The Iron Man [Serial]

Rebel Heart

I woke next on the cot in the lavender room to the sound of low voices. As I blinked sleep from my eyes, I noticed the rungs of the chair back were between me and the door, though the chair itself was vacant. I found near my hand a worn picture-novel. The slender book was printed in monochromatic brownscale as might come from a common wirefax machine, and in particular showed an illustration of a young fashionable lad swooning before a man in orient robes.

I tossed the cheap novel to the seat of the chair, then swung my legs from the cot. Murphy and Mister Gray were standing together in the opened doorway between hidden keeping room and warehouse looking at a paper. "Is the Late Edition out?" I asked.

Murphy beckoned one-handed and I rose. The Review was printed on smooth off-white newsprint, in combination of brown and black inks. The sheets were printed two pages to a side and folded to form a large magazine. Fashion news was front page and continued through a large portion of the photo-heavy pages, and was followed by events, local and foreign, and finally the Mercantile section with a small space for personal adverts.

"There's not much in local events," Murphy said, "A brief mention of General Perwani being unwell and a photo of a Lieutenant-Colonel Gates of the Regular Army stepping-in to witness the first Review off the printer."

I looked across Murphy's wool sleeve to the small photo. Gates cut a swell figure in his dark dress uniform. The article described him as "well-bronzed" and "fresh from a tour in the Americas, where he  was part of the special envoy that negotiated The Fashionista's trade agreement with the Indigenous of the First Nations". The "bronzed" comment cut at me, but it was not the greatest of my concerns. 

"What of the Spring Preview?"

Murphy flipped the paper from hand to hand until we reached pages 2 and 3. What I beheld shocked me. Calf-length skirts. Cap sleeves. Warm weather provisions for removal of outerwear. Additional styles of buttoned, pull-over, collared and collarless shirts for men across the Castes.

"This can't be right!" I cried, "Minerva have mercy! Those women look undressed! And they aren't even the usual models!"

"And what if the Spring Preview is not as designed?" Murphy asked. "What are the Fashionista or the Creatrix to do? Announce a vulnerability to their communication system?"

"I should speak to Heather," Mister Gray said, "Allow me to close you in a while longer, until she's prepared to send you on your way."

Once we were alone, Murphy gestured for me to sit. I returned to the cot and sat, but rather than sit upon the chair, Murphy took a knee before me. "Julien," he said. It bothered me that he used my name, not only because mine was known while his was not, but because I sensed it was, beginning the night before, a calculated means to ground me. "I haven't given you much of a choice before now. If you don't want to continue with me, the Grays can help you start again somewhere else."

I shook my head. "Na, na! I am not some boy swept off his feet by a foreign countess or sultan!"  I lifted the picture-novel from the chair and smacked it against his shoulder. "I've not forgotten your death threats, but my choice is made.  I knew what I did when I altered the General's jacket. Do not say you doubt me now! Before you, no one had ever told me I had the ability or skills to be anything other than compliant."

Murphy's smirk was irritatingly smug, but to his credit he attempted to school his face. "I believe it more than ever, meaning you can be a credit to our cause without me."

This sentiment I found irritating; it seemed disingenuous after Murphy's rakish flirtations. "Now you are honorable? Isn't it enough that you chose to spare me if I cooperated and I have accepted my role as your partner-in-crime?"

"I need to know whether your heart's in the fight or your actions are based in self preservation."

I fixed Murphy's dark eyes with a stare. "I was moved from my childhood home because an agent discovered my sister fit the physical requirements for the Hauteorian Gaurd. I was allotted my Caste and trade. My mother was taken by the Gendarmerie; to this day I do not know her fate. I suffered random searches of my shop and home. I complied with everything...."

I did not wish to speak of the loss of my father at sea and how it may have inspired my mother's actions. I did not wish to admit aloud how I had been angry with Mother and blamed her for being taken and for the searches. I wished I could say I complied because I wished to protect my sister's reputation, but I had simply complied.

"Complying," I said, head bowed, "was self-preservation. This is not."

Murphy offered his hand, which I took and gave a firm shake. He stood, drawing me also to my feet. His other hand rose to my chin. "I like you better defiant."

Though I knew it would please him to no end, I tossed my head. "You are too familiar, Sir."

Murphy smiled brightly, and a knock at the secret door interrupted whatever he might have said.

Heather entered the room. "Master Dangerous, I have something for you, to help with your disguise." She presented to me a hinged metal box with a hand on either side. I took it by the handle fixed to the lid, already suspecting it to be a sewing kit.

"This is too much."

"It's previous owner can no longer use it, Dear. They would want you to have it. Use it well."

"Do you have an address for us?" Murphy asked.

"You'll go to Molly Clap's House."

"The Molly Clap?!"

Murphy laughed. "You a friend of Molly, too?"

"She's got a Code-exemption! Everyone knows Molly."