The Summer Gate was an elegant barrier between the Darkzone and Haven. It stood tall at the end of a zigzagging pathway, which Elsa climbed from the busy Day Port. As she approached, she could see the image of Haven’s tree wrought in iron and bronze.

Nearby, apprentices from the Agricultural Guild bustled around well-groomed donkeys, checking on the goods within each wagon. Elsa’s mouth watered at the thought of the food hiding beneath the thick canvas covers—cheeses, meats, grains, cured fish, and legumes—all produce brought in from the different production caves. The apprentices eyed her with suspicion as she drew closer, sensing the hunger she could never fully hide. Head down, Elsa skirted the caravan and took up her place in the shadows with her own kind.

This early in the morning, the wrought iron gates remained closed. A service door lay open to the left, large enough for a single person to pass through, but too small for those wishing to bring in carts or wagons. Beyond the thick bars, a great stone staircase climbed all the way to the city’s entrance. Dimmed gaslights lined either side, casting a blue glow on the orange rock. Four guards stood behind the black bars, watching the growing crowd of Smokers with open disdain.

As for the Smokers in question, they ignored both the guards and the apprentices. They had recovered from their shock and their conversations now revolved around the incident at the Night Port.

“What was the child thinking, trying to sneak aboard?”

“I’ve never seen a tip rat fight like that before. I really thought he’d make it.”

“The captain shot him!”

“Of course he did. Give the Black Guardsmen any excuse and they’ll snuff us out like a lantern flame. I just thank the light they don’t all have guns.”

Elsa shuddered with the memory of the red smear on the boy’s chest and the look of shock on his young face. Had Melker known he was shooting at a child? Had he even cared?

Haven’s clock chimed from the city, echoing down the steps and cutting their speculation short. The blue gas lights brightened as the night-time protocol ended and the new day began. The apprentices climbed onto their wagons and formed a line. A guard pushed the Summer Gate open with a meaty hand. Whips cracked and donkeys brayed. The mass of heavy creaking carts moved through, leaving those from the Darkzone behind to choke on their dust.

“Line up,” the guard said.

Smokers shuffled forward. Reaching the front of the queue, Elsa opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. A heavy hand moved her jaw left to right, searching for signs of disease, and then checked her hair for lice. One guard read the Bad Seed number tattooed on her wrist and added it to his record book, while another inspected beneath the tarp of her cart for weapons and contraband. When they were satisfied, they waved her through.

Elsa turned her cart to the tunnel at the right of the stairs, where a dimly lit slope awaited. She put all her weight into the handle and pushed her heavy burden towards the city. She kept to one side, so those with smaller, lighter trolleys might overtake her. The light in the tunnel changed from the warm orange of her lantern to soft blue and finally white. Elsa kept her head down and her lids half-closed, letting her eyes adjust. Not that this measure ever fully prepared her. She passed under another archway and arrived.

Blazing and dazzling, noisy and overwhelming, Haven rose before her. The beautiful city soared upward, drawing the eye along a shaft ten times the size of the Chimney. Dwellings pushed deep into the rock face, each one marked with a balcony and ornate lattice-worked windows. Vertical gardens decorated uncarved walls and hung from bridges and railings. In some places water trickled across the glowing stone. After the dim light of the Darkzone, the city was bright and vibrant.

Elsa craned her neck, and her gaze leapt higher, seeking the city’s main source of light. An artificial sun shone on Haven, a shimmering orb made from tightly packed cables and glass that hid the upper reaches in a veil of white. Elsa squinted into the bright sphere and closed her eyes fully against the brilliance.

Haven smelt of baked bread, hot tea and perfume. These pleasant scents flavoured the air, drawing Citizens onto their balconies to check the progress of the stalls in the square far below. Dressed in their best, they added rich colour to the Light Well. They navigated their city without hesitation, strolling along the bridges and walkways, descending the broad stairs between levels with large, excited steps. There was no need for caution: no one watched their feet as they walked or pressed their back against the rock face; no one fought against heavy, tugging vertigo; and no one checked around bends or glanced over their shoulder to see who was following. With light to guide their path, the inhabitants of Haven were free.

Elsa pushed her cart into Sun Square, which was still a chaotic mess of people and equipment. Foldaway tables, tarps and carts cluttered the cobblestone plaza. She traversed these undefined alleyways and headed for her allocated area on the far side of the marketplace.

The space was directly in front of the Keeper’s apartments. Apprentices and guild members scurried in and out of the main door, and guards manned the entrance, making it a place of constant scrutiny. Elsa would have hated it, if it weren’t for the Sunlight Clock. The timepiece sat above the Keeper’s balcony, a jewel in a crown of glass. Crafted from gold and other precious metals, the beautiful clock had never skipped a beat nor sung a false time.

Elsa manoeuvred her cart between a stall of clay pots and another of dyed yarn. She chocked the wheels, unpacked her tables and put on her most pleasant expression. She was ready for business.

***

The Sunlight Clock ticked on. Morning turned to afternoon. Noise and movement filled the square. Performers from the Art Guild roamed the alleyways, juggling and doing magic tricks for lumieres, and food carters called out the price of hot drinks and hearty stews.

Smokers sat on the broad steps behind Elsa. They packed together, enjoying the only natural light some would see all week. The brightness seemed to soften their hard edges and encourage their generosity. Enemies shared gossip and news, leaving long held grudges back in the Darkzone. Everyone was relaxed, polite and determined to be merry.

Elsa half-listened to their chatter and laughter while she worked. Brushes, screws and pins spread across her small repair table. Small jars of grease, oil and cleaning fluid sat in a row on the open lid of her toolbox. A wind-up gramophone held her attention. The owner had complained the handmade music player no longer worked as it should and implied, very loudly, this was the fault of the maker. Elsa traced the intricate watch dial pattern engraved on the front of the dusty case—her uncle’s mark. If there was a problem, it wasn’t due to the quality of the machine.

Elsa tested the mechanisms. She wound the spring and released the brake. The turntable jolted and jerked. It spun at an inconsistent speed and made odd sounds as it moved. She let the motor run down and inspected the rest of the gramophone, immediately seeing a problem. Elsa detached the worn hardwood needle from the soundbox and sharpened the blunt end with a quick slice of her pocketknife. It took seconds to reattach.

Next, she checked the motor deck. She removed the horn and turntable and lifted out the heart of the machine to better examine the gears and bearings.

“Hmm,” Elsa muttered as she released the spindle, weights and friction pad from the governor. “Got you.”

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“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Elsa looked up. Sienna stood at the entrance to her stall, a covered basket over one arm. In a simple green dress, her red hair in a neat plait and her face without makeup, she was almost unrecognisable.

“I won’t cause you any bother,” Sienna said, when Elsa failed to reply, “I just want to rest for a moment. Every time I sit somewhere, the guards move me on.”

Elsa glanced back at the Smokers scattered across the steps behind her cart, enjoying their leisure time right under the guards’ noses.

Sienna flushed. “And maybe I’m still a little scared of Smokers,” she added.

Elsa had much to do, so she was reluctant to encourage a distraction.

Sienna held up her basket. “I’ll share my lunch.”

Elsa’s traitorous stomach betrayed her with a grumble. “Okay, fine.”

A grateful Sienna moved around the foldout table and sunk onto a spare stool. The newcomer glanced around the stall, taking in the tables spread with junked teacups, quilts, mirrors and candlesticks, as well as the shelves of ticking clocks and crank converted gadgets. Then her gaze slipped to the cart itself, where Elsa had wind-up machines to recharge batteries and an open toolbox for repairs.

“Is there a problem?” Elsa asked.

Sienna cleared her throat. “I’ve never been on this side of the table before… obviously.”

“Is the view that different?” Elsa asked.

“Perspective changes everything.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Elsa discarded the gramophone’s rock-hard friction pad and searched through the drawers on her cart for a strip of leather to craft a new one. “I’ve always been on this side.”

“What about when you were younger?” Sienna said. “Before?”

Elsa found an old belt strap and paused. Her mind drifted back to the time before she was labelled Bad Seed. “There are things I remember. The feel of the soft pillows in our apartment, my mother’s colourful mosaics on the walls. I remember the taste of hot preserve pie…” Elsa sighed and returned her attention to measuring the leather. “Really, all I have are snippets that come and go. The Darkzone, the Chimney and the Alley, that’s where most of my memories were made.”

Before Sienna could ask her any more questions, Elsa picked up a penknife and hunched over the belt. The redhead fell silent and Elsa dove back into her task. She re-oiled gears and cogs and tightened screws, slowly rebuilding the machine in front of her. At some point, Sienna handed her lunch. Elsa took it and continued to work. She barely tasted the food, the puzzle consumed her thoughts completely.

The Sunlight Clock chimed two o’clock and Sienna’s soft cry drew her attention. “They’ve put up the yellow flags on the Keeper’s balcony. Elsa, look, she’s going to speak!”

Guards descended the steps behind Elsa’s stall and drove the Smokers to one side. Citizens soon filled the space created. More citizens appeared on the balconies of the Light Well, eager to listen to their leader.

Elsa closed her toolbox and placed the detached soundbox on the table. She stood, wiping her hands on a rag, and stretched her stiff neck. When Sienna edged closer, she put a cautionary hand on her arm.

“Wait.”

Sienna stayed within the confines of the stall. Above them, the balcony jutted like a swollen bottom lip from the grandest apartment in Haven. The Keeper appeared. She stood at least a head shorter than the guild members who flanked her on either side, but she moved with purpose and her presence dwarfed theirs. Yellow robes covered her slight figure and around her high-collared neckline she wore a familiar gold chain proclaiming her status as the leader of Haven. The grey-haired Keeper placed one hand on the balcony and waited. A hush fell.

When she was sure she had everyone’s attention, the Keeper opened her arms wide. Her voice echoed strong and rich through the hushed square.

“Citizens, I have glorious news.” The Keeper smiled and the crowd leant into her warmth, basking in her joy. “Progress on the Farm continues to exceed our expectations. Your children work tirelessly and joyously on the surface to pave our future. Though the Chaos presents daily challenges, my reports indicate they are flourishing. Their carers tell me they rise early each morning and give thanks to the new day. They know the gift you have given them and they are not squandering the time they have. You should all feel proud.”

The Citizens cheered and the Keeper waved for silence. “It is because of their work, I’m sure, that I now have such happy news to report to you. The leader of the Farm has decided to accept another group of worthy children. Those families with Chosen should ready them for immediate departure.”

The Keeper rested her right hand over her heart.

“I know it is hard to let them go, but a wise man plants the seed for a tree whose shade he will never enjoy. This city, our place of light, is that seed. It is a kernel waiting deep beneath the earth, one that holds the remnants of our civilisation—all that is good and just, all that passed generation should have been, but never were. Our only job is to keep this kernel safe; to preserve this pure form of knowledge so that future generations may push their way upward towards the sunlight and create the mightiest oak this world has ever seen.”

Again, the crowds cheering caused her to pause.

“The Farm is the first step. It is the tiny shoot, the precious sapling of the future. With each child sent to these acres, the sapling grows taller and stronger. But, we cannot rest yet. Only when this great oak has spread its canopy across the world will our job be done. Until that time, do not rest! Never stop looking for those who would ruin the kernel, for they are everywhere. To let even one dissident remain in our city is to rot the seed. And a rotten seed creates nothing but a diseased oak.”

The crowd applauded in fevered agreement.

“Let us praise our children, who each day place another stone on the pathway to a better world. Let us never forget them. Let us place all our hopes in them and believe they are worthy of the knowledge with which we entrust them.”

A chant built in one corner of the crowd. It rose like a wave across the square and shattered in echoes against the stone. “Long life to the Keeper!”

Elsa couldn’t take anymore. She returned to her workbench and made herself small, but Sienna continued to stare out into the crowd. She watched the five Chosen appear on the Keeper’s balcony to much cheering and praise.

“You should come away,” Elsa said, but the group held the redhead’s attention.

“Has your uncle ever seen the Farm in his travels through the valley?” Sienna asked.

“No. It’s far off the approved path and he’s not allowed to seek it out, it’s one of our rules.”

“Is he never curious?”

“Of course, but not enough to risk his junking permit.”

“I had a brother who went to the surface, to the Farm,” Sienna said. She gazed at the fresh mark at her wrist. “I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d been chosen instead?”

Elsa’s own Bad Seed mark began to itch. “Why do you assume it would be any better there?”

Sienna shrugged. “Surely someone would have come back if it wasn’t as it seemed.” She sat back down on her stool and plucked nervously at the end of her red braid.

Elsa picked up the soundbox. She wanted to fall back into the comfort of the work, but focus eluded her.

“I know why you’re Bad Seed,” Sienna said suddenly.

Elsa stilled.

“My father told me you were Chosen, but your mother wouldn’t let you go.”

If only it were that simple, Elsa thought.

The redhead’s eyes held pity. “I don’t think I could’ve ever forgiven my mother if she’d done the same to me.”

“It wasn’t my mother’s fault,” Elsa said, finally. “It was my father’s. He made her promise.”

Elsa recalled her father standing firm in the face of her mother’s disbelief and anger. There had been fights. Lots and lots of them. They would always start, quiet and respectful, but gradually they would escalate until her father’s voice had boomed off the walls of their apartment and her mother had wept. Elsa sighed. “My mother never agreed with him, but she upheld that promise, even after he died.”

“Why didn’t you tell the council you wanted to go? They would have let you, even without her permission.”

Elsa spun the soundbox in her hand. “My father’s death was very hard on my mother. I thought losing me would make her sadder and I didn’t want to leave her on her own.”

“But the Farm, Elsa! Think how happy you could have been.”

Elsa shook herself to banish her old ghosts and reattached the soundbox. “It doesn’t matter. I’m Bad Seed. So are you. We’ll never get to the surface that way, we’ll never know that place.”

Elsa tightened the final screw and wiped the gramophone casing with a cloth. Then, she placed a record on the turntable. She wound the handle until she felt enough tension and removed the brake. The record spun. The table turned, smooth and silent. She placed the newly sharpened needle over the record and a woman’s high voice flowed from the small brass horn, the sound clean and crisp. Satisfied, Elsa glanced at Sienna seeking praise for her work, but Sienna wasn’t watching. Instead, she was staring at the balcony and its group of worthy children.