–
Two hours later, Ursel was at the Circus, negotiating Chase and Naylor’s entry past security. She led them to her yurt and gestured for them to sit on the floor. “I have the information,” she said as she knelt down beside them.
“What? You know where Wella is?” said Chase, his earlier frustration tempered.
“No. But I know where to look.”
“Well, let’s go then.”
“No, we can’t. Not yet. I went to see the person who creates Bluemantle. He was finishing work on a new edition.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means an event is planned. Each edition of Bluemantle contains the date, time and coordinates for the next show.” She pulled out a copy of the fanzine from her tunic. “I know where it’s going to take place. And I know when.”
“When?”
Ursel hesitated, studying her guests’ expressions, weighing up. Eventually she said, “Monday night.”
“But that’s forty-eight hours away. What if you’re wrong? What if it was the hole? She could still be alive down there. Or what if the A have taken her? She had copies of that damn thing in her flat. They could’ve already been on to her. I can’t wait two days for you to follow up on a hunch.” Chase stood up. “Come on, Naylor. We’re wasting time.”
“Keep looking, by all means,” said Ursel, getting up. “But you won’t find her. I tell you, she’s with the Scene. And she’ll be safe there.”
“You can’t know that. Have you had the A take someone you love? Have you had family tortured and held for no reason?”
“No…” Ursel took a deep breath and looked down at the tattoo on her left shoulder. She closed her eyes and frowned. Then she opened them again and turned to Chase. “Why do you think she never told you? The Scene is the most important thing in her life right now. Why do you think she kept it from you?”
“Because she knows what I’d say. The risks are insane.”
“Yet she’s been taking them for two years. What does that tell you?”
“If she has, she’s been caught up in something. She’s not been thinking straight. Like Meezels. Once they start using regularly, they stop being themselves. And that’s what the Authority says. The music’s a drug; it influences you. Takes control. That’s what’s happened to Wella. You said she’s your friend. You could’ve stopped her.”
“Now, Chase,” said Naylor, getting up and holding Chase by the arm. “Ursel’s on our side. She’s helping us.”
“It’s okay, Naylor,” said Ursel. “And you’re wrong, Chase. She never told you because she knew you wouldn’t understand. So why not try to see it from her perspective? Come with me on Monday night. See for yourself.”
–
Cole moved silently through the city. His deposits were always in the same place so that followers would know where to look. However, each time he had a drop to make, he would change the route, caution being his guiding principle.
It was Sunday morning, the only day off for most citizens, so the railmotor was less crammed than usual, making the long, looping detours less arduous. Tramway travel was fully subsidised by the state, so it didn’t cost him a ketrel in fares. He could, and did, criss-cross the city all day, alighting at certain stops to hide bundles of Bluemantle.
By the time he’d made the final drop, it was early afternoon. Hot and weary from the sultry heat, he walked the final mile in the slim shade of the Elevated and arrived at The Raven. The tavern was already busy with people determined to make the most of their scant free time. He squinted across the room, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. He made out Evan waving from the far corner and smiled.
“Lifesaver,” said Cole, sipping the chilled Kitson that Evan had just bought him. “It’s felt a long day already.”
“All done?”
“Yep. Not much notice this time, so it was tight. But yeah, all done. Feels good.” He beamed at Evan, who strained to return the smile. “What’s wrong?”
Evan dropped his already hushed voice to a faint whisper and leant in. “I’m worried about this one.”
“It’ll be alright.”
“You say that because you want it to be. But you must’ve seen them today. Allears everywhere.”
“Chief said they’re aware of the situation overground. They’ll take precautions.” He held on to Evan’s arm. “It’s a good thing. Especially after Saltire. They need to play again. Momentum’s important.”
Evan shook his head.
“It is. Come on, you know this. Growing the audience is what it’s all about.”
“That’s what it’s about for you.”
“That’s not fair,” said Cole, letting go of his arm. “I’m not doing this for me.”
“Then don’t go. You’ve done what you need to do for the Scene. You don’t need to be there.” He took Cole’s hand. “Please. For me. It’s not even Bend Sinister playing. I understand enough to know that’d be different. But it’s Chief.”
“It’s still important.”
“I know, I know it is. But the A, they might hear it this time. Then there will be raids. And…” Evan shook his head, struggling to keep his voice down. “If they arrest you, you’ll be tortured. If they find out your role in the Scene, they’ll kill you.”
“But they won’t find out. I won’t tell them shit.”
“You might not. But someone else they torture will. However loyal, followers are still human. There’s only so much pain a person can take before they break.”
Cole stared at his pint, his earlier joy destroyed. Evan watched him, close to tears. Neither spoke, each battling with the unreconcilable impasse.
Evan dropped his head into his hands. “If it wasn’t for that damned festival,” he sighed. “If it wasn’t for Rideout, we wouldn’t have to live like this.”
Chapter Five Forty years ago
It was Governor Morgan Wallace who declared Rideout a rebellion.
It began as Rideout Festival, a live music event organised by a group of community volunteers. This was forty years ago, eight years into Wallace’s term in office. His stringent measures to increase productivity and
