The Freedom of Navid Leahy (2 page)

“Did you eat?” his mother asked as his father headed out the door, so Navid called after him, “See you at noon!”

“Where are you going?” Katherine asked.

“To hear Michael speak at East Ash,” Navid said.

“Can you run an errand for me?” his mother asked.

Navid nodded. He loved running through the city more than anything else. He knew all the shortcuts and alleyways on both sides of the Lyone River. If he wanted to, he could make it from the Plough and the Sun to the Grand Customs House just by traveling from rooftop to rooftop.

“Good boy,” his mother said, smiling down at him. “Take this to Gavin first, and then you can go see Mr. Henry.”

When Navid took the sack, little bits of metal rattled inside the cloth. He looked quizzically at his mother.

“It's letters for the printing press,” Katherine said. “Stay off the ground and don't let anyone see you.”

“I won't, Mama,” he said. She didn't need to worry. He hadn't got caught by a Zunft patrol yet.

“And Navid, don't go to Mast Square today,” his mother warned.

“Why?” Navid asked.

“I heard about another arrest there, just yesterday,” Katherine said. “Someone is vandalizing warehouses in the area, and the Zunft is are watching carefully.”

“Most of the buildings are abandoned down there!” Navid said. “Why do they care?”

“Mast Square is contested ground, Navid,” Katherine said. “Both sides claim it as their own heritage.”

“How could the Zunft claim it?” Navid sputtered. “We brought the ship here. We—”

“The Zunft don't see it that way,” Katherine said.

“Who cares what they say!” Navid said, indignant that the pompous, well-dressed, fat cows were stealing yet another thing from the cottagers.

“Navid, promise me you won't go to Mast Square,” Katherine said.

“I promise, Mama,” he said. He was meeting Aron at the old conveyor, which was
near
Mast Square, but he wouldn't really be breaking his word.

“And be back in time for dinner,” she said.

“I wouldn't miss it for anything!” he called as he charged out the door and into the city, already steaming under the new-day sun.

*   *   *

Navid ran down Killough Street and slid down into the large culvert at the north corner of the road. With no grate, it was easy to drop through the opening without getting muddy as long as he got a running start and didn't hesitate on the way down into the cool darkness.
Just like Kilkeer stepping into the shadows of the ancient forest,
he thought as he landed in the cone of sunshine that filtered down into the subterranean world.

There was a layer of muck at the bottom, but Navid had laid out broken cobblestones to keep from sinking into the mire. He hopped from stone to stone until he came to an old, wooden door that hung from its lower hinge. Beyond was one of the many dusty but dry tunnels that ran beneath the city. Navid had explored most of them and knew how to avoid the occasional swarm of rats. He always carried a scarf, which he tied over his mouth, to ward away the noxious dust that bloomed around his boots as he ran.

Navid lit the stub of the candle he kept in his pocket and moved quickly as the firelight cast jagged shadows that lurched in time with his footfalls. When he heard the cacophony of horse-drawn carriages and rover engines growling above him, he knew he was under Connell Street. Navid blew out the candle, pulled himself up through the drain, and emerged in a narrow alley lined with wooden bins. He sprinted toward the gate at the end of the alley, and when he reached it, he leapt as high as he could. His fingers grasped the top of the rattling planks, and he braced his feet against them. Kicking up with his legs allowed him to hurdle the top of the wall.
Like Kilkeer leaping over the back of the fire-breathing horse and slam!
He landed unscathed on the other side.

Scrambling up a large pile of discarded crates next to an abandoned factory, Navid ducked through a hole blown open by a Zunft cannon during the riots of last summer. Inside, he swung up into the rafters and walked across them with no fear of the drop to the ground. “I am the spider. The wolf. The wolverine,” he sang to himself as he effortlessly pulled himself onto the roof through a gap in the shingles. “And today, Aron—and everyone else—is going to see it.”

Now under the open sky, Navid hooted at the sun and sprinted toward the edge of the roof.
Easy jump,
he thought, and he sprang into the air toward the building on the other side of the alley. Landing lightly on the neighboring roof, he dropped into a graceful shoulder-roll just because he could. He slowed to a walk—as causal as you please—and whistled as he opened the roof door to a derelict tenement. Two flights down, and there was the inconspicuous door to the corridor that opened onto Gavin's rooftop shack. It was unlocked, so Gavin must have known he was coming.

Gavin lived in a former maintenance shack on the flat roof of a one-story building squeezed between two taller buildings. There were no windows on either of the neighboring buildings, only redbrick walls towering on either side. Although the one-room shack was rustic, Gavin craved privacy in crowded, noisy Sevenna. Navid had helped him turn some old crates into garden boxes, and now the vegetables were thriving in the midsummer heat.

Gavin was reading on a bench near his shack. At the sight of Navid, he pushed his spectacles up on his nose and waved the boy over. Navid dropped the bundle triumphantly on the bench and then sat down next to his teacher.

“Thank you, Navid,” Gavin said. “You're a great help to the cause.”

“Did they bust up the printing press again?” Navid asked. A few months ago, Michael's secret office had been raided and the press destroyed by the Zunft. The journalists, including Gavin, had barely escaped arrest.

“No, thankfully,” Gavin said. “Are you going to the speech?”

“Yes, Papa said I could,” Navid said.

“Is Aron going to be there?” Gavin asked.

Navid shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Are you two having problems?” Gavin asked. “I heard something about a fight.”

“We didn't have a fight!” Navid protested.

“No, I mean—”

“He doesn't like me anymore,” Navid interrupted. “And I don't like him.”

“I'm sure there's more to it than that,” Gavin said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

There
was
more to it than that, but nothing he wanted to share with his teacher. Aron said that the Leahys were Zunft sympathizers because they ran the Plough and the Sun. He'd called Brian a foul name because he wouldn't host some political meeting in his pub. Navid couldn't believe that Brian's friendship with Michael didn't protect him from such talk, but apparently, it didn't. He had to shut Aron up, or everyone might start saying lies about his family.

“You know that Aron's father is ill, right?” Gavin said. “His family has been through a particularly difficult time. They're living with the Neil family now—that's a lot of people in one row house. Sometimes, a bad situation can make people meaner than they would be normally.”

“But why take it out on me?” Navid said.

“He shouldn't do that, I agree,” Gavin said. “Just try to see things from his perspective. Which shouldn't be too hard—you two came from the same place in the world.”

“Yes, sir,” Navid said halfheartedly.

The two sat in uncomfortable silence until Gavin asked, “Do you like the
Kilkeer saga?
”

“Yes, but can you spend longer on it?” Navid said eagerly. “In ten minutes, we barely get to hear anything.”

“What happened in the saga yesterday, Navid?”

“Kilkeer fought the Zunft, I mean, bandits,” Navid said. “He was about to slay the lot of them single-handedly.”

“I didn't get a chance to finish the scene,” Gavin said. “Kilkeer never actually fought them. He saw that they were motivated by fear, not selfishness, and he helped them find safe passage out of the forest and away from the giant.”

“Oh,” Navid said, disappointed. “But they all had their swords out, ready to kill each other. What happened?”

“Kilkeer was clever,” Gavin said. “Instead of fighting, he spotted something that he could use to his advantage. He used his talents instead of force.”

“What happens to Kilkeer after that?” Navid asked.

“I'll tell more tomorrow,” Gavin said.

“Please!” Navid begged. “Does he find the Giant of Red Lake?”

“Not right then,” Gavin said.

“Just give me a hint. Who does he fight next?”

“No one. He's lured into a life of complacency.”

“What does that mean?” Navid asked.

“He spends more time satisfying his desires than pursuing the Giant of Red Lake.”

“Who lures him?” Navid demanded. “And for how long?”

“By the people of Nordefell Falls,” Gavin said. “The saga says he lived among them for a hundred years.”

“What!” Navid exploded. The image of his hero being duped was too much. “How could that happen? He's the strongest cottager the world has ever seen!”

“It wouldn't be a good tale of everything went right for Kilkeer,” Gavin said. “And remember, Navid, no matter what the cottagers feel about the saga, it is just a story.”

“I suppose,” Navid said. “I've just never heard the details before. I knew he killed the giant, but the rest is new to me.”

“Brian doesn't tell you the saga?” Gavin asked.

Navid shrugged, embarrassed.

“Well, you'll hear more of it tomorrow,” Gavin said. “And remember, it's not a simple story. And I'm not telling it to you for simple reasons.”

“All right, Mr. Baine,” Navid said.

“Let's take different paths to East Ash to avoid any patrols,” Gavin said. “Not that I could keep up with you, anyway.”

“No one can,” Navid said, and sprang to his feet, eager to go hear Michael speak.

“Wait, Navid,” Gavin said. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a silver coin. He flipped it to Navid, who missed catching it, and it fell near his boots. He reached down and picked it up. It was a heavy coin with the face of one of the old, jowly chief administrators on it.

“It's worth too much,” Navid said. “I can't take it.”

“It's not just payment for bringing the letters today,” Gavin said. “It's for all the errands that you run. And for being courageous. And for helping me plant my garden. Hauling crates of dirt up here was not easy.”

Still, Navid hesitated until Gavin said, “You can give it to your mother. Tell her it was your wages from the past year.”

So Navid pocketed the coin, waved goodbye, and then scaled the drainpipe on the neighboring building. With the sun beating down on his back, he tried to imagine what cleverness had allowed Kilkeer to best his attackers without needing to use his sword at all.

*   *   *

By the time Navid arrived at East Ash Street, throngs of cottagers had already gathered. Michael hadn't made a public appearance since he started printing his new paper,
Henry's Herald,
and people were eager to see their hero once again. The crowd had engulfed the corner and spread up the road to the entrance of East Ash Garden, a community plot where Navid often worked. The garden's steward, Nova James, wouldn't be happy with the commotion. She said her seedlings needed peace to grow.

His friend, Will, waved to him from the edge of the crowd. “Navid! Over here!”

“This feels like a street party,” Navid said. “I can't wait to see Michael.”

Will poked Navid in the arm. “I heard you're going to fight Aron today.”

“That's right,” Navid said. “After today, he's going to shut his mouth for good.”

“Huh,” Will said.

“What?” Navid asked, annoyed by his friend's lack of enthusiasm for his upcoming battle.

“You're gonna get in trouble,” Will said. “With Mr. Baine and your father. What if they don't let you come to classes anymore?”

“You think I should just let him call me a traitor? Call my father a—” Navid sputtered. He was too furious to even repeat the insult. Even worse, the possibility of being banned from Mr. Baine's school was a wrinkle that hadn't occurred to him before. He loved school, and it would be a disaster to lose the privilege.

“Speaking of your father—he's right over there,” Will said, pointing toward the front of the crowd. Brian was near the stone wall that enclosed the community garden.

“Do you want to come with me when I fight Aron?” Navid asked hopefully.

“My mother's here,” Will said. “She'll make me go home with her.”

“Navid!” Brian was calling to him.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Navid told his friend, and ducked into the crowd as the spectators began to sing a ballad about the Battle for Aeren Island. The familiar tune made Navid's pulse quicken, and he felt proud that so many of his people had turned out to see Michael.

“Where's Mr. Henry—“Navid asked his father, but the crowd roared the answer as the thirty-five-year-old street speaker climbed up on the wall with feline agility. Michael was taller than Navid's father, and with his shaved head, someone might mistake him for a ruffian until they heard him speak. Once, Katherine joked that Michael didn't say words during his speeches but instead, he spoke golden coins that the people couldn't help but gather for themselves.

“Welcome, brothers and sisters!” Michael called. He surveyed the crowd with a wide smile. His gaze fell on Navid, who was standing just below him near the wall. He crouched down and offered his hand. Navid reached up and took it, his boots scrabbling on the stone wall before he settled down by the feet of the great man himself.