“But what about Mom?” Pinkov asked. At least, Derik thought it was Pinkov. It could have been him voicing Smique. It was hard to tell since he wasn’t used to the radio actors. They were oh so distinct from the box actors.

  There was the sound of shuffling, as if there was a tussle in the classroom. Or something to that effect. It was always hard to tell with these radio shows. Derik never had a knack for understanding them. “Beat it, you!”

  Pinkov asked, “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Rivan,” the overly masculine voice said. There was a shove. Pinque grunted, then there was a scraping sound. “And scram, okay? This here’s my seat. It has been since last year.”

  “But it's the first day of school.”

  “Yeah. Are you implying something?”

  “No.”

  “Listen, kid,” Rivan said. “My father’s the CEO of Desmire Industries. He built this town himself. It means he owns everything. I own everything. This school. The chair. Your house. I even own you, kid. So why don’t you—”

  Ema turned off the radio. “The version on the box is better.” She dug into her eggs some more, eating slowly but surely. The only sound came from them scraping plates with forks. They ate scrambled eggs in Derik’s workshop. The dust soaked place was inopportune for a date, but it was quick to set up. With how busy they both were, every second they could get counted. Which made Deriks' stunt the other day the ultimate betrayal. Derik sighed. He should come out and say what they were both thinking. “I messed up,” he said. “I know I did. I’m sorry. I—”

  “No,” Ema said. “Don’t apologize. I get it. It sounded like your Aunt really needed you..” She smiled at Derik, and it cut deep. His first big lie to Ema. If she knew the truth, Ema would not be this forgiving. She may even call it off with him. And it would get worse from here. Terran would want Derik again. He would have to make up more lies. Each day, Derik waited for Pisk to order him back into the sewers. It had not come yet, but it would. The blacksmith could not escape the day of revolution.

  “Derik?” Ema asked. “Yoo hoo! Derik.”

  Derik snapped back to reality. Ema gave another insincere smile. “S-sorry,” he said. “I-I’ve been distracted.”

  Ema glanced at the pile of metal in the corner of the room. “Are you feeling unsure ?”

  “Yes,” Derik said, clapping his hands. A new talking point. That was good. Anything to change the subject. “Yes. I mean, it is a strange commission for me. Have no idea what to do with the hilt. I’ve never even made a weapon before. You’d think he’d go to someone more qualified, but…”

  “You’re very qualified,” Ema said. “That heater you made me still works, good as it was on the first day. Honestly, I’m surprised more people aren’t commissioning you.” She took a bite of egg and swallowed.

  They continued eating in silence. Derik tried to think of something to cut through, but came up with only the most basic of questions: “How’s the promotion going?”

  Ema continued chewing for a few seconds, then she swallowed. She lifted a finger, as she waited. Derik sat in place, fighting back the urge to cough. A cough would affirm the awkward divide between them. “It’s fine,” Ema said at last. “Pay’s real good. Though the hours are long. And I’ve been getting recognized too.”

  “Recognized?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Some old man approached me in the grocery store the other day. Asked if I was that ‘box’ lady. There were three guys who asked me out. One woman blamed me for poisoning the milk supply, whatever that meant. And then there was this other guy: big shoulders, greased back hair. He stared at me kinda weird, but I’m pretty sure he knew me from the news.”

  “Oh.” Derik’s arm started trembling, and he hid it beneath the table. It wasn’t Pisk, he told himself. There were loads of broad people in this city with slicked back hair. Heck, Derik had been one of them once. It wasn’t Pisk keeping tabs. It couldn’t be…

  “But other than that.” Ema shrugged. “Kind of just going through the motions. You?”

  “Oh same,” Derik said. “Same.” They continued to eat in silence. He hoped that Button would show at some point, offer some distraction, but that finicky feline was nowhere to be found. He had a tendency to wander off for a few days at a time, so Derik wasn’t worried. Still, his presence would be welcomed right now.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Derik flinched at each knock. Such ferocity. It had to be Pisk. He wished to leave it be, but then Ema moved to answer. “I got it,” Derik said, a bit too loud. “Just stay put. You’ve been running around enough too much as is.” He gave Ema a loving touch as he rounded past her, before reaching the door. A young woman was on the other side. She wore a tattered hood and cloak, and shades covered her eyes. Much of her face was obscured by the glare from the early morning light. Yet Derik still recognized her. How could he not?

  “Raven?” He stepped back, finding that his legs were now weak. Raven Blackwell was at his doorstep. But how? Why? She was investigating Terran. Was she onto him? Did she suspect Derik was involved? No. She couldn’t. But why else would she be here? She must’ve wanted to talk. Or maybe she was on to him. Maybe she was making an arrest. Yes, an arrest. That had to be it.

  “My gods,” Ema said. She walked up Derik’s side, mouth agape as if Raven were some kind of ghost. “Bl-Blackwell…”

  “Yes, it’s me.” Raven said, scratching the back of her neck. “I’m trying to be under cover though. I figured the disguise would work, but I guess I’m just that recognizable. Though I must say, I am surprised to see you in this neighborhood of all places, scholar.”

  “Wait,” Ema looked at Derik. “You met her?”

  “Yes,” Derik said. “I’m sorry. I guess it slipped my mind.”

  “How could that slip your mind?”

  In response, Derik could only mumble out something about stress. The word made Raven laugh. “Think we’re all stressed these days with all those happenings on the street,” she said. “I mean, you’ve seen the news right?”

  “Y-yes,” Ema said. She neglected to mention the obvious.

  Raven entered Derik’s home, and paced about his workstation. She studied every piece of equipment, all stray hunks of metal, even the half eaten eggs on the table. It seemed she was looking for something. “Have either of you seen anything suspicious,” she asked. “Criminal gatherings, talks of demons? Even if it's just a weird feeling, I need to know.”

  “Nothing,” Ema said. “Why? Should we be worried?”

  “I’m just asking,” Raven said. She looked at Derik. “What about you, scholar? See anything weird on this street?”

  He could do it now. Reveal that Terran was a few hundred feet away. Expose the Order of Broken Chains. Derik glanced at Ema. She smiled at him. A warm smile. Things would get worse if this continued. Derik had to reveal the truth. He approached the open door, ready to do just that, but froze upon seeing the figures across the street. They were hidden well in the early morning traffic, but Derik still recognized them. Zan chatted it up with a brutish looking man. Miros. Derik hadn’t known him, but he knew the face all too well. While Zan spoke, Miros kept his glare on Derik. He patted his side, revealing a silencer which he then hid behind his cloak.

  Raven neared the door. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Derik said, though he was anything but. Terran had guards now. Of course he did. That demon was prepared for a betrayal. If Derik revealed the truth, Raven may find herself walking into a deathtrap. She might kill Terran, but Ema and he would be lost before that. Feigning ignorance would be best. “I’m sorry. It's just my cat. Thought I saw him but I didn’t.”

  Raven asked, “How long has your cat been gone?”

  “A few days,” Ema said. “But it's normal for a stray.”

  “He’ll show,” Raven said. She leaned against one of Derik’s counters. “Cats always do. So, could you answer my question then? Have you seen anything?”

  Derik still felt Miros’ glare. “No,” he said. “I’ve seen nothing.”

  “I see,” Raven said. The tone was flat. Was she disappointed or suspicious? It was hard to tell when the shades covered her eyes. “Well, I must be off. Much as I’d like to stick and chat, I’ve got many other streets to check. So thank you.”

  “Wait wait wait,” Ema said, stepping forward. “Do you mind if I ask a question?”

  “Uh sure,” Raven said. “Ask away.”

  “Your father,” Ema said. “When he started Diveky news, did he use CX-45 cameras or CB-35b cameras? I know it's an odd question, but I’ve been dying to know. Figure it was better to learn straight from the source.”

  “CB-35b,” Raven said. “They are more sensitive.”

  “I knew it,” Ema said. She fished around in her pocket, and got out a piece of paper with furiously written notes on it. “One more thing. Could you sign this? I know it's weird, but…”

  Raven crossed her arms, then stepped back. She seemed lost in thought, as if debating on if this was a good idea or not. Ultimately, she shrugged and signed the note card anywhere. “Raven Blackwell. There! Here you go.”

  “Thank you so much!”

  Derik nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “No problem, scholar,” Raven said. “Say, how have the books been?”

  Ema smiled. “The books?”

  “He rented like twenty encyclopedias from the library.” Raven leaned against one of the counters, arms crossed. “He was hobbling a little too, ‘cause of the weight of all those books. How’s that treating you, by the way?”

  “I-it’s fine,” Derik said. The pain was gone at the very least, though his limp still held him back from time to time. He stole another glance across the street. The men had yet to go away.

  “Good to hear it, scholar.”

  “A scholar?” Ema gasped, hand on her side. “Really? You, Derik?”

  “I wanted to see what I could learn,” Derik said. He backed away and yawned, figuring he could hide his fear as he whipped his face. “I figured there’s always something in the library. But I was too enthusiastic. The books were too dense. I read like three pages of one and returned them all.”

  “There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Ema said. “I for one think it's lovely that you're trying something new. I’ve been meaning to go to the library for some time. Perhaps we could go together.”

  Raven said, “You can always try the University. The libraries there are actually organized. Books are newer too.”

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  “No no no,” Derik said. “I very much like my lot here. No need to change things at all. It was just curious, but it was a one time thing. I’m not, like, going into law or anything.” It was only when he finished that Derik realized that he had said the whole thing in one half-panicked breath. Both women stared at him. He tugged his collar. “Sorry about that, the heat gets to me sometimes. I didn’t mean to distract you from your work.”

  “Right,” Raven said. She walked backwards towards the exit, avoiding the floor's hidden dents as if she lived here her whole life. “I’ve got to get back to it. But I’ll be sure to keep in touch, scholar.”

  “Oh,” Derik said. “You don’t have to.”

  “Nonsense.” Raven snapped her fingers. “I already know where you work.”

  She kicked the door while walking back. It opened in full. Bright morning light overwhelmed the musty workshop. Raven turned left, then rushed off in a blur. The air was still. Ema smiled at Derik, “Wow. Blackwell, at your home. Can you believe it?”

  “No,” Derik said. “I can’t.”

  She rushed out to the door, and looked out the direction Raven had run towards. Derik meandered close behind. Raven had already turned the corner, though they could still hear her. Or the crowds admiring her at the very least. Zan had gone, but Miros remained. Watching.

  “I wonder what she’s investigating,” Ema said. “There could be all sorts of things considering how things are today. Mafia, the drug trade. Even those strange murders from a while back.”

  “Yeah,” Derik said. “So many things.”

  “And to think, she might come back here,” Ema said. “You’ll have to tell me if that happens. You could talk her into a commission. Imagine how famous you’d be after fitting her with something.”

  “Yeah,” Derik said, shuddering at the thought. Raven had to be on to him. Why else would she have announced her return? It wasn’t like he was of any importance. Derik sighed. She had nothing on him. If he were lucky, Derik would get lost in the shuffle in what was to transpire. In a few days’ time, Raven’s investigation would come to a head. Chaos would be sown into the streets, and she’d face Terran once again. With luck, she would do the world a favor and kill that horrid beast.

  ***

  Leon looked out the palace window. The gardens seemed so small from up here. It was strange. When he had first come to Diveky, years ago, they had seemed infinite. Now they were nothing. Though perhaps them being smaller was a blessing. That left more room for farms and workshops.

  Knock. Knock.

  Leon glanced at the door, “You may enter.”

  Sitam entered, and sat opposite of Leon. He glanced back at the kitheria at the rear of the room. He smiled. “Some music could really elevate our victory. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Sighing, Leon leaned back against the wall. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “What’s done is done,” Sitam said. “You can’t change it. Relax tonight. This will be your last peaceful evening for who knows long.” He approached Leon, and hit him in the side. “Smile, my fellow Lord. This is supposed to be a happy occasion.”

  “I know,” Leon said. “I know.”

  “We’ve finally got a chance to right this city,” Sitam said. He looked out the window, and clenched his fist. “Come next year, all of Pansfinre will be unrecognizable.”

  “Not even the hills,” Leon said, standing tall. He turned away and paced about the room. “It will be so. I know. It’s just, ugh, hard to know where to start. So much is uncertain. Will we even be on the throne three months from now?”

  “Leon,” Sitam said, coming close to him. He ruffled Leon’s straightened hair. “Calm down. I’ve got this. You’ve got this. We belong here. Our rule will not fall apart, you know that. Not as long as we’re fierce and powerful. We’re fine. Okay?”

  Leon took a deep breath. Sitam held his hand, and all was better. They looked out to the fields together. Their fields. Their island. All of Pansfinre was theirs. Their blank canvas. They were going to fix what past leaders had wronged. In time, the world would worship their glorious deeds.

  “Terran?”

  The Dark Lord forced himself to focus. He could not let distant thoughts distract him. Not so close to the big day. He looked back to the tailor, who proudly stood against his creation, awaiting judgment.

  It was a simple banner, yet such designs were often the most thought provoking. A thick soupy red served for the background. In front of it was a closed fist, charcoal black, splitting a chain into two through strength alone. This was a passion project of the tailor, one sewn in secret for the revolution. Such loyalty was always something to praise, though Terran had to be careful. If these people grew too passionate, the movement may very well take on a life of its own. “You have outdone yourself,” Terran said. “We shall fly it when we stage our attack.”

  “I don’t know,” Zolin said, crossing his arms. “It’s too antagonistic for my likin’.”

  “‘Course it's antagonistic,” the tailor said. “It’s a revolution. We’re stagin’ war on those upper class snot-faced brutes. I figure this is what we should be going for.”

  “And it is,” Terran said. “All will fear our revolution. Our powerful cause.” This got a few cheers. Though a bit jarring, such dialogue was necessary. Terran was phasing the wealthy out of his jargon, now talking about more general aspects of revolution and loyalty. No one had called him out on it yet, not even Zolin. It was all part of his larger efforts to subtly ensure that this revolt of the people became a revolt for Terran. Though symbols like this were making it difficult. They’d have to be phased out some day. For now though, in the midst of revolt, this contrarian flag would have to do.

  “It’s making me excited just looking at it,” Olska said. He stood just a few feet away from Terran, but had yet to cringe at his haggard form. “How about we keep it down here while we make the final plans?”

  “Yes,” Terran said. “We should keep it here until the day.”

  “Hold it,” Zolin said. “There’s somethin’ we must address first.”

  Terran nodded. He knew what this was about. Zolin wanted him gone. But the foolish idealist would only do so through a democratic vote. That’s why he had waited until now, when all save for Pisk were gathered in one place. Good thing he had a counterargument prepared.

  “I know what you are addressing,” Terran said. “To be frank, we should have addressed it sooner: we are allying with the mafia. Karl Blackwell is their leader. It’s a temporary arrangement, I assure you, to ensure we do not starve. We will beat him back. His men are fierce, but they are not invincible. I defeated many in combat, though he does have more trained men.” Terran went on about the ferocity of the soldiers, hyping them up. As he did, the men recoiled away, giving Terran the center stage.

  “There is another matter,” Zolin interrupted. “About Terran’s loyalties.”

  “I know what you mean,” Terran said. “My talk with Karl was rather concerning. But it was rhetoric, I assure you. We play our part, and he will not expect our betrayal. I also, admittedly, put a number on his men. Working men, according to Zolin. But such is necessary. One man down is one less soldier in our way. One less gun that will fire on all of you. It will make our difficult betrayal just that bit easier.”

  Terran opened the floor for a rebuttal. There was none, of course. The men had gathered in their own corners, muttering to each other as they processed all the bombshells that had been dropped. They tried to hide their fear, but it was in vain. Their jittery movements betrayed them. Such a textbook manipulation, and all had fallen for it. People truly were simple.

  “Guns,” someone said. “Could those improve our chances?”

  “No,” Terran said. “We are too good for that. They will not be needed anyhow. The bombs will be enough. I will take care of any remaining Blackwells.” There. He threw in a bone for Zolin, just to show him his desire for violence wasn’t too great. Of course, he’d be proven a liar on the day but it would be too late by then. “Zolin, do you have any more points to make about Karl?”

  Zolin looked around the room of hesitant men. “Uh no,” he said. “Not about him. About you. You were far too comfortable with Blackwell. It made me uneasy. If you really care about our movement, then how ‘bout you give someone else the reins.”

  “Like you?”

  “Not me,” Zolin said. He scooted back from Terran, appearing small. “But someone. I don't like how you take control of every conversation. This is a movement of equality. Most of the plan is in motion. You can keep quiet.”

  “I do not know if that is wise,” Terran said. “There is much to do, and very little time. Karl knows of our plan, so our deadline is even more ironclad. We must be ready. Yet at the same time, I get your concerns. Equality is important. So let us put it to a vote. Raise your hand if you want me, the one who defeated Blackwell’s army, to stop speaking my mind.”

  Three hands went up, including Zolin’s. Terran nodded. “And how many wish I continue?”

  All the others raised their hands at the same time, united by a common fear. Terran smiled beneath his helmet. “Very well,” he said. “We continue as planned.”

  And so it was. The meeting went on. At its end, people scattered for their stations. There were many last-minute preparations for them to do. Zolin stopped shy of the exit. He afforded a final glance back to Terran. “Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m keeping us in line,” Terran said. “That is all.”

  Zolin seemed poised to say something, but decided against it. He left for the hallway. Terran followed. The planners were talking. The grunts ran for the exits. The caravans planned their routes. The chemical mixers were at their stations. Olska supervised their progress, and worked alongside a somewhat deflated Zolin. Terran let him dominate the conversation now. The man would not protest. Not after the majority had prevailed.

  For the first time in a long time, none reacted to Terran as he passed. None today had complained of his deathly stench, or cringed back at his haggard form. He had redirected their fear to that of Karl. Now they saw him as an equal. Good. That was the first step. At this rate, they would soon worship him as Lord. All was as it should be.

  Terran continued past the crowds. None protested his leaving. Turning the corner, Terran came across Pisk and Derik in the private meeting tunnel. Pisk glanced at Derik, “Should we be discussin’ this in front of him?”

  “It is fine,” Terran said. “Derik is not one to step out of line.” The coward hung his head low in shame, but made no protest to this fact. Terran continued, “Have you procured the guns?”

  Pisk smiled.“Thought we were ‘too good for that.’”

  “Rhetoric,” Terran said. “You know this.”

  “What isn’t amiright?” He laughed, leaning back as if he were talking to an ordinary man. “Look, we’re fine. The guns are in the car. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Good,” Terran said. “You are excused then.”

  The kid strode out of the alleyway. Not even a shudder. Derik walked to Terran’s side, the metallic holster and welder in hand. It had been a last minute order, but Derik had proven himself yet again. He wordlessly got to work. Sparks littered the dim tunnel. There was no burning sensations, just a light pinch by his hip. There was so much metal within Terran that there was nothing to scar. As for Derik, the man kept to his work and kept to it well. He truly was a natural.

  “Tomorrow,” Terran said. “I advise you to keep your people close. Stay in your apartment. I have taken measures to protect you.” Derik continued to weld. All was still. He hit a snag in the welding, a part where he had to crouch down low. Progress slowed. Terran’s mind wandered. That dreadful question returned to his head: What happened after he ruled?

  It was an easy question. One Terran should know, especially on the eve of his glorious return. Yet now, even when he had had days to ponder, Terran still had no idea. There was no one to share the day with. Zolin had his children. The other men had each other. And Derik had Ema. “Blacksmith,” Terran said, looking down. “What are your plans?”

  Derik stopped welding. “My… plans?”

  “For after,” Terran said. He stared off into the distance, and wracked his fingers by his side. “Or to phrase another way, what would your life be like without me? You’d surely marry Ema, but what after that?”

  The blacksmith stammered over himself for several seconds. Terran clenched his fist. Then Derik said, “I-I’m not sure. Maybe we’d move to Pansfinre’s suburbs.”

  “What are those?”

  “New communities,” Derik said. “A place where everyone has a decently sized home, and a field of their own. It sounds nice. A quiet, peaceful life. Moving there has always been a long term goal. It’s the perfect place to raise a family.” The blacksmith smiled briefly, but the smile was soon gone. He got back to welding.

  “Ease up blacksmith,” said Terran. “I wish to have a conversation. You say you want a family. How many kids do you want?”

  Derik eyed him with suspicion. “Three.”

  “A good number,” Terran said. He tried to smile, though the gesture went unappreciated as Derik returned to welding. Terran sighed. “Tell me more about Ema.”

  “What more is there to say?” Derik asked. He lowered his head. “She’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Nicer than any of them. She doesn’t deserve being led along by me. N-not that we’re doing anything wrong of course. Deserve is only a—”

  “Enough!” Terran said. He clenched his fist. “No begging, no apologizing. Let us talk like men.”

  “Talk like me.” Derik gulped. Sweat pooled down his forehead. “Talk about what? I-I don’t understand. What do you want me to do? I’ve told you about Ema. M-My plans. What else could you know about—”

  Terran hit Derik in the face. The man fell to the floor, then rubbed his bruised cheek. Terran said, “There is nothing to understand. Let’s just talk. You and I, as if we were friends.”

  Derik struggled back to his feet. Tears pooled down his eyes; he became a crying mess. “I’ve been in line this whole time. Please. You don’t need to hurt us. And you don’t need to send people to watch my place either. Please. Stop inquiring about Ema. She’s innocent. Don’t have Pisk follow her…”

  Terran sighed. He had no idea what Derik was talking about, but was not in the mood to ask. “I want a break from big speeches and intricate plans. I just want to talk. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Derik said. “What did you wish to talk about?” Terran looked at his fingers. He looked at his side, at the heap of metal and flesh that was his body. Such a sorry state. No longer was he human. Why did he even think a normal conversation was possible, especially after he coerced Derik so often? Derik may talk, but it would never be real. Derik would choose his words carefully, always concerned of revealing too much.

  “Go,” Terran said. “The holster’s on well enough…”

  Derik backed away, then ran off for the exit. Terran sat upon the floor. Though unfinished, his holster was on tight. That was good work. It would have to do. Voices swelled in the distance. The men were gathered in the meeting room, hyping themselves up before the big day. Terran decided against joining them. Appearing in this form would ruin their fun. The big day was upon them, anyhow. This was no time for casual conversations or pointless questions…