Chapter 9: Sneaking Out

“The Legend of Joe Plowboy”, from Whybarrian Children’s Tales, recorded by Gabriela Bailey, King Isaac the First’s Mother, year 210

Joe Plowboy lived a long, long time ago, so long ago that his grandfather had been a giant. Joe was the first person ever born in the Pound, right after it had been settled by the Kings of Cauls. His grandfather would set Joe on his knee by the fire in their little mixing bowl cabin and tell him of the days when the giants roamed the earth. He told them the story of An Apple a Day, The Girl with The Pumpkin Carriage, and The Three Giant Pigs. Joe’s favorite tale was Jack and The Bean Stalk. His grandfather would often remind him, what made the giants so strong was not their powerful bodies, but their powerful ideas.

Joe learned and grew in the little mixing bowl cabin in the Pound, learning all about farming and living in the country. He never was the biggest or strongest boy in the farm town, but he often brought home twice as much produce. He would sit back and think while the others dove in. Early on, people saw that he had a way with crops and livestock. He seemed naturally inclined to find the kernels others overlooked and to tame even the wildest rabbit.

In mid-spring, before Joe turned sixteen, he raised the first quail. The farmers were in the field, sowing their grains, when a group of them came across a wildcat, feasting on a mama quail. The men scared off the cat and divided its kill amongst themselves. In the meantime, the boys set off searching for the nest.

Joe found the nest, set low against the base of a thorn bush. A dozen splotchy brown eggs sat in a cavern of grass and twigs. The boys divvied up the eggs, but there was one left over. Joe convinced the boys to let him keep the extra since he found the nest.

That night, Joe spoke to his father and grandfather. They decided they would eat one of the eggs, and keep the other. Joe wanted to see if he could hatch the egg. Joe picked his egg and for the next few weeks, he slept with the egg in his bed. During the day, he’d keep it wrapped up in his bedclothes and leave it near the fire. Not close enough to cook, but not far enough away to get cold. Then one night, Joe awoke to find his egg with a beak sticking out of it! He watched with amazement as the chick emerged from its shell. From then on, the two were inseparable. Joe named the little hen Bobbie. Joe would take the chick out to the field every day and back home every night. He even took the chick to church, though the pastor insisted the chick stay out on the porch.

Before long, Bobbie grew too big to share a cabin with the family and Joe’s father decided the quail must go. When he did, Joe moved Bobbie into an abandoned cabin. Joe grew so fond of his pet that he moved into the cabin too. He and the quail lived together seven years in that cabin. He trained Bobbie to wear a little saddle and would ride her out every morning. Together they would gather wild grains all day long. Bobbie would eat what she found and Joe would fill sacks with what he found and tie them onto Bobbie’s back. Together with Bobbie, he’d find so much grain that he would have to walk back as Bobbie struggled under the weight of the grains. Joe sold his foraged crop and he and Bobbie soon found themselves in a profitable partnership.

While Joe seemed content with Bobbies companionship, Bobbie soon attracted a suitor. Before long, Joe added fresh quail eggs to the merchandise he sold. As the years slowly passed, Joe raised Bobbie's chicks, sold her eggs, and even some of her feathers. He built a farm that made a great deal of money and invented the quail ranch.

It is said that any quail hen raised in the Pound or any city for a thousand miles is a granddaughter of Bobbie’s and that anyone who eats quail or quail eggs has Joe to thank.

After Bobbie passed away, Joe left the quail business, turning his ranch over to his younger brother. Joe returned to grain farming, planting oats, then wheat, then barley, each in turn in neat little rows just west of the Pound. He worked hard and kept a farm that became the pride of Whybarr.

One day he met a woman named Rye. Rye came across the mountains with her family, seeking a land where the winters weren’t so harsh. When they arrived in Caul, they asked everyone they met where they could settle to grow crops. Rye and her family soon found themselves in the Pound.

Joe was smitten with Rye the first time he laid eyes on her, but too shy to speak to her until he saw her planting grains of wheat that fall. The grains were so much thinner than any he saw before, and darker than his wheat too. He asked what sort of wheat she planted, but she said it wasn’t wheat, it was her grain. Today rye grain is an important crop all across Whybarr.

Joe and Rye were wed and settled into a comfortable if hardworking life, with plentiful harvests. Soon their children joined them, sowing and reaping as each season took its turn before the next. Joe led a happy and successful life.

When the first famine came to the land, it took a tremendous toll on Whybarr. Starvation visited every corner of the empire and far beyond. Joe and Rye saw much of their work wasted. Crop after crop failed in the fields. Soon, only the Pound sent any food to Cauls. The other farm towns had none to spare. It looked as if the Pound would soon run out of food itself. It was then that Joe heard his seed speak to him.

He prepared to plant his spring oats, with bags full of the seed loaded on his rats. He headed out into his fields, praying the whole time that the Lord would bless his crop. Then the oats called out to him, warning him not to plant them yet. They told him to wait, that a flood would come and wash away his seeds if he planted the now. Joe was not a man prone to listen to anything but people, but the first famine was at its peak, with people going hungry all around. Joe found himself in a desperate situation. He couldn’t see any harm in waiting, so he took his seed back to his barn. The first day stayed clear and warm, and the second too. On the third day, Joe rose to find the best weather so far that year. He decided that he and his family would ignore the pleas of his oat seed and plant nonetheless. He busied himself in the barn, tying the bags to his big rats, but as he led them out the barn door, a raging wind came down from the north. Before Joe and Rye could lead the scared animals to the field, a massive storm blew up, with lightning and thunder all around. Joe barely made it back to the barn before the rains started. It rained so hard it trapped the whole family in the barn. The downpour washed away their cabin and left their fields sitting under standing water. Soon the rains gave way to sleet, then snow. The snow piled high, trapping them inside the barn. For three days, they survived by burning the rats’ hay and eating the seed oats. When they could finally make it out, the snow had all but gone, along with their home and much of what they owned.

The next day, Joe hitched up his rats to the wagon to take his family into the Pound, so that Rye and the children could stay with her family while Joe prepared another cabin. But as he loaded the wagon, he heard the seed call out to him again. They told him the sun would come out that day and that they needed to be planted as soon as the ground cleared of snow, that tomorrow would be too late. Soon he could hear his wheat seed from the back of the barn shouting to be planted also.

Joe didn’t know what to do, he knew that talking seed seemed crazy, but the oats were right about the rain. He thought, then asked Rye what she thought. Rye had thought it strange her husband waited to plant, but did not ask him. She thought how lucky they were to still have their seed when most other farmers probably didn’t. Now she saw the reason he waited to plant, and she saw the need to plant, but she didn’t have any desire to spend another night in the rat barn.

So, she sent her oldest son to ask her father to come and help. She asked him to bring his rats and his wheat. Joe and Rye worked in the field until her father came with his wheat seed. Her father helped them plant both crops, and before sundown, the whole family set off for Rye’s father’s house.

Joe worked hard to give Rye and the children a new cabin, but the days were warm and the rains gentle and refreshing. Before they could move back to their farm, the harvest came early. It was the most plentiful harvest Joe could remember. His crop alone fed the city of Cauls.

Joe and Rye lived out their lives on their farm near the Pound, watching over their crops, their family, and their land, season after season. If anyone ever asked Joe what possessed him to wait to plant before the great spring storm, he would tell them that the Good Lord sent him a messenger, in the form of a sack of seeds.

If you wanted to get across town without running into any guardsmen, you went through the hills. Gladys knew that by age ten. Plenty of guardsmen hung out in the nicer neighborhoods that clung to the inclines along the edge of Cauls, but they stayed in their little stations, waiting to be summoned. They didn’t patrol the streets the way they did in most neighborhoods.

She left Will’s dorm room with a backpack of notes tucked under her cloak. She wore the pack high up on her shoulders so that it made her look like some stooped old grandparent. Guardsmen rarely stopped grandparents.

Gladys walked the block and a half down to the park station. If you timed it right, and you had the right tool (a certain sort of hook,) you could catch the cable that propelled the trains and ride it all over town, hanging off your tool. The trick to riding like that involved finding the right spot to grab the cable, one where you could reach it without stepping out into plain view.

The Valentina Street Line, Hero’s Park station had the perfect place. Hidden between the University and the park; the platform sat at nearly street level and connected directly to the school’s administration building. Gladys took a quick look around and hopped a low wall into the building’s woodlot. A stack of logs sat, leaning up against the wall. Lady’s scampered atop the pile and hauled herself up onto the second-story ledge. Around the corner the train passed below, with the wire nearly at eye level, only five feet out.

She did not invent the hook, her father did that to win a bet in his youth, but she had made a few improvements to it. She added a quick release, after watching one of her tools drift away on the wire. She also incorporated a folding peg to sit on for particularly long rides.

She pulled the hook out from under her cape and unceremoniously leaped out, her small build skimming the thin air. She stabbed the hook onto the wire. With only the slightest noise, it caught the trains’ rope, swung and spun Gladys around, and began to haul her along, beginning the slow ascent to the station at Ring Road and Valentina. Beyond that, the wire went up into the wealth of Water Hill.

At this hour, the last train had just left the Valentina Street line. Over on the main line through town, trains ran all night, but the Valentina line was closed. But the wire pulled all day and night, quietly gliding over the sleeping city. In a few minutes, Gladys slipped over the ring road, two guardsmen, and one lost and drunken Passer. None of them bothered to look up.

In another minute, the line carried her up and over the wall that separated the city floor from Water Hill. A few blocks later, Gladys hit the quick release and fell ten feet into a dark alleyway between two nice wooden homes. The drop knocked back her hood, revealing her long red locks. She covered her head and moved along in the shadows. From here she would take a leisurely walk along alleyways to the south wall. There she could hop into a service tunnel that went down into the bay and out of the city. Her cart would be waiting.

She slid along a few blocks, past big homes with nice yards and wealthy residents. She approached her halfway point, where the streets shared names with the commodities that made the merchants in the neighborhood so wealthy. Wheat Street looked clear and dark, easy to cross. Rye Street, a party going on two blocks down, but none of the revelers seemed to notice the diminutive dark cloak crossing the street. Oat street, nothing. Between Oat and Amaranth, the alley jogged to the east, to accommodate a particularly big home.

Gladys rounded the bend to find a swarm of guardsmen. Four stood in the street over on Amaranth, more hoovered over a woman lying in the alleyway, and one blocked the way, twenty feet in front of Gladys.

If they saw her face, they might recognize her. Any other night she wouldn’t care, but not tonight. The preparations were completed; she could not let them catch her tonight. Between her and the guard, a side alley branched off the main one. It looked narrower and darker, Gladys never went that way before, but taking it seemed safer than walking straight up to the guardsman. She stepped into the dark pathway as nonchalantly as she could. She saw him look at her, she saw uncertainty in his eyes. She took a few steps down the side alley before the guard called out, asking her to stop. She needed to find a place to hide.

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Every house offered an opportunity, one had a particularly low fence, a ring of tiny weed trees concealed another’s yard. On the other side of the alley, one had a gazebo, perfect for hiding, and one had a service entrance and high walls all around. Curiosity won her over, even in this dire situation. She picked the high-fenced house and slipped through the gate. She found herself on the back porch, between a stack of firewood and a rat barn. She slumped against the woodpile and waited.

She listened intently, waiting to hear the guard try the latch to the service gate and find her. Instead, a familiar voice echoed off the barn. Gladys nearly jumped out of her skin. “There’s something going on down the street.” Fynn Bowman’s bass rang out, close enough that she could hear his fitted canvas shirt rustle as he spoke. She looked all around her, but she saw no sign of Fynn. Then came a second voice, one unfamiliar to Gladys.

“Yeah, they’re fighting all the time, looks like it got out of hand tonight. They took the husband away just before you showed up.” A little dust fell down in front of Gladys’ face. She looked up. The voices came from above her, on a balcony that also served as the roof of the porch. “So, what brings you to my door this time of night, Fynn?”

Gladys knew where the voices came from, but her heart still raced. She could see the tip to the guardsman’s helmet peaking over the fence as he stalked down the side alley. Fynn spoke from above. “I need a favor. I have a friend that needs a bunch of black powder.”

The stranger chuckled. “Does your friend have a name?” His words seemed to have difficulty making their way out; as if they tripped on a touch of whiskey. The guardsman paused, facing where Gladys sat. She couldn’t tell if he saw her or heard Fynn, but something drew his attention.

“She does, but if anyone asks, it’s for me.” Fynn didn’t quite seem himself, up on the balcony, speaking with the man, but he didn’t sound inebriated. If anything, he sounded more sober than when she’d left his house.

“She? Hmm…let me guess. Gladys Farmer? Is that your friend? You know Patrick McGuire nearly went blind getting a batch of that stuff for her.” A strange man who knew her name. And knew Patch McGuire. Gladys didn’t like the sound of that. “I can get it for you Fynn, but it won’t be cheap and it won’t be quick.” The stranger left out a few syllabuses here and there, but he made up for it by putting in a few where they didn’t normally go.

“We’ll go get it ourselves, she has this crazy powered cart. We just need someone to show us where it is.” Fynn paced across the balcony, a little trail of dust falling from under each boot step. “Price, within reason, is not a concern, but we need to get it tomorrow.”

The stranger must have been taking a drink, he nearly choked and sputtered. “Fynn, tomorrow, it’s late already. How am I going to get someone for you tomorrow?”

Now Fynn chuckled. “Every scavenger in town would kill to work for you. And most of them would love something like this. Ride a powered cart out to your dad’s, ride it to some hidden house, watch me work loading up, then ride home. I can tell by the look on your face, you’ve got half a dozen guys in mind right now, the only hard part is picking which one.”

Gladys’ guard lost interest and moved on to where the side alley let out into the street. “Why does she need so much powder anyway? Some folks say she’s dangerous.”

“Oh, she’s dangerous, for sure, but not like that.” Fynn’s assertion made Gladys’ face contort in the dark, first a frown, then a grin. “She’s building a machine like nothing you’ve ever seen. And it’ll run off of black powder. I’m no scientist, but she’s going to change the world.”

The remark seemed to cause offense in the stranger. “I’ll tell you what Fynn. I’ll get you a guy; if you forgive me.”

The guard took a long look up and down Firewood Street. Fynn sounded confused and annoyed “Forgive you? For what, the scorpion?”

The stranger’s tone changed as well, “Yes, and for stealing her away from you.”

The guard began back down the alley, slowly, looking side to side. “I told you at the wake, you made your choices, she made hers and I made mine. She wanted something I couldn’t give her, and you could. That was her choice. That wasn’t your fault, no more than it was mine. Look, you’re forgiven if that’s what you want to hear, but I never even blamed you.”

The stranger’s voice carried his dissatisfaction, even if his words left it out. “Okay, fine with me Bowman, you want to tell me the same lie, I’ll let you, but only for Anne’s sake, not for yours.”

The raised voices again caught the guard’s attention. He walked up to the fence. Gladys thought he might pull himself over to peek in. She tried to pull her petite build further back into the shadows. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s no lie, I never blamed you. And what do you mean for her sake, why would she even care about a bunch of black powder?”

The men shared a deep, hushed exchange that Gladys couldn’t make out. After a moment, the guard lifted his hand, then waved at the men up on the deck and turned to continue his search.

The whispering continued until the stranger became audible, “Why Bowman, Why would you want that?”

Fynn paused a long time. Gladys heard one of them set down a mug. “You remember that day your dad found all that baking soda? A hundred gold worth, easy. All sealed up and pretty.” Fynn waited for the stranger to make an affirmative grunt before he continued. “He said he heard it, heard it calling to him. We laughed at him then, but now I hear it too, only I hear it at the Works. I hear the metal, I hear it singing and laughing and squealing. It calls my name. Tells me where and how to cut, and warns me when it’s too hot. Tells me about rough spots and barbs. Now, either I’m crazy, or that’s where I’m meant to be. I don’t imagine you’d understand, but just pretend you heard that same thing. How could I turn my back on that?”

The stranger huffed. “I wouldn’t tell anyone else about that if I were you. Dad lives out in the old town and doesn’t really have to worry if anyone thinks he’s crazy. It’s different for you.” The stranger paused. Lady considered leaving, the guard moved on down the alley a moment ago, and she could probably clear the fence and disappear.

The stranger’s voice carried a burden of drunken resignation. “But I’ll tell you what, I’ll have a guy waiting for you at the bay, at eight. Over where we used to meet when we would go out. And you can tell your friend this one is on me. Just remember me next time, okay Fynn?”

“Okay.” Fynn got what he wanted, plus some, but resignation rang out in his voice too. “Thanks, Grant, I’ll be there at eight.” The floor shook as Fynn moved closer to the stranger.

“You’d better go out the back way, you lumbering through the house will wake the baby.” Grant took an amicable tone for the first time. If Gladys had only overheard the last thing he said, she might have thought of him differently.

“Sure, no problem.” In a heartbeat, Fynn’s heavy footsteps led over to the edge of the balcony. Gladys looked to where he moved toward and saw a set of stairs leading down over the rat barn and directly in front of her hiding spot. Dust rained down on her as Fynn trotted down the wooden steps. He rounded the stairs, headed for the service gate Gladys entered through earlier.

The dust got to her. She reached up to cover her button nose and sneezed so loud she sounded like a wildcat. Fynn jumped and stared at her, scarred and astonished. From above Grant called out. “Bless you.”

Lady held her finger to her lips, silently begging Fynn to keep her a secret. For a moment, neither of them seemed certain he would. “Uh...Thanks. And hey, stop by the Works sometime, will you.”

The voice came down. “Sure, good night.” Fynn glared at her with his deep-set green eyes until the door closed. Then he began whisper-shouting at her.

“What are you doing here?” She motioned for him to leave, grabbing him by the arm and heading for the gates.

“I was headed home when, boom, guardsmen everywhere. I ducked in the woodpile and waited for a chance to get by them.” She steered Fynn out the gate and up the hill, away from where she saw the guardsmen.

“How long were you listening?” Fynn still whisper shouted. They came out onto Firewood street and headed south.

Gladys' preoccupation with scanning the street for guards prevented her from thinking through her response. “Long enough to know you think I’m dangerous, that you have a very shady past, and that you’re just as crazy as I am. No wonder you designed such good nozzles!”

Fynn stopped in the middle of the street. He halted so suddenly that it spun Gladys off balance, sending her orbiting around him. The force of it made her clutch his arm tighter to stay upright. The complement failed to soothe his anger. “It’s not funny. That guy is shady and dangerous. I went to him to help you because I believe you are going to make a truly amazing flying... thingy! Dammit, plane. Airplane!”

He tried so hard to make a serious point, and came so close, until he tripped over his own words. Gladys considered making fun of him for it, but she thought better of it. “Okay, okay Fynn, let’s keep walking so maybe the guardsmen don’t decide they need to take a closer look at us.” They turned and continued, arm in arm. “I know you’re not completely, the ‘can’t get by in the real world, drooling on yourself’, kind of crazy, and I won’t bring it up again, but hearing the stuff you work with, it’s not unheard of. “

It felt kind of nice, walking around Cauls out in the open, like a normal person. Walking with Will came across differently, she still felt as if she might find herself in trouble for sneaking around with her little cousin then. Now, she almost thought of herself as a normal person. For an instant, she almost took off her hood.

Fynn did not seem to enjoy the stroll. “Gee thanks! I’m crazy in a good way, is that what you’re saying? Next, you’ll tell me I’m ugly in a handsome kind of way or a stupid kind of genius.”

Gladys ruled out none of those. “Look, I’m sorry I overheard, but at least you’re in good company. They say King Jason spoke to the wood when he carved his lost masterpieces. General Darville supposedly slept and bathed with his sword; which is dangerous and crazy. You just mentioned some scavenger that hears his loot give him directions as to where it’s at. And who knows how many people are like you? They are very talented at what they do, but know people would think they’re crazy if they mentioned that they hear voices when they’re working. Remember Joe Plowboy?”

Fynn snorted. “I’m no Joe Plowboy. Its not voices, not like a voice in my head. Each metal has a voice, and if you listen to it, you’ll know what you need to do.”

Gladys nodded, “And you listen, and honestly Fynn, it works. I tried my own designs for years before I tried yours. And guess what. Every one of mine exploded in varying degrees of spectacular failure. Yours: perfect, the first time. Every time.” They neared the south wall. Gladys steered them down a block, heading east. She could have taken them down a faster route, but this one would let her walk out in the open a moment more. “Maybe I’m being vain, maybe I can’t handle the idea that you would design a better nozzle than me and it feels better if you have unnatural metallurgical abilities, but either way, they’re much better.”

Fynn slowed his pace. He chuckled. “No Gladys, it’s not your vanity. I’m still not entirely sure what you’re building or where exactly these nozzles go. I just looked at your dimensions and made it as strong and light as I could. And I listened to the aluminum as I cut it. But look, I.” Fynn’s thoughts rolled around in his head. He grabbed a chunk of his curly black hair with his free hand and twirled it absentmindedly. “I wish I had time to explain everything to you, but tomorrow is coming quickly and we need to get home and get some rest.”

He was right, about the late hour, Gladys knew it. But if they could take all the time in the world, would he still avoid talking it out? “Fynn, my biggest secret is this project. Everything else is out in the open, who I am, what I’ve done, you know that.” They walked past another street, still heading parallel to the south wall. Gladys realized she’d never imagined Fynn as anything but a simple machinist. “Now I guess I’ve seen a little of your secret. And that’s okay. I never would have guessed, but that’s okay too.”

He nodded slowly. “No, you’re right. I didn’t figure you guys needed to know all that when Will asked me to build for you. And I don’t know all the details of your expulsion. It’s just, I’ve never told anyone about the metal before, and I ...” He trailed off, staring down the road. “We’ll talk about it later. I need to get some sleep.”

“Fynn, are we still on for tomorrow?” She hoped she wouldn’t have to ask, that Fynn would say it on his own, but she needed to make sure.

The question seemed to surprise him. “Of course. Look, I told you I would help. That means I will. I’ll be there tomorrow.” He squeezed her arm, trying to reassure her.

“Turn here,” She pointed to an alleyway. “It leads to a service tunnel I take.” They turned and walked down the alley.

Fynn didn’t spend much time on this side of Caul. He started pointing to the features of some of the homes. “Is that a fountain? And look, that house has a six-story tower.”

Gladys once went to school with a girl who lived there. “No, the first two stories aren’t real, they’re painted on the concrete step below to make the house look taller.” She didn’t mention that the top half held only a hollow and bare space.

Fynn took a closer look and tisked, “Tricky, tricky. I guess everyone’s got secrets.” They reached the tunnel and turned to each other.

“Yes Fynn, everyone does.” Gladys lifted her hood back a little bit, her pale skin nearly glowing in the dark alley. She pulled down on his arm, stood on her tiptoes, and whispered in his ear. “Tomorrow at eight, west side of the dock, behind the wall, look for you and a shady character., right?” She kissed him on the cheek, in the bare spot above his beard.

Fynn seemed a bit lost, then gave his head a big nod. “Right, see you there.”

He still stooped down from when she pulled him toward her. She gave him another peck. “And Fynn, thanks. This project means a lot to me.”

Now he stood. “I know it does, I’m glad I can help. And thank you Gladys, I enjoyed our walk, most of it anyway.”

She flashed her smile at him then turned and slipped the locked service door off its hinges. She slid through and Fynn put the door back. With that, she waved and turned to trot down the narrow tunnel. Tomorrow would be a busy day.