2

A steam engine was waiting for them in the Royal Lobby. Two apprentices in Enri’s purple-and-white danced on their feet and tried their best to avoid gawking at Joran’s ambler, who had donned a veil-like gown so thin it might as well be nude.

Sam ignored them and stared at the ceiling. A dome of faceted glass glittered in sunlight. Sunlight. The faint blue hue reminded her of picture books she had read as a child, except this was no old paint chipping on the page. The sky was blue on the Floor of Twenty.

James gave her the window seat. The engine left the lobby through a low tunnel carved from bedrock. Dim bulbs illuminated a bright-yellow warning on the walls, repeating over and over: EMERGENCY EXIT: DO NOT COLLAPSE.

They emerged into a world of green, of rolling hills dotted with cottages and evergreens, ensconced on three sides by white peaks striking into the clouds. The midday sun was liquid gold, its light warm, the air cold and pristine. A flurry of snow drifted from high, scattering into nothing.

In the distance, the City of Twenty shone like a castle out of fairytale, its whitewashed walls melding into the snowy banks until there was no telling between nature and artifice. The road was black asphalt and sparkling with tiny gems. A dozen steam engines waited at an intersection. A fusilier in a brilliant blue-and-white uniform waved a signal flag in each hand, performing a task that on any other Floor would have been assigned to the dead.

Veering left, the engine began to climb. A grove of ancient pines rose from the craggy snow, their canopies a fractural maze. A herd of deer ran past, startled by the noise, and Sam almost broke her neck keeping track.

The road narrowed between a pair of jagged cliffs. In the sliver of sky between them, an airship rose, languid as a balloon, the distant boom of its propellers diminished to an insect-like buzz. Carrying tea, maybe. Sam laughed.

The way twisted and dipped, revealing a forested plateau and a crescent lake, embraced on all sides by insurmountable peaks save for a great chasm to the east, where the mountains fell away completely to reveal a roiling sea of thunderclouds stretching to the horizon.

Overlooking that grey pandemonium was a city-sized palace, with one wing beside the lake and the other poised above the precipice. It was larger than the market on the Floor of Twelve. Countless marble columns held up layers upon layers of domed roofs that intertwined like the pedals of a rose. Garish orange flags flew from every banister.

The carriage turned onto the garden path and pulled up before two hundred pristine steps. A row of palanquins sat at its foot, each with a compliment of six bearers. A few were already halfway up the stairs; rickshaws and engines were pulling up a dozen at a time, unloading droves of guests.

Their reception was a gangly teenager covered in acne from brow to neck. He called himself Jack Finley, apparently sixteenth of his name. He jumped at the sight of Lucia, then jumped again when Sam stopped him from tripping over himself.

‘M-Maestro Cowen? My great uncle told me to take you to him as soon as I am able – as you are able,’ he said, voice breaking faster than his sweat. ‘If you don’t mind uh, following me…’

James eyed the stairs, then the palanquins. Sam looked longingly over her shoulder, at the manicured lawn and the nameless flowers blooming in the cold, and left them behind.

~

The master study: chandelier, armchairs, fireplace, mahogany shelves, crystal decanter, boxes of caviar, a mountain of papers arrayed on a marble slab. Jack Finley strode from behind his desk, pyjamas billowing, cucumber slices plastered all over his face.

‘Get out.’ He shooed the boy, then made the same gesture at Sam and pretended Lucia did not exist.

‘My apprentice will stay,’ said James.

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Jack glowered but said nothing. The boy fled the room, and James sat down uninvited.

“Whiskey?”

“No, thank you.”

Jack poured two glasses. “You read the itinerary?”

“Just show me the votes.”

A piece of paper was shoved under James’s nose. “Follow this exactly.”

James blinked at the appended list, committing it to memory in the same span. “I don’t see my item.”

Jack tossed it into the fireplace and watched it burn. “What do you mean? Item Seven: allocation of harvest from the Floor of Twelve. House of Grain, eight hundred thousand. House of Dawn, eight hundred thousand –”

“I meant the audition. My apprentice is not on the list.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Again with the apprentice.”

“We have an agreement.” James sounded calm. “I vote with you, you give me two million and a slot.”

“Why are you favouring Ingel? I thought you wanted two million for yourself.”

“You’ve not answered my question.”

“Neither have you.”

“Don’t.” James sounded beyond tired. “We settled this months ago.”

Jack swallowed his whiskey in one gulp. He glowered at Sam again, as if debating whether she was worthy of his voice. “I no longer have stewardship over daily operations.”

“Figured,” said James.

“Did you now?”

“What’s changed?”

“The old man is awake.”

“So?”

Jack strolled to a corner table and began cutting up more cucumbers. “You are not Finley. You don’t understand the lengths we go to keep this family together. I have two hundred cousins, all of them waiting for me to fall down the stairs when I get up to piss.”

“Get to the point.”

“This House – my House – is beyond your little schemes.” The wet squelch of cucumber being slapped onto bare arms echoed in the silence. “Whatever you had planned with Catherine, I’ve already seen it twice since breakfast. I am aware of your…line-toeing. I just have bigger problems. Internally.”

“Like what?”

“The old man is awake.”

“I don’t understand the implication.”

“Yes, you do.”

James grabbed the whiskey and touched it to his lip. He grimaced. “Am I supposed to care?”

“You would already be dead if not for me.” Jack stabbed a finger at Lucia. “This thing. Why does he want it?”

“Don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Nothing changes if I tell you.”

“You can have your two million and your precious apprentice can go to audition.”

James laughed. “No. That was a settled thing. You don’t get to renegotiate.”

“Let me be clear.” Reaching out, Jack took the glass out of the Maestro’s hand and set it aside. Two slices of cucumber fell onto James’s lap. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. If I tell my people, go to Cowen’s house and tear it down, there is nothing you can do to stop it. The only reason it’s still standing is because I know, deep down –” he prodded James’s chest. “– you don’t give a shit. About yourself. Your legacy. Your House. All you care about is this,” he nodded at Lucia, “and I am telling you, the only thing stopping Jackson Finley from destroying you is me. But it’s a mutual partnership. You keep the little Houses entertained, make them think they got a chance at playing the game, and I give you and yours special treatment. That is the only settled thing. So you do what I tell you to do, or I’m going to be a good little grandson and let my granddad take us back to the good old days, where everyone in the Pile did exactly what he told them to do, alive or dead.”

The two men stared at each other. Slowly, James’s lips twisted into a grin. The Green bled into the whites of his eyes, and Lucia moved in complete silence. She laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder before he could move. “Are you breaking face with me, Jack? Over one apprentice?”

Jack Finley could not help but glance at the shadow towering over him. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Here is my offer.” James took back his glass and downed it in one gulp. “We do as we agreed, or I destroy you, right here, right now, and then I take Lucia through your impregnable House and kill every Finley I see, until either you are all dead or I am.”

Hidden doors opened all around the study. Orange-clad amblers surfaced behind the wall, under the desk, crawling from vents in the ceiling. Sam counted twenty, but the sound of footsteps outside told her there was more.

Jack looked impressed. Beneath the initial shock there was no fear. In fact, he seemed relieved. “Finally grown some balls.”

“I’m on a schedule,” said James.

“We can’t just bring about the apocalypse now, can we?”

“That would be extremely counter-productive.”

“Shouldn’t have let you bring the abomination.”

“Guessing it wasn’t your decision.”

“No, it was not.” Jack Finley clicked his fingers, and the amblers retreated into their holes as if they were never there. Lucia let go of his shoulder. “Fine. Suppose we can act like men of integrity a while longer.” Jack topped up both glasses. “The two million is yours, but candidacy for the audition is out of my hands. The old man is only allowing in-House candidates.”

“Think of an alternative.”

“I have. Your apprentice is interviewing with us…tomorrow, isn’t that right?”

The two men looked at Sam. Jack’s expression was matter-of-fact. James’s shifted from surprise to anger, then to pain, then to nothing at all.

“So it’s true,” he said.