Chapter 1 - Starharbor
Time passed: to begin with…
“Mr. Grey, aren’t you pleased?” asked Ms. Maysey.
Mr. Grey’s eyes had been tracking his feet as he took precise, backwards steps on the jelly-covered comet rolling underneath. Now the grey eyes flashed sideways at Ms. Maysey. “Pleased, Ms. Maysey?” said Mr. Grey. “What makes you ask?”
“We’re home! After such an exhausting number of moats.”
“Not quite home. So far it’s endless jelly.”
“I think those are Starharbor’s flamelights in the distance.” Ms. Maysey pointed ahead while they backpedaled on the forward-rolling comet. She had the advantage of watching her feet with her prime eyes, and scouting with her mice’s.
Mr. Grey brought his eyes up for another flash and craned his neck around the stack of luggage in his arms. “Probably Starharbor’s,” he agreed. “It’s just glows and silhouettes in the smog. It’ll be clearer as we get closer.”
“I just thought you’d be, possibly, you know… struck? You look unmoved.”
Before Mr. Grey could answer they heard a splash from behind, at the base of the comet. A foot stamped the shallow waves of jelly. Jodee’s voice followed. “Dag nabbit! This jelly’s colder than a wheelhouse stoop. Jump in and help push.”
“Sorry Jodee,” said Mr. Grey. He looked around but saw no way to stow his held luggage. “Ms. Maysey, could you hold our suitcases while we roll the comet?”
“M-me?” said Ms. Maysey. “All of it, by myself?”
“Seems like this jelly’s caustic,” said Jodee.
“What!” squealed Ms. Maysey.
“The boulder’s getting smaller. Without some extra shove it’ll be ate-up before we reach port.”
Mr. Grey was just about to slide off when Ms. Maysey spoke. “No, no, no! You’re better at balancing, Mr. Grey. You hold the luggage and backwalk the comet. Jodee and I will push.”
Ms. Maysey, uncharacteristically, jumped-to. She stacked her suitcase and Jodee’s alwayslush into Mr. Grey’s already-laden arms. The Ms. Maysey slid down the jelled comet. She began wetly plodding through the jiggly waves, slowly rolling the comet forward in the jelly lake. They left a long, re-congealing trail in their wake.
“This jam is reallytruly icebergish,” said Ms. Maysey after a short span of pushing. She stopped and shivered.
Mr. Grey adjusted his foot pace for Jodee’s solo effort. He said, “I can probably push with my back while holding our stuff. Easier than balancing on slimy footing.”
“No worries Jodee and I have it,” Ms. Maysey wafted her pipe smoke away and coughed out the portion she’d inhaled. She splashed quickly through the jelly to rejoin Jodee.
“Why’re we shoving this stupid rock in the first place?” asked Jodee. She shoved hard, forcing Mr. Grey to quick-step. “Especially now it’s dissolving. Let’s walk into town.”
“We need a vessel to enter Starharbor,” said Mr. Grey.
“Why?”
“Starharbor Port Authority goes by ship’s log. It’s how they track incoming passengers. I’ll pencil-push a log once we’re on shore, but we need the ship.”
“Ugh, that’s mind-shaving… Well? See any shore then, Mr. Weathervane?”
Mr. Grey peeked around his luggage-laden arms again while keeping careful footing. “Just far off lights. An endless plane of jiggling waves. There’s too much smog. But that means we must be close.”
“Is there a cape or beach we can hit that’s closer?”
“I don’t see anything… There’s some floating abandoned-luggage islands. They don’t look stable. Not strong enough for a boulder.”
“Anything you recognize?”
“In the luggage?”
“Anything that says how close. Or what side of town we’re rolling into?”
“I never sailed the lakes. Aside from ‘shallow and cold’ what’s the jelly like?”
“Choppy. And the bed is crispy.”
“It’s. Like. Toast.” huffed Ms. Maysey.
Mr. Grey leaned back and tilted his head to keep balance with the shifting stone. “Hang on. There’s something written in the overcast sky.”
“What’s it say?” asked Jodee.
“‘Welcome back’. Oh, hello Wind.”
The Gaunt, Brooding, Hungry Wind joined them in a flutter. “Hello Mr. Grey. Hello Ms. Maysey. Hello Jodee.” With each greeting, her voice came as a longer, gloomier sigh. Her words made small, jiggly waves on the shallow lake.
“Something the matter, Wind?” asked Mr. Grey.
“A heavy day of downpours. I just feel it’s coming.” The Wind blew a fourth, morose sigh.
“Think you could give a helpful push toward Starharbor?”
The Wind made some halfhearted gusts at the comet, blowing the same direction Jodee and Ms. Maysey were pushing.
“Jeepers, that’s chilly,” said Jodee. Her teeth chattered, as though applauding the cold, above-the-waist waves.
“I can hardly feel my legs,” said Ms. Maysey with a whimper. “I’ll be numb from toes to mice now!”
“Wind, I didn’t think that through,” said Mr. Grey. “Could you actually stop blowing?”
The Wind wailed as if stabbed. “I knew you’d ask me to leave!” She flew across the jelly and into the sky. She sent the overcast clouds roiling.
Jodee gave another forceful push, keeping Mr. Grey on his heels. She paused while the comet rolled ahead of her. “Where are you at exactly?” She called to Mr. Grey. She tried rubbing heat back into the jelly-damped sparks of her robe.
“You mean in Starharbor?” asked Mr. Grey.
“Mr. Grey’s… got a… fancy… workers’-prison… cell…” said Ms. Maysey.
“I’ve heard of those,” said Jodee. She splashed forward and returned her hands to the comet. “What’s it like?”
Mr. Grey said, “One room. Brick walls. A door and a window.”
“That’s plain-flavored. What else?”
“There’s a shelf, a desk, and a bed. Sometimes I watch from the window. I can see the jelly pushers plowing the street.”
“The king’s men always made those prisons sound like paradise; oases in the Starharbor desert. Bunch of minions. Just another cell to be sad in.”
“I’ve missed it. I think I’ll add more to look at on the inside. But I’ve missed the small stool by the shelf, and the hanging icicles across the street. I’ve even missed the cleaner who dusted and scrubbed wherever I tried to sit.”
“What block’s this cell on?” asked Jodee. “In case we need to regroup.”
Before he could answer, Ms. Maysey asked, “Mr. Grey, do you see Starharbor yet?”
“Still just the lake. Are there bits of grit in the jelly?”
“There are! How’d you guess? It’s getting between my toes.”
“I’m closer to the waves. This comet’s shrinking fast. I might as well slide down and help.”
“No!” said Ms. Maysey. She gave the comet a more forceful shove and sent heavy globules of splashing. Jodee cursed and tried to keep up.
Mr. Grey began, “But-”
“Just do some signals. I mean, if you think that’s right? It’s just, you said we’d need a vessel.”
Mr. Grey thought for a moment. “I could light a candle and wave it maybe. Not with my hands full of baggage.”
“Forget the signal,” said Jodee decisively. “And forget pushing. Mouse lady - Ms. Maysey, I mean - and myself; we’ll push the comet. We’ll get you to shore. You keep your balance, keep our stuff, and keep those grey peepers open.”
Some moments passed in silence; well, silence of speech. Jodee and Ms. Maysey still plodded through the warbling jelly waves. The boulder still ground like a pestle over the crispy lake bed. Mr. Grey still strode backward with splashing footsteps on the glazed boulder. All three still heard the distant sobs of The Wind.
The sky turned overcast. The air felt crisp on the skin, and gusted at their wet robes.
Mr. Grey’s feet moved quicker and quicker as the comet dissolved in the stone-eating jelly. He snatched a glance at the smoggy horizon between the fronds of Jodee’ alwayslush. “I think I see one light getting closer,” he said, after checking the view in triplicate.
“Like a lighthouse?” asked Ms. Maysey.
“Or a boat? Is someone coming?” added Jodee hurriedly.
“I can’t say. The Wind makes darker clouds just as the smog thins.”
“Mr. G. I’ve been thinking,” said Jodee. “Tell me where your prison cell’s situated. I’ll find you later on.”
“So we split at the docks?”
“Split now. The ruby tape of docking’s gonna knead my skin.”
“I can’t push this big stone by myself,” said Ms. Maysey with a whimper.
“It’s not so big anymore.”
“Besides,” added Mr. Grey, “I’ve got your plant. Plus I can just show you the prison. I’m not even sure of these reforms’ forms. We’ve got some planning ahead.”
“Dag nabbit! We’ll fix battle-plans once I come to visit-”
“The comet’s dissolving completely!” said Ms. Maysey with a high, squeaky voice. She put her back into the smoothed, shrunken stone. Mr. Grey sprinted backwards.
“Ms. Maysey,” said Mr. Grey, trying to get her attention. Ms. Maysey ignored him and continued straining. “Ms. Maysey,” he tried again, barely keeping his footing now. Jodee had stopped several paces back. She watched Ms. Maysey roll Mr. Grey forward with folded arms and a raised brow. “Ms. Maysey I can’t- Oh there’s no helping it.”
Mr. Grey hopped off the side of the comet; a short drop into the shallow lake. The jelly glugged to his waist, but he held their belongings above the waves. Jodee walked up and took her alwayslush from the heavy pile. Ms. Maysey rolled the comet a little farther before she noticed Mr. Grey had disembarked.
The eyes in Ms. Maysey’s hair bulged when they saw Mr. Grey in the jelly. “Mr. Grey,” She squealed and trudged toward him through the morass. “Quick. Drop the suitcases. Stand on top. Hurry. You’re already soaking.”
She rushed up and grabbed her own suitcase off the stack. She tried standing it sideways in the lake for him to stand on, but the leather bag slithered back to the aspic surface. Mr. Grey said, “Ms. Maysey, what’s the trouble?”
“Aren’t your legs burning?”
“My legs? Actually they’re cold now. So are yours I’d guess. Why would my legs burn?”
“The jelly, Mr. Grey. It eats stone.”
“Ms. Maysey… my skin isn’t stone. You know that?”
“I wasn’t-”
“That just wouldn’t work. How would I breath if I were stone?”
“Hmmm, I hadn’t considered breathing,” admitted Ms. Maysey. Her hyperventilating ceased, and she pulled her sopping suitcase from the jelly with a squelch.
“Too bad about our vessel,” said Jodee. She frowned after their comet; just then separating into fragments.
“Buck up, MIAs. I’ll sort you,” cried a new voice.
The three turned and looked off the side. Through the thick Starharbor smog and overcast gloom of the sky, a single glow had drawn closer. It came like a searchlight, atop a low-growling, dragon-engine-driven, blade-fronted machine.
“Climb aboard,” said the voice. The searchlight flashed off. A head wearing an iron worker’s cap poked from a glass cab at the top.
“Mr. York,” said Mr. Grey and Ms. Maysey at once.
Mr. Grey turned to Jodee. “Our boss,” he explained.
“Awww. Roaches,” said Jodee under her breath.
Jack York’s private jelly pusher chugged on three sets of centipede tracks through the shallow reservoir of jelly. Its blade scooped and threw jiggly waves against the tiny, four-sided glass box atop the chassis. The dragon-engine’s rattle made the windows of the box shiver within their rusty metal frames.
Behind these windows, Jack York sat at the controls. Ms. Maysey, Jodee Coats, and Mr. Grey crammed themselves in the cab with him: Ms. Maysey perched on the dash with her mice hair bobbing at each shake in the pusher, Jodee scrunched on the grated floor between Jack’s legs, and Mr. Grey loomed behind Jack, pressed between the control seat and the rear window.
“Grey,” said Jack suddenly, glancing over his shoulder, “stop leaning heavy. You’re compromising my spinal support.”
“Sorry, Mr. York,” said Mr. Grey. He pressed harder against the back glass, which stopped vibrating.
“Do me a favor; throw the wiper lever. Can’t see a blasted mote in this slosh.”
The two wipers on the front window whirred into motion, carving through the jelly splashing up as they ran round and round in circles. One spun tickerwise, the other coutertickerwise; making two spectacle-like disks on the glass. Jack York peered ahead. He said, “Grey, who’s your friend between my feet?”
Jodee spoke up from the floor, behind the fronds of her alwayslush. “Where’d you find this jalopy?” The vibration of the floor grating gave her voice the sound of speaking through a fan.
“Old fixer-upper,” said Jack. He grabbed his metal thermos from where it rattled and sloshed in the cupholder. He took a long swig. “Retrieved after the war. Been restoring the rig for ages.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t decide to take it for a random spin?”
“Knew you’d entered Starharbor’s moatspace. Telecard message. Private office line.” Jack York gave Mr. Grey a sour look.
“How is the office, sir?” asked Mr. Grey.
“She stands.”
“Have those reforms gone into effect?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” said Jack in a lowered voice. He glanced at the dash. “You too Maysey.”
“I hope it’s reallytruly soon,” said Ms. Maysey. She shied from Jack’s eyes and squeezed into the corner. “My stomach’s absolutely vacant, and-”
“Maysey! Are you still playing afflicted?”
“No sir! It’s just- I’m a little- You know- Hungry.”
“You can’t walk in, sit down, and master these reforms in a tock. You’ve got to be tougher now.” Jack harrumphed. He backed off when he saw the mice-hair quivering. “I think there’s an ever-ready bean-pack in the locker. Grey, make yourself useful. Prep some chow for Maysey.”
Mr. Grey shuffled aside a mismatched screwdriver set, some used Kleenex, and an edged tool which looked suspiciously knife-ish. He found the ever-ready-bean-pack at the bottom of the jelly pusher foot locker. He read the instructions on the back, twice. He tore a corner and shook the bag with swift, steady, mechanical arm-pumps. While he prepared Ms. Maysey’s meal, he looked for Starharbor through one of the lenses made in the jelly by the wipers.
Mr. Grey’s expression budged not a flake, but his heart gamboled like a puppy at play while watching for Starharbor through the window. The Gaunt, Brooding, Hungry Wind now wept her promised downpour of jelly rain, adding to the slush-waves pushed up by their plow. Yet to Mr. Grey, even the jiggly drenching appealed. The million little jelly drops spattering against their Wind-shield seemed like so many stars as they rolled along; traveling through an overcast, smoggy air that was like space; themselves like cosmonauts, sounding the deep, dark sky. With every rattle and chug of their engine, the triple tracks of the pusher dragged them closer to those bright glows - will-o’-wisps in the distant wall of heavier smog - that were the flamelights of Starharbor. The lights of Mr. Grey’s home.
For a time, Mr. Grey watched the waves and rain in the peaceful, growling, rattling ambiance. A breathless wish to see his city, and an apprehension of it, tumbled round like blood-feuding butterflies in his throat.
Mr. Grey noticed a crooked, metal thumb-post sticking from the lake. The signs on it had fallen off; the iron pole served as a forgotten marker on a road that no longer existed. Mr. Grey asked, “Mr. York, what is this lake that’s so shallow and vast?”
“New development; since you left,” said Mr. York after another swallow from the thermos. “Street jelly overflow. Damaging the infrastructure. City organized a mass push. An epoch or two back. Huge-public works project.”
“The bed felt crispy under the surface,” said Ms. Maysey. Her mouse eyes followed the bean pack shaken by Mr. Grey.
“Used to be a crackerplant field.” The other three nodded in understanding. “The city even cleared some extra space with their push. Two new bean factory districts coming to Starharbor in the next dozen eons. Well, the next government’s-dozen anyway.”
“At least three score then,” said Jodee. Jack York nodded.
“I think it’s a good change,” said Mr. Grey.
“You do?” asked Jack. He turned to Mr. Grey, and added, “Grey, lean back again. You’re shaking my eardrum crooked.”
“Sorry sir. I meant a new jelly field’s more scenic than a mass cracker plantation. Standing atop the comet, I saw the waves formed these complicated tides and eddies; myriad patterns. Unpredictable, but not purposeless. As though the ripples were individuals, but each worked with his or her neighbors to-”
“Comet? What comet?”
“We flew a comet from Dreamland.”
“Not a train?”
“No Mr. York. The sun batted us home.”
“Grey, I don’t remember the king’s travel services operating on a direct Starharbor-Dreamland line.”
“Mr. Grey, are those beans done?” asked Ms. Maysey. She stared at the pack Mr. Grey had opened. The bag swelled with steam like a balloon. It released a thin whine and trail from the torn corner.
“Oh dear,” said Mr. Grey. He opened the bag, releasing a cloud of hot bean-vapor that fogged the cab-windows. “Ms. Maysey, I overshook it. I’m afraid they’ll taste like refried ever-ready beans.”
“That’s okay. I like them better that way.” Ms. Maysey took the bag from Mr. Grey and nibbled the steaming beans in the corner of the dash.
Mr. Grey said, “So Mr. York-”
“Damn it Grey,” said Jack. He leaned sharply forward - making Ms. Maysey and Jodee scrunch back - and turned the glowering brow beneath the workers’ cap on Mr. Grey. “I told you; stop looming by my ear.”
“It’s just a bit cramped here, sir.”
“There’s gratitude for you,” Jack grumbled. He settled back to the worn leather seat. “Well? Speak up.”
“I wondered if I had a work backlog sitting on my cubicle desk.”
“Some.”
“I’d like to get a head start. I’ve learned things and had ideas since I left. Things I’d like to ‘add to’ or ‘fix in’ our pencil pushing process.”
“‘Add to’, eh? ‘Fix in’, eh?”
“You could drive us straight to the office. Then I-”
“No!” came Jodee’s vibrated-voice from the metal floor. “I’m jumping this box as soon as we strike land.”
“In the meantime,” said Jack, “get off my damn leg, would you lady? Can’t feather the engine if you’re straddling my calves.”
Jodee shifted herself into a tighter ball. She kept the alwayslush between her and Jack York. She added, under the growl of the engine, “I didn’t ask to get ‘rescued’ in some loud, junky, brain-shaking rattletrap.”
Jack York pushed a lever on the dash up a notch. Their centipede tracks crunched faster over the former crackerfield. “As for you, Grey,” he added, “things are different. It’s a whole new frontier. These aren’t boot camp reforms; they’re down-in-the-muck reforms; nothing between you and a strike-force of change but a pen and a word machine. You need to jump in. But jump in slowly. These reforms-”
A twisting, tortured screech of metal on metal sounded beneath the cab. Jack leapt from his seat. He accidentally pressed hard on the floor pedal, setting their engine roaring, sending their plow blasting forth. Over the clamor Jack York shouted, “Report! Grey; what’s our damage! Maysey; where’s it coming from!”
“I think we just crushed some old barbwire, sir,” said Mr. Grey. Ms. Maysey only quivered.
“Barbwire? Here? Why?”
“Perhaps it’s the old border fence. This was a crackerplant field.”
“Right,” said Jack. He sank suspiciously into his seat and let off the engine. “Now you mention it, I ran over it on the way in too.”
“If that was the field boundary, we’ll reach Starharbor soon,” said Mr. Grey. He, Ms. Maysey, and Jack York all squinted through the lenses of wipered glass between cascades of plowed Jelly. Jodee only rustled behind her alwayslush.
“I can’t wait to be back in my own cozy cell,” Ms. Maysey said, between mouthfuls of steaming, mushy beans.
“What’ll you do first?” asked Mr. Grey.
“A bath. Goodness I’ve missed those. Not to say I haven’t found ways of staying clean,” she added with a timid glance at Jack York. “Those Glory Days steam showers did wonders for my pores. But there’s nothing like a nice, long, stone-cold bath of rusty Starharbor water - full of desiccated boxelder bugs - to buck up one’s health.”
“Maysey,” said Jack sharply, “are you still griping like you’ve got the fits?”
“No-no sir,” she said, eyes alarmed. She gulped and added, “But you know; and Mr. Grey also knows; and I don’t suppose there’s harm in Jodee knowing; about my diagnosis: ‘Hopelessly Neurotic and Intractably Hypochondriacal’.”
“That’s a doctor who knows his stuff,” said Jodee.
“I thought your sabbatical cured you?” asked Mr. York.
Ms. Maysey said, “Not to contradict, sir - reallytruly, never! - but a sabbatical is more of a treatment than a cure, per se.”
“‘Sweeping changes’, I said. The Justice Center’s not a walk-in-the-flowers place anymore. It’s a damned war zone.” Jack took another long drink from his shaker, shook his head like a wet dog, and went on moodily. “That treatment better have made you ready. You need to be tougher.” Ms. Maysey shivered. “You need to be on your toes at all times, prepared for surprises on every page of every form.” Ms. Maysey swooned. “You need to show you were born with a mouthful of fangs, ready for biting.” Ms. Maysey would have toppled from the dash, except Mr. Grey propped her up with a stiff arm.
Jack York had spoken at Ms. Maysey, but kept glancing over his shoulder to Mr. Grey. Now Mr. Grey asked, “Are the changes so dramatic, sir?” His voice and face remained stony, but a grey-eye flick to Jodee’s alwayslush betrayed anticipation.
Jack York waved his hand to dismiss the thought. Then he asked, “By the way Grey, where’s that gun I gave you?”
Mr. Grey, instead of answering, pointed through the wiper lens. “Starharbor’s coming into view.”
Jodee raised her head from the floor, Ms. Maysey shook off her swoon, and all four peered through the glass.
Starharbor! As Mr. Grey remembered. There were its stilt houses and skyscrapers; climbing into clouds, layer-after-layer-after-layer of stone and metal and glass, waving flamelight banners at their pinnacles. There were the dragon trams chugging down narrow jelly canals, throwing onto the street murky jelly waves, where they flash-froze into jelly rime. There were the sprawl of shops and services: wheelhouses, finders’ offices, graffiti-clad hovels with collapsing roofs and boarded windows. There were the galleries of factories; with countless columns of smokestacks; sending legions of dark smoke to join the atmosphere; filling the air with the inimitable smell of chemically-processed beans. There lay Starharbor; preserved - it seemed to Mr. Grey - in glass, and smog, and frozen jelly.
Mr. Grey felt, on seeing home, an overwhelming joy. Part of Mr. Grey knew that a visitor from Wine Medo might see Starharbor and call it ‘forlorn’; that a Glory Days local might complain of its being ‘dark’. But to Mr. Grey, the thick smog and the overcast sky only made the frozen jelly glimmer brighter when the sun made his infrequent visits through the clouds. To Mr. Grey, the broken glass and austere stone of the houses made the graffiti catch a passer’s eye. The predatory wheelhouses and finders’ offices made the comfort and company of friends so much more valuable by comparison. Love for Starharbor didn’t blind Mr. Grey to its faults, but it allowed him to forgive them.
Mr. Grey saw his sentiments reflected in the faces of his fellow riders, even in Jodee’s. He said, “I didn’t realize… Not until this moment.”
Jack York glanced at Mr. Grey with a shrewd slant to his eyes, and must have thought the moment a good one for striking. He said, “By-the-way Grey. Those reforms. We’re here now, so you should know. Comes down to this; every Migration Office document requiring a signature, will now also require… a date.”
Jack York rushed his eyes back to the window. He showed intense focus on steering the jelly pusher. When no response came he glanced at his passengers. Mr. Grey and Ms. Maysey wore the same, blank expression. Jodee wore one of disgust. Mr. Grey said, “Is that it, Mr. York?”
“Is that it? Grey, this changes the face of modern pencil pushery. You know you’ll need to reset your efficiency expectations.”
“I’d actually hoped for something more.”
Jodee let off a vibrating, explosive huff behind her fake plant. “I just knew it! I told you Mr. G. I told you King’s Law wouldn’t change one bit. Didn’t I say!”
“Hold a moment,” said Jack. He reached and pushed aside the fronds of Jodee’s alwayslush. He squinted at her. “Grey, who’s this irregular? Answer now, no evading.”
Mr. Grey said, “This is Ms. Coats. Jodee Coats, sir. But there’s more to-”
“That girl you fixed on tracking? The Odormoat-defier? And you found her? Damn me, Grey.”
Jodee said, “Aww. Rodents.” She sank almost flat against the grated metal, a defeated pout on her face.
Mr. Grey said, “Sir, I think you should pause before driving her right to the bouncers.”
“To the bouncers?”
Mr. Grey glanced at Jodee. “I thought you’d bring her in since she broke King’s Law.”
“Do I look like a bouncer? I’m a working stiff, Grey. Same as most guys. Just an office man trying to survive. This Coats is your problem. Her handling’s yours to figure.”
Jodee sighed with relief and sat back up. Mr. Grey said, “Thank you sir. Now about this new date reform.”
“You’ll adjust. You and Maysey both. You have to.”
“Sir, I’m not as overwhelmed as you seem to think.”
“Are you telling me what I think?”
“No, Mr. York. I only mean Jodee and I were hoping for something larger. Possibly more helpful?”
Jack York’s brow wrinkled. Without looking at Mr. Grey, he said, “Didn’t expect that.”
They heard a sharp whistle beyond the cab windows. Jack York grabbed an old ships-wheel at the side of the door and spun it, rolling the left pane down. Jelly rain splashed through the opening on all four while the jelly-pusher stopped and rattled idly.
A moment later a drenched man in a government-steel umbrella hat climbed up the track wells. He poked his umbrella-topped head inside and peered at the four from under its brim.
“Is there a Mr. Grey, a Ms. Maysey, and a Jodee Coats within this conveyance?” asked the man. He held out a bouncers’ ID; a shiny rectangle of metal, embossed on the front with the words ‘King’s Guy’.
Jack York said, “Picked ‘em out the lake. Looking to dock. Got them on the manifest.”
Jack plunged a searching hand into his footlocker. The bouncer cut him short. “No need. The Wind said you were coming. I’ve got something for Ms. Coats.” He dug into the flooded pockets of his oilskin robe. After a moment he drew a folded, sopping sheet of parchment. He passed the note inside. Jodee stretched a tentative hand, took the note, unfolded it, and read. Though Mr. Grey couldn’t see the words in the dim light, he recognized the form.
“A subpoena,” said the bouncer in a matter-of-fact voice. “You’re ordered to appear before the king’s court. You’ve been accused of breaking King’s Law, and fomenting rebellion. I’m to escort you to the Court Processing Sub-Complex of the Regional Justice Center.”
Jodee looked up from the parchment at Mr. Grey. Not with anger or resentment, but with a flatness to her usually-bright eyes suggesting a feeling of defeated submission. Mr. Grey’s shrug expressed the same.
Jodee said, “Aww. Damn it.”