Iris was almost to the Inkridden Tribune when she sensed someone following her again. She could feel their gaze, boring into her.
She stopped and glanced behind, her arms tired from hauling her typewriter and duffel bag.
It was half past seven in the morning, and the shadows were still long and blue between buildings. But she could see the man who was trailing her, a dark trench coat belted at his waist and a hat tilted on his head, shielding his face.
“Mr. Kitt?” Iris called to him, trying to quell her fear. But her voice held a slight ring of alarm, even as she lifted her chin in defiance. “Why are you following me?”
The man said nothing but continued to walk toward her. His brogues clicked on the cobblestones, and his hands remained tucked away in his coat pockets. As the distance closed between them, Iris swallowed. This man was not as tall and trim as Mr. Kitt. He was broader, shorter. The trench coat couldn’t hide his brawn. When he finally glanced up to meet her gaze, she saw that his nose was crooked. One of his ears looked permanently swollen, and there was a prominent scar on his jaw.
A boxer, or a fighter. Someone who dealt blows for a living.
Iris’s first piercing thought was He knows. He knows I stole the typewriter and he’s come to take it back.
She whirled on her heel, blood coursing hot in her veins as she prepared to flee.
“Miss Winnow,” he called to her. “I’ve an important message for you. From Mr. Kitt.”
That stopped her, as if her ankles had sunk into a bog.
Slowly, Iris turned around to face the man. He stood two paces away, regarding her with an amused gleam in his eyes. His expression seemed to say you can run, but you won’t get very far.
“What is the message?” she asked. “And why didn’t you mention it sooner, rather than follow me?”
“Did I frighten you? My apologies, miss,” he said, laying a beefy hand over his heart.
She couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or mocking her, and she frowned, resisting the temptation to step back. The Tribune was only a block away. Five minutes from where she stood. If she hurled her duffel bag at the man, she might be able to outrun him …
He withdrew something from his pocket. An envelope with her name scrawled over the front. Quietly, he extended it to her.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Take it and you’ll see.”
She hesitated, staring at the envelope.
“Go on, little miss,” he said. “It’s something you want.”
I sincerely doubt that, Iris thought, but then she imagined what it might be. It was possible Mr. Kitt had begun his own inquiries into Roman’s whereabouts, ever since he realized his son wasn’t in Oath. As one of the richest men in the city, he might have gained some valuable insight.
Iris set down her bag and typewriter and took the envelope, surprised by how thick and heavy it was. She broke the seal only to realize it was brimming with money. Bill after bill after bill. She had never held so much money in her hands before, and she shivered, gaping down at it.
“Mr. Kitt has requested that you sign this agreement here, annulling your marriage to his son.” The man reached into his coat and pulled out a legal document and a fountain pen. “It also states that you will relinquish whatever hold or claims you have on Mr. Roman Kitt, and that you will not interfere with his current work at the Gazette. The money should provide a comfortable living for the next few years and—”
Iris hurled the money to the ground. The bills spilled from the envelope, spreading like a green fan on the cobblestones.
“My father-in-law can keep his money,” she said. “And I will not sign that document. Tell him to save his efforts because my answer will never change.”
She picked up her luggage and strode away, relieved when the man didn’t follow. But she could feel him staring at her.
Iris’s hands were like ice as she turned the corner.
She could see the old building that held the Inkridden Tribune ahead, the upper windows reflecting the rising sun. But her attention was promptly snagged by a smart-looking motorcar, parked at the curb. Attie was standing beside it, as were Helena and a young man Iris had never seen before.
She quickened her pace, heart in her throat. Returning to the front almost felt like a dream. It didn’t feel real yet, and Iris wondered when it would. She could scarcely believe she was doing this again.
“Helena?” Iris said, finally reaching the group. “Sorry I’m late.”
Helena turned, left brow arched. Her auburn hair was slicked back, and she held an unlit cigarette. It was evident she was trying to kick the habit. “You’re not late, we’re simply ahead of schedule for once.”
Before Iris could reply, the young man stepped forward. He was dressed in gray trousers, knee-high boots, leather braces, and a white shirt, the buttons undone at the collar. His skin was a rich brown, his face freshly shaved. His eyes were dark and mirthful, framed by long lashes. A bowler hat with a feather tucked within its band sat on his head, and a pair of goggles hung from his neck.
“I’ll take your bags, miss,” he offered.
“Oh, thank you,” Iris said, surprised, as he took her things and stowed them in the trunk of what she assumed was his motorcar. “We’re not going by train?”
“No,” Helena replied, finally lighting her cigarette with a defeated sigh. She drew in a few puffs, the smoke curling in the air. “The train has become unreliable and untrustworthy. It’s also too slow for our present needs.”
Iris could hear the words she didn’t utter. The Kitts had chartered the railroad. The Kitts held immense power over most of the transportation in Oath, and now that Iris was refusing to do what Mr. Kitt wanted, she could only assume matters would get worse when it came to crossing paths with her father-in-law.
“We’re going by roadster,” Attie said in a low, excited voice. She was also wearing her correspondent jumpsuit with a leather belt fastened at her waist. Her favorite binoculars hung from her neck, as did a set of goggles, just like the driver’s.
Iris studied the motorcar again. It was built of sleek black metal with gold-rimmed headlights and wooden running boards. The tires gleamed with white spoked wheels, and there were two doors: one for the driver, and one for the back seat, which was upholstered in red leather. There was a windshield but no cover for the cab.
“I’ve never ridden in a roadster,” Iris said.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Make sure you wear these when you’re out on the open road going full speed.” Helena handed her a pair of goggles. “This is Tobias Bexley. He’s one of the most prestigious post runners in Cambria, and he’ll be driving you to each town. When you have your articles drafted and ready, he’ll transport them back to me while you wait for him to return. Then he’ll drive you to the next stop. I told him to take you as far as Winthrop in Central Borough. It’s as close to the front as I feel comfortable allowing you both to be, but even so, things can change overnight, so be alert.”
Iris nodded, slipping the goggles over her head. They clinked against the locket and she couldn’t help but picture Forest. Grease on his hands, scabs on his knuckles, sitting in their flat as the shadows crept across the floor in the evenings. A stab of worry made her stomach clench. She wished her brother wasn’t alone. She wished there was someone she could send to be with him while she was away.
“Are you listening, Iris?” Helena said wryly.
“Yes, ma’am.” Iris tucked a few threads of hair behind her ear. “Where is our first stop?”
“River Down, with Marisol. From there, you’ll go to my next contact, Lonnie Fielding in Bitteryne. After that, you’ll have to find places to lodge on your own with the funds I’ve provided, but most of all, if Bexley says you need to retreat, you jump into his roadster without question and let him drive you back to Oath. Understood?”
“Understood,” Attie echoed. “Anything you want us to report on in particular?”
“Whatever you find,” Helena replied, dropping the half-smoked cigarette to the pavement. She crushed it beneath her heel. “Dacre’s plans, his movements, what he’s doing to the land, to civilians. Updates, stories from eyewitnesses, things you observe.”
“The chancellor…” Iris’s voice trailed off.
Helena gave her a knowing look. “He won’t like it, but I’ve a mind to publish the truth, consequences be damned. Now, get along, the two of you. I expect your first article by tomorrow evening.”
Iris took a step forward but then paused, turning to look at Helena again. “I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“About my byline. I think I want to change it.”
“You think?”
“I do. I want it to be Iris E. Winnow.”
A pensive expression stole over Helena’s freckled face. But then she nodded. “Very well. But what’s the E stand for?”
“Elizabeth,” Iris replied. “It was also my nan’s middle name.”
“An homage to her, then?”
Yes, Iris thought, but Roman also haunted her in that moment. She remembered how much it had once irritated her that she didn’t know what the C stood for in his byline.
Tobias opened the passenger door. Attie climbed aboard first, followed by Iris. The leather seat was cold, and she made herself lean back. She told herself to relax, breathe, and set her mind on what was coming, because looking behind would only slow her down.
And yet she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder as Tobias began to drive them down the street.
Helena stood on the curb, twirling a new cigarette. But she wasn’t the only one watching their departure. Iris saw a man leaning against the wall a few paces back, hands shoved into his pockets and a smile cutting across his shadowed face.
Mr. Kitt’s associate.
Oath melted like rime in the sun as they took to the open road.
Iris watched the city fade as the roadster devoured kilometers, defying her own orders to keep her eyes ahead. She watched until the cathedral steeples, the shiny high rises, and the old castle towers were nothing but a haze in the distance, and she thought how odd it was. To see something that felt strong and vast slowly become small and quiet. A mere ink blot on the horizon.
“What’s a post runner, exactly?” Attie asked over the hum of the motor.
Iris turned her attention back to Tobias Bexley, who hadn’t said a word since he cranked the motor.
“It’s exactly how it sounds,” he replied. “I drive people’s post and deliveries to and from Oath.”
Attie leaned forward, resting her arms on the driver’s seat. “And how does one get into such a business?”
“I suppose it’s similar to how you got into reporting.”
“To prove a point to a narrow-minded professor?”
Tobias was quiet for a beat. “Then no. I became a runner because I liked racing fast motorcars and needed income to pay for my hobby. Might as well do what I love for a living.”
“You race motorcars?” Iris asked.
“I do,” he said. “My mum is always relieved when I take time off for post assignments, although she and my father never miss a race of mine. Granted, these days even the post is dangerous and unpredictable.”
“How many races have you won?” Attie said, settling in for a nice, long story.
Tobias countered, “You assume I’ve won?”
“Well … yes,” she said with a wave of her hand, indicating the pastures that bordered the road. The landscape continued to roll by them with an exhilarating speed. “You’re quite fast, in case you didn’t notice.”
He laughed. “That’s what your boss is paying me to do. I’m to transport you as well as your articles from one place to the next, as quickly and safely as possible.”
“I didn’t even know roadsters could go so fast,” said Iris, squinting against the wind. She had yet to put her goggles on, waiting for Tobias to tell her when to do so. But she loved the sting of fresh air on her face. The way the breeze drew through her hair like fingers.
“They normally can’t accommodate this gear,” Tobias said.
“Then you’re saying this is no normal motorcar,” Attie was swift to surmise.
“I might be saying that.”
“Why the vague answers, Bexley?” Attie nudged him in the shoulder. “Are you worried we’ll write an article about you and your magical roadster?”
“I worry about one thing only,” he answered.
Iris and Attie both waited, hanging upon the suspense. When the silence continued, filled only with the roar of the wind and the comforting purr of the engine, Attie leaned even closer to him.
“I imagine you worry about flat tires, or running out of petrol, or getting lost.”
“I worry about rain,” he said, but he finally turned his head, meeting Attie’s gaze for a split second. “Rain makes the roads muddy and treacherous.”
Iris looked up at the clouds. They were white and fluffy, but a few on the western horizon were building into tall thunderheads.
“You know what they say about springtime in Cambria,” Attie drawled, also taking note of the clouds.
“I know it better than most.” Tobias pushed the clutch and moved the gearstick. It was such a smooth transition Iris hardly felt the car shift. “Which means we only have a few hours to get to River Down before that storm breaks. Goggles will come in handy right about now. Secure anything you don’t want to fly away.” He removed his hat, tucking it safely in a glove compartment. “Also, there’s rope attached to the seat in front of you, in case you need to hold on to something.”
Iris and Attie dutifully donned their goggles. As the roadster drove even faster, all hopes of conversation died in the howling air and speed. But Iris could feel the thrill of it through the soles of her boots. She could feel it hum in her bones, and she reveled in watching the land blur as they raced westward.
The clouds hung low and dark by the time Tobias drove them into River Down.
It was a small, sleepy town, tucked away in the rolling hills of the countryside. A babbling, shallow river cut through its heart, and a stone bridge connected the two halves of town: the east side that was a patchwork of markets, a library, a communal garden, a school, a small church with stained glass windows; and the west side, which brimmed with thatched cottages laced together with winding, cobbled roads.
Iris removed her goggles, taking it in. A few people were walking the streets with baskets, and they watched with bright curiosity as Tobias drove carefully down one road, then another.
“Are we almost there?” Iris asked, breathless.
“Yes, that’s it up ahead on the left, with the yellow door,” Attie said.
Iris spotted it—a two-story cottage with a stone chimney and blue shutters, nearly devoured by ivy—and as Tobias shifted the roadster down to a crawl, she noticed someone was waiting for them in the front yard. Someone with long black hair and a smile that crinkled her eyes, her red dress striking against her light brown skin.
“Marisol!” Iris cried, standing up in the cab to wave.
Marisol waved back and threw open the yard gate, standing in the street with a grin. As soon as Tobias cut the engine, Iris launched herself from the car. She raced the short distance to Marisol’s welcoming embrace. It almost felt like everything—the sky, the ground, the daily routine—was about to crumble again, and Iris needed something steady to hold on to.
The last time I saw you, the world was burning, Iris thought, clenching her eyes shut as an unexpected wave of emotion struck her chest. She hadn’t cried much the past few weeks. Indeed, she thought she had recovered from most of the trauma she had experienced, letting it hollow her out. But perhaps it had only been buried. Perhaps she had shoved it down to dark forgotten places and it had grown roots while she had been sleeping.
It was alarming to Iris at first, to feel it blister again.
She began to pull away but Marisol only held her tighter. Attie joined them, and the three wrapped their arms around each other. Iris sniffed and lifted her head, trying to hide her emotion until she saw that Marisol also had tears shining in her eyes.
“My girls, it’s so good to see you both! And you know what this calls for? Hot cocoa and a biscuit.”
“I’ve only dreamt of such since arriving back in Oath,” Attie said. “No other café comes close to your hot cocoa, Marisol. Or your biscuits.”
“Is that so?” Marisol sounded shocked as she led the girls to the front yard. She paused two steps later to call out, “And it’s nice to see you again, Tobias! We would love for you to join us for a cup of cocoa.”
Tobias was busy unloading the trunk. But he glanced up and nodded, a corner of his mouth curling in a half smile. “I would be happy to, Mrs. Torres. As soon as I tend to the car. The storm is not far off.”
“Of course,” Marisol said. The air smelled like distant rain; the wind was beginning to whistle through the narrow streets. It lifted tendrils of sable hair from her brow. “The front door will be open, and we’ll have a seat ready at the table for you.”
“Oh!” Iris’s voice finally worked its way free. “My luggage.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Winnow,” said Tobias, his eyes focused on his task as he withdrew an oilcloth from the trunk. “I’ll bring it in for you. As well as for Miss Attwood.”
“Thank you,” Attie said. “But in case you didn’t notice … I go by Attie.”
Tobias latched the trunk door, but his eyes flickered upward. “Very well then, Attie.”
As he returned to his task of covering the cab with the oilcloth, Marisol guided Attie and Iris along a brick path.
“Come,” Marisol said, her gaze alight with excitement. “Come meet my sister, Lucy.”
