“Would it be possible for him to fly back in the way you came out?”
“Not all the way to Lucy and David’s,” I say as I try to figure things out. “I do
not think there is any way he would know the route. It is rather tricky and there
are hatches over some of the passageways so there is no way he could get through those.
Then when you get beneath David’s house there was a low tunnel that they had to dig
out. It was a tight squeeze and you come up through an entrance from the sewers. Pip
was inside Pace’s shirt the entire time.” I think hard on the route and the circumstances
through which we traveled. I cannot imagine Pip following that same exact route on
a whim. “I do not think he went in from beneath. He must have gone in through the
hole in the dome and somehow recognized the house, or maybe saw David or Lucy on the
street.”
“Your little bird must have the same sense of tracking that the pigeons have. Even
though the airship moves from place to place they always manage to find it. Maybe
tiny Pip remembers the places he’s visited.”
“I cannot imagine David or Lucy knowing about pigeons carrying messages,” I say. “Unless
perhaps Jilly is with them, as she is a royal and has the same education as Pace;
it is something she could have learned.”
“Or they are very desperate and this is their last hope.”
Zan’s words cause a chill to move down my spine. “What should I do?” I ask.
“It isn’t I, Wren. It is we. What should we do? And the answer is we will show this
to my father as soon as he gets home.”
“I should tell the others,” I say. “I need to tell Pace.”
“And we will. As soon as they come up and he gets back,” she assures me. “But first
we need to find you something to wear.”
I don’t want to waste time on Zan’s frivolities at the moment, but she is right, I
can’t just dash off down the cliff, gather the others, and then dash into the dome.
Reacting, instead of taking the time to think things through and make a plan, is what
caused most of the problems in the first place. If not for my decisions, and then
James’s rapid reactions, we might have been able to find a way out without losing
so many people. I am desperate to keep the same thing from happening again. We need
to plan carefully, and we need sound advice, such as the type Lyon Hatfield can give
us.
Still that doesn’t make the waiting any easier. My mind can only imagine the worst
as I wonder about my friends. What has happened to them? What is going on inside the
dome? Is someone hurt? Have they been arrested for their part in the rebellion? I
imagine the worst for all of them and once more am overcome with feelings of guilt
because I escaped and they did not. If only I had known beforehand they could have
come down with us and then they would have been safe. But how could I predict that
someone would be foolish enough to bring a flamethrower into the tunnels. That thought
does not ease my mind at all. I am responsible for their lives. All of them.
“Try this,” Zan says as she returns from her wardrobe with a pale yellow dress. “It
should go really well with your hair and eyes.”
The dress is exquisite. The fabric is beautiful, light and airy, and I realize as
Zan holds it before me that it is several layers of sheer fabric sewn together. The
bodice has tiny tucks running up and down it, and the neckline is low and curved with
just a hint of lace around it. I have never seen anything like it. I have never seen
anything that same color unless it would be the butter that melted on my toast.
“I cannot wear this Zan,” I say. “It is too wonderful for me.”
“Wren,” Zan says in exasperation. “What makes you think you don’t deserve something
this lovely?”
“Because it is yours.”
“And the color looks horrid on me,” she says. “Really, I don’t even know why I got
it.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to the others,” I continue. “Sally and Rosalyn.”
“I happen to know for a fact that my mother has given them clothes. They are also
working on clothing for the children from the things you brought with you. Besides,
you have to wear something while your clothes are being washed unless you want to
hide in my room for the rest of the day in my robe.”
“But it is so very beautiful,” I say in a very weak protest.
“Sorry, Wren,” Zan replies. “Everything I possess is beautiful. So you can’t use that
as an excuse not to wear this dress. Now put it on so I can fix your hair.”
It is very hard to argue with her logic and the addition of the hairbrush that she
wields in her hand. Zan points to the undergarments she had placed on the bed earlier.
Jonah lies on top of them, purring loudly with his eyes half closed. I push him aside
and pick one up. “What is this fabric called?” I ask as I slide the smooth fabric
up my legs.
“Silk,” Zan replies. “It comes from worms in China if you can believe that.”
“Worms? How?” I have heard of silk, but never seen it.
“They spin the threads for their cocoons,” Zan explains. “It’s all quite gross when
you think about it. But it does make for lovely fabric.”
“And you wear this every day?”
“Not every day,” Zan says. “Just on special occasions. Like the first time you wear
a pretty dress to dinner.” Zan holds up a hand to stop my protest. “I know you are
worried about your friends. But you wearing a pretty dress will not make a difference
to what is happening with them at the moment. I promise my father will do everything
possible to help them.”
I am stuck. I feel frivolous and guilty for dressing up when so many have died and
my friends are in dire need. Yet I also do not want to hurt Zan’s feelings or make
her angry with me. She is only trying to help, and, even though I feel more like a
doll she is playing with than an actual person, I allow her to button me into the
beautiful dress and fix my hair into a twist on top of my head. She does not want
me to look into the mirror until she is done, so I sit on the stool with Pip on my
finger and wonder what it was he saw when he was inside the dome. Pip stares back
at me with his black bead of an eye and I realize how much we underestimated the canaries.
We kept them and bred them through the generations to serve as an alarm for the build
up of gasses in the tunnels. If a canary died then we knew not to go there. I would
not have given Pip a second thought, if not for Pace needing companionship when I
left him alone in the caves. I saw him only as a tool. Pace saw him for what he could
be.
Is that the way my father sees us as shiners? Are we simply tools to use? I cannot
help but think that is how he perceives everyone in the dome. Every person inside
is a tool to be used to preserve the royal bloodline. But what happens when those
tools get broken? Are they simply discarded in much the same way Pip nearly was? Is
that what is happening to Lucy and the others? Are they about to be discarded? If
my father has no further use for them, why doesn’t he just let them go? Or would that
be admitting defeat? From the few brief moments I spent with him, I readily know that
admitting defeat is not something he would do.
“You can look now,” Zan says.
Pip jumps onto the dressing table as I turn to look in the mirror. It takes me a moment
to realize that it is actually me sitting there. Yet how could it be? I have never
seen this version of me before. This version appears confident and mature, almost
elegant, in a way that I’ve only considered the royals to be. In a strange way it
is frightening to see myself this way. I’ve never had so much of my skin revealed,
especially around my neck. The way the dress fits shows the arcs of my breasts and
the valley in between. With my hair all up, except for a few pieces that dangle around
my ears, I feel as if I am missing an article of clothing, and I place my hand over
my breasts to cover them up.
Zan stands behind me and pulls my arm away. “Don’t be shy, Wren,” she says as I watch
her in the mirror. “Don’t you know how beautiful you are?”
“But I’m not,” I say. Not beautiful like Lucy, or Zan, or Jilly. Yet I can’t help
but be curiously pleased with what I see and even more curious to see how Pace,
and Levi,
will react when they see me.
I shouldn’t be thinking about this. I shouldn’t be standing here staring at my reflection
in the mirror while wearing a pretty dress. Not while my friends are hurting and need
help.
“You’ve never had anyone tell you how pretty you are, have you?” Zan asks.
I shake my head, torn between sadness and embarrassment at her question. “All I had
was my grandfather. He did the best that he could,” I say.
I didn’t know my mother’s love, or even if she would have loved me. She might have
hated me if she had lived, because I would have been a constant reminder of my father
and how he turned her away. But I’d like to think that she would have loved me. That
she would have brushed my hair every night as she told me I was pretty and smart.
I never had the close company of a woman, except for Peggy, who was my age. My memories
of my grandmother are dim as I was barely four when she died. I mostly remember her
coughing and the blood in her handkerchiefs that she tried to hide from my grandfather.