Page 2 of Inceptive (Ingenious #3)

2

WILL

W rapped in a bright orange hooded raincoat, Will sat hunched over on the buckboard of the loaded wagon, dismayed by the water level rising to the edge of the mile-long stone bridge to Fort Hope that had no protective side railing. Zach had promised him that the dappled ponies were sure-footed, experienced, and bred to haul twice the load in the wagon, which was, unfortunately, lighter than the men had hoped.

Will had always wondered what mysteries hid behind the miles of stone rampart enclosing Fort Hope. He’d never set foot on the mainland, as permits were limited to indentured servants. Until three months ago, he’d never crossed the footbridge to the Trading Post, where outcasts had turned the barrier isle into a rough trading settlement with warehouses, general stores, food carts, and saloons.

The Wild Pony Saloon and its upstairs rentals did a thriving business, second only to Bartley’s Mercantile. Bartley was a heartless merchant, offering no discounts or sympathy for his customers. That Will had masqueraded as a woman had pissed off Bartley, who’d often pinched Will’s ass and offered discounts for a suck and feel behind a curtained dressing room. The merchant had refused to fill Zach’s order until Will threatened to visit Mrs. Bartley upstairs. Their order was swiftly filled to get them off the isle, with Mr. Bartley even tossing in free smokes for Will.

In a small cabin, alone with Zach, a rut was inevitable. It wasn’t as if Will, overcome by lust, could seduce Zach with a blowjob. More like Zach would break Will’s fingers, one for each time Will dropped to his knees and begged.

Jerking off—oh, say, about a thousand times—hadn’t prepared Will for his first rut a year ago. Without warning, an all-consuming heat had driven him to taste a man, mount him— anything! Unfortunately, that first rut hit the heat index while he was home alone, just as Deputy Viceroy Elliston had knocked on the door, stating he was there to confer with Will’s father. Elliston had smelled the rut—and opportunity—and had locked the door behind him.

Will had dropped to his knees with goddamned grateful tears when Elliston had opened his pants and guided Will’s mouth to his swollen dick. Elliston’s refractory time had allowed Will the chance to crawl to his room, lock the door, and light a chain of smokes kept in his nightstand to subdue the need.

The next day, Will found himself engaged to marry an infatuated Elliston with the full approval of the viceroy. When Will had argued against the marriage, his father had threatened to drug him into compliance. That calm threat, the smug smile on Elliston’s face, the coincidence of a first rut without signals just as Elliston knocked on the door—Will understood he was a pawn on a chessboard. The title of viceroy was inherited by blood ties or by marriage. Elliston would take Will’s last name and share, then usurp, the title. Will suspected that a stimulant snuck into his food, drink, or even in his shampoo had triggered the rut.

Seeking asylum on the Trading Post would have only had his father hiring bounty hunters. Instead, Will had staged his death to look like a tragic fall from his bedroom balcony with his body washed away into the ocean. To convince his father and Elliston it was real, not staged, Will had smashed his beloved violin on the rocky shore. Will had a habit of composing on his balcony for inspiration, so everyone would believe he’d accidentally fallen over the railing while reaching for the precious pages of his musical thesis that had blown off the music stand.

Of course, his father and Elliston would think he’d committed suicide, and Will hoped the guilt splintered their friendship.

On a windy night three months ago, Will had carried out his plan. He’d dressed as a woman and snuck out while the household was asleep and believed him focused on his finals. He’d destroyed his violin, silently weeping at the destruction of hundreds of years of history. Then he’d hurried into the shadows and headed toward the footbridge to the Trading Post. On the way, he’d heard cries and found an odd bird, drenched and shivering. Its left wing was torn and bloody, either by the slash of a talon or from being caught in a gust and slammed against the rocky shore.

Will had wrapped the poor thing in his shawl. Had he gotten a good look at its curled claws, he might have left it alone, but fate was fate. It had snuggled in and whimpered against his chest.

And damn if those whimpers didn’t deceive the guards and pedestrians into believing he was a mother carrying a hungry baby home in an infant sling after work. Will had paid cash to rent a room from Davis and eventually put together an act to entertain the patrons. From the beginning, Davis was told the truth. He despised the viceroy and his deputy, and Will’s performances sold a record number of drinks.

Someone must have seen through Will’s masquerade or had overheard him and Davis talking. Will’s excuse, if caught, was to fake amnesia from slipping and falling on the rocky shore after leaving his apartment tower to retrieve his violin and pages of music. Though his father and Elliston would know Will was lying, the public would love it, and the diversion would enhance the viceroy’s popularity.

Right now, Will’s priority was escaping to Fort Hope before the bridge closed. In six months, if he survived, he’d be forced to return with the other servants. He would still fake amnesia, and even his father and Elliston would believe him. Because why would a privileged citizen with a sane mind choose to suffer six months farming the basin rather than marrying the deputy viceroy and living in a penthouse?

Why? Because there was a chance Zach could use his influence to allow Will to live in Fort Hope and teach music or act as an envoy. To live on the homeland that the ancestors had promised to the oceanic domes’ survivors was the dream of all Islanders.

As the wagon approached the rampart, the gatekeeper recognized Zach and rolled out the connecting deck, allowing entry inside Fort Hope. Once the wagon passed through the gate, he raised a red flag, signaling the bridge was closed for the flood season.

The gatekeeper, in boots and hooded raincoat, swung his lantern over Will’s face and form. “Shit, Zach, one scrawny old servant. Why didn’t you just give in and marry the mayor? You got a death wish?”

“Hello, George. Meet Will. He named the thieves who attacked Riley and led me to their lair, where I recovered what was stolen.” Zach replied as Will had coached, keeping their story simple. He rubbed his knuckles. “I was already in a high temper and caught them off guard. I offered Will a large bonus if he would sign on as my servant and wait for full payment until after I had accessed my trust fund.”

Well done . And Zach had argued that he couldn’t lie without stammering and blushing.

“How’s Riley?” George asked.

“Recovering from surgery. Lots of therapy ahead to prevent a limp, but he’ll be running across the bridge to marry his Maya when it reopens.”

“If she’ll have him. What was he doing in an alley?”

“He was dragged into an alley, beaten, robbed, and left for dead.”

“Is that the official story?” George sounded skeptical.

“He’s suffered enough. Let it be.”

“Done. The mayor will pitch a fit that you found the thieves. She’s ordered a wedding banquet and hired a barber for the ritual shave tonight. What am I supposed to tell her?”

Zach handed him the unused promissory note. “Tell her I’m much obliged for the offer but have decided to keep my beard another season. Can you give me an hour’s head start?”

“Not doing you a favor if I wait. You’ll be lucky to survive without a full crew.”

“Will is all I could afford after paying off Riley’s medical care and room and board. When I return, I’m campaigning for a clinic and taking my time choosing a wife. Feel free to spread the word.”

“But you will marry soon after you build a clinic, right?” It wasn’t a question. More of a warning that Zach had better end his bachelor days.

“Absolutely. Tell the ladies I’m looking for a young and sensible wife who’ll support the clinic.”

“Good to hear.” The gatekeeper squinted at the indenture paper. A smudged thumbprint covered the last name. “Good luck, Will… uh… Dean, is it?”

“Yes, sir. Will Dean.” He projected the high-pitched, breathy voice of an old man.

The gatekeeper scrawled a permit with numbers matching the leather band he fastened around Will’s right wrist. Zach would keep the indenture document in his cabin, and the permit would be filed at the courthouse. “Well, Will Dean, Zach’s our best cane farmer. Follow his orders, and maybe you’ll see that bonus in six months.” The gatekeeper lifted the lantern close to Will’s aged face. “You bring smokes?”

Will showed him the packet of smokes—ground buds rolled in thin cane leaves.

The gatekeeper noted on the permit that the servant carried smokes. “I mean no disrespect to Zach, but the law obligates me to remind all servants that man-love in the basin is punished.” He huffed a laugh at the absurd idea of Zach being attracted to a withered man. He stepped away from the wagon and waved them on. “Good luck. Put some miles behind you before resting the ponies. I’ve been working the gate enough years to predict the tunnel will flood sooner than normal, and the basin’s got a bad flood season ahead. If the ditches are half filled before you reach the second rest station, turn around.”

Zach snapped the reins, and the ponies, watered and fed earlier, picked up the pace and followed a paved road that bypassed the town. Luckily, the townspeople were occupied with the hasty wedding banquet, and their lone wagon rolled through unnoticed in the rain.

Will had lived with the sound of waves his whole life, and the absence was like removing earplugs. He heard the distinct pattern of raindrops and the gusts of wind. After a lifetime of briny recycled air, the clean air invigorated him. The euphoria was a sample of what it must have felt like when the oceanic domes of his ancestors had surfaced and attached to the Island three hundred years ago. The towering, bubble-shaped domes were unique crystalline energy shields housing two thousand people to survive the apocalypse and repopulate a new Earth. After being launched into the Atlantic Ocean, the domes were programmed to anchor to a platform and connect to form an underwater city that was self-sustainable for over a thousand years, until Earth’s atmosphere was breathable again. Seventeen centuries passed before the domes finally surfaced, and the tenacious descendants were thrust into an atmosphere with higher oxygen and traces of alien gases. The euphoria of the new air and the victory of survival had turned them into a barbarian horde without respect for the promised land and the subspecies who’d claimed it centuries earlier and named it Fort Hope.

Though the survivors had adjusted to the air after a few years, the hostility festered.

The road to the basin was built on a concrete embankment with deep ditches on each side. There were no high-rise towers, narrow, smelly sidewalks, and no yelling and hammering. He could walk for miles without dodging food carts and rude pedestrians.

After an hour, the paved surface ended, and the wagon rolled over packed clay with holes and bumps. The euphoria had passed, and now his butt ached. As pitch black descended, Zach turned on a lantern and pointed the light to the road for the ponies. Before they’d left the Trading Post, Zach had said that mudslides were a risk if the wagon strayed close to the edge of the road.

However, Zach remained silent now, focused on the ponies maintaining a faster pace and watching for lights following them.

“Are we safe?” Will asked.

“It’s too late for Astrid to send guards after us on some flimsy excuse.” He aimed a light at the ditch, the water level shallow. “We’ve got time to reach the tunnel.”

“How much longer?” Will asked.

“Two days at this pace. About fifty more miles.”

“Are there farming settlements near the main road?”

“Houses and outbuildings are clustered in settlements in the uplands a couple of miles off the main road. Uplands have less flooding and a longer growing season for produce. Safer, too, because there are no mud sucks in the fields. But in the basin, those mud sucks can be anywhere. Farmers must work in pairs and stay close to the walkways. Cane is the basin’s crop, and the growing season is during the rain, which can last over three months. Then, it’s another two or three months before the flooding recedes from the tunnel’s gate. The only way out is that gate, so once it floods, you’re locked inside the basin.”

“What’s a mud suck?” Will had never heard of them.

“Everywhere a varmint burrows can become a mud suck. Step in one, and you’ll sink to your neck. Your partner will have to use a rope and muscle to pull you out. But don’t worry. We aren’t working the fields, and if you accidentally fall off a walkway, just holler for help. A puny thing like you is easy for me to haul out.”

Alarmed, Will sized him up. “If you fall off, no way I can pull you out.”

Zach chuckled. “Never had a mud suck yet that could hold me. I lasso a post and haul myself out.”

Will would stay inside the dry cabin. “Have you lost servants?”

Zach scratched his beard. “Four. They got drunk on fermented cane sap and didn’t follow orders. Freakish winds are a big problem when you’ve got no balance.” His voice sharpened. “So follow my orders and stay out of the sap barrel.”

“If I die, my father could decline medical care to your townspeople traveling to the Island’s hospital.” Actually, his father would seize the chance to double the fees.

“Nah. Fort Hope would retaliate by cutting the food trade in half and starving you Islanders.”

“That would solve our population problem, and we wouldn’t need to buy the cloth from your looms or use our lasers to manufacture your tools.”

“Then it’s important to follow my orders, like always wearing a leash and attaching it to a porch post when you take a piss.”

“What if I need to squat over the edge?” He imagined teeth chomping his exposed ass.

“Use the trapdoor on the porch. One’s in the cabin, but it’s only used when the rains are bad. Otherwise, take care of business on the porch. Water carries away the waste and fertilizes the fields.”

Their voices awakened Belle, who’d been napping in her cage beneath a tarp covering the wagon bed. She chittered and hopped on Will’s shoulder. She searched the road intently, her feathers fluffing. Her curling fringe of lashes deflected the rain from her eyes.

Will gently rubbed the back of her head. “Are you remembering where home is, Belle?”

“Bad wind. Home lost.”

“I’ve never seen her kind in the basin,” Zach said. “I suspect a strong wind swept her off course, and a pteryox snatched her in the air, then dropped her when she fought.”

Saying pteryox drew distressed chirps from Belle.

Will and Zach exchanged looks. She’d recognized the word for the strange river eagle that had appeared forty years ago and was believed to be a natural species that had mutated.

“Maybe her home is across the Grand Lake or in the far north,” Zach said.

“Given Belle’s vocabulary and curly eyelashes, she’s probably a descendant from a bioengineered aviary.”

“Aviary?”

“A fancy bird lab. You know, a lab using genetic engineering to create new lifeforms, like your kind.” Oh, fuck. Will had stuck his finger in an old wound.

Zach’s mouth tightened. “I’m as human as you.”

According to the ancient files in the domes’ archives, Zach’s people weren’t true humans. They were created in the bioengineering lab of the Carolina Sanctuary by the AI Guardian and its network, who were programmed to replicate human lifeforms from vaults of genetic material if the domes failed to surface when the air was breathable. The timeframe was unknown because the sanctuary, presumed to have escaped the brunt of the apocalypse, had been destroyed by a later meteor strike. All that remained was a half-mile-thick towering stone wall surrounding ten miles of a bowl-shaped depression, which had become a dangerous swamp basin. Zach’s people had no written history, just legends. They had peacefully farmed the friendlier land enclosed by the rampart, extending from the coastline to the front wall of the basin, for centuries without outside contact. Then, the domes had surfaced and terrified them. The demand for food and cane had forced Fort Hope to gradually clear the swampland for more farms.

Islanders had discovered that the DNA of the sanctuary’s creations was incompatible for interbreeding. They called the peaceful farmers subhuman lifeforms squatting on land that belonged to the true human descendants.

The silence stretched with Will at a loss for how to apologize for the slur. “Um… look… of course, you’re human, and if Fort Hope had the advantages of education, archives, and tech, there’d be no differences between us.”

“Your schooling’s worthless in the swamp.” Zach spat off the side to show his contempt.

“Let’s agree neither of us is stupid. We were incredibly lucky to find each other and escape a fate worse than death—marriage to someone we despise.”

“I may escape, but you won’t. Your father will be waiting for you when the bridge opens. What will you tell him?”

“My original plan was to vaguely remember leaving the apartment tower to retrieve my dropped violin and music sheets. Then I must have slipped on the rocky shore. I’d pretend I’d suffered amnesia after I’d fallen, and I’d awakened as a character in a play.” He laughed softly. “I’d left a copy of such a play in my room and had discussed it with classmates. Of course, Belle wasn’t in the play. I had a cat.”

Belle heard cat . “Meow.”

Zach’s broad shoulders shook with laughter. “Your father will believe Belle’s a real c-a-t before he believes you’re suffering from amnesia.”

“Theater and music are my talents. I’ll pull it off. Also, Elliston is ambitious. He doesn’t need to marry for an heir. He’ll take my last name, I’ll adopt his daughter, and she’ll inherit the title of viceroy. With people distrusting my fragile mental state, my father would remove me from active politics and give me a position in the university.”

“Whoa, there… if Elliston has a daughter, how could he switch from a wife to a husband?”

“She divorced him for his disinterest in sex after giving him an heir. My people are practical, too.”

“Huh. And you call us a subspecies. You spawn like fish in a small pond. Doesn’t matter what’s beneath you when you spill your seed.”

The ponies reached a rest station that consisted of a large cabin and a shed. Zach tightened the canvas over their supplies and placed wedges by the wheels before unharnessing the ponies. They trotted to separate stalls in the shed and pulled on a rope to release a mound of grain into a trough.

“Are they safe out here?” Will asked.

“Their lower legs are tough and furry, and their kicks are lethal. If danger disturbs them, their braying will wake us.”

“There’s no mention of these bioengineered ponies in our archives.”

“Marsh ponies evolved on their own. They grazed the barrier Island until your domes surfaced. They bolted across the bridge, terrified when your power grids messed with the current and devastated the fishing. Your people wrecked our food chain.”

“The sanctuary created the grids to guide the oceanic domes home and generate power from the waves. The grids were on the Island before you existed,” Will countered. “Why are you scowling at me?”

“Our council warns against listening to your lies.”

“We’ve never lied to you about the archives.”

“Like you aren’t lying about amnesia?”

“That’s different. Personal. Besides, it brought us together.”

“That it did. And grateful I am.”

Belle flew over and tugged a swinging rope. Dusty grain showered her, and she screeched. “Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck!”

“I wonder where she picked that up,” Zach deadpanned.

“Don’t react, or she’ll keep repeating it.” Will sneezed from the dust when she flapped her wings.

Zach swept the lantern around the rest station. “Looks safe. Take a quick piss in the ditch, I’ll watch.”

“You will not watch! And I’ll piss behind the wagon.”

“Piss attracts rats and snakes. I’ll be watching for them, not ogling your dick.” He pulled a machete from beneath the wagon seat and turned the lantern toward the ditch.

Snakes and rats? Will pissed in the ditch for what seemed forever, bearing down, then clenching at every sound.

When it was Zach’s turn, he carried the machete in one hand and held his dick with the other, saying he didn’t trust Will to swing wildly and leave him with the nickname Treestump.

From the muddied plank floor and depleted food pantry, Zach knew he and Will were the last travelers. The previous crew had logged in and out a day ago. A maintenance crew would clean and stock before crews returned after the harvest. The reservoir attached to the small stove was filled but cold, and the battery lantern was too weak to boil water.

The room was dry, and the bedding was folded and placed on sleeping shelves.

Belle raced around the plank floor, eating tasties that were seeking shelter from the rain.

Zach removed his boots and hung his rainwear on pegs, then barred the door and hung his lantern on a hook on the rafter.

“Does your cabin have a shed for the ponies?” Will asked.

“I’ll free them when we reach the cabin. Without the wagon, they’ll reach the stable in town in a day. They’re fast when they’ve a warm stall and feed waiting. Taxes furnish teams and wagons for the basin’s farmers and maintain these rest stations. Otherwise, I couldn’t have rented a team and wagon.”

Will had traded his red dress for meat pies, a jug of buttermilk, bread, and soft cheese. He spread them on a bench before digging into his satchel for a jar of cream and slathering it over his face. While the cream absorbed his makeup, he’d eat. By the time Will reached for a meat pie, Zach was eating a third pie, the juices running down his beard.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Zach said, “I’ve always hired a cook for my crew. Just so you know, I’m only good for brewing tea and boiling noodle packets.”

“I learned basic oven and stovetop cooking from my father’s chef.”

“Not from your mother?”

“My mother died when I was three.” Though his father refused to talk about it, Will had heard whispers she’d overdosed on antidepressants and alcohol.

“My family died when I was twenty.” Zach pointed to Will’s half-eaten meat pie, which he’d planned to save for breakfast. “You finished?”

“Help yourself.”

Zach gobbled it before he changed his mind.

Will peeled off the itchy gray mask and rinsed his face by dunking his head in a basin of water. While he finger-combed his hair, Zach gaped at him. Will rubbed his nose. “What’s wrong? Did I miss a strip?”

“Your nose isn’t knobby at all. It’s straight. I thought… I thought… How’d you manage the knobby nose?”

“Cosmetic putty. I brought my stage makeup if you need a dose of the amazing Miss Glorianna to entertain us when we’re bored.”

“Oh, holy hell. You’re really pretty.” Zach’s dark brown eyes squinted in disbelief. “You don’t have beard stubble!”

“Elliston requested I have my facial and body hair permanently removed.” He poured a mug of buttermilk.

Zach winced. “That’s contrary to… to nature. Privates are hairy.”

“Depilation of my balls was included in the marriage contract.”

Zach looked horrified, obviously misunderstanding the definition.

Will spewed buttermilk. “Depilation means removing pubic hair, not my testicles.”

“Islanders and their fancy words,” Zach muttered.

“The procedure made my balls and dick look bigger, so I’m not complaining. I don’t miss my beard since it was patchy. Some faces aren’t meant to sport hair.” He stared pointedly at Zach’s greasy beard, wondering what it hid and how to hint he should wash it daily.

There were other differences besides Will’s extensive vocabulary. Will spoke with a crisp accent, using subtle inflections to convey emotions. Zach was a plain-spoken man with a pleasant, resonant drawl. A man who examined his words before voicing them. Hiring Will was likely the first spontaneous act in his humdrum life.

A trunk contained blankets, lumpy pillows that smelled like pine chips, and a community sleeping pallet. When travelers filled the cabin, latecomers apparently slept on extendable shelves.

Belle roosted on the rafter next to the warmth of the lantern. Will unrolled the pallet and shook out a blanket. He stretched his limbs, then lay on his side, glad to give his ass a rest from the buckboard. The pallet was wide enough to sleep six. When Zach stood at the edge, hesitant, Will motioned him over.

Instead, Zach stretched out on a hard shelf and threw a blanket over himself. His feet hung off the edge, and if he shifted in his sleep, he’d fall off.

“Are you sleeping on a shelf because I’m gay?” Will asked.

“The town will question our sleeping arrangement. They’ll take one look at you and believe the worst.”

“George, the gatekeeper, didn’t seem to think it was a problem.”

“Because you were old and stooped and wrinkled. Dammit. You’ll have to ugly up if we ever return.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“You know you are.”

Yeah, he did. But beauty was a curse, drawing lies for his attention. His music evoked pure emotions. In costume and makeup, he was any persona he chose. “Don’t worry. Your stinky beard will convince the mayor and her council that I rebuffed lusty snuggles. But what about your cabin, huh?”

“You’ll sleep in the curtained loft. I’ll sleep on a pallet by the warm stove. Tonight, we must sleep apart so that, under questioning, you answer truthfully.” Zach seemed to be waiting for Will to offer to trade places.

Fat chance. Will curled on his side and listened to Zach shifting to get comfortable. “What exactly happens if we confessed that we snuggled and were intimate?”

“I’ll be fined half my land.”

“That’s unfair!”

“The council decides the fine, and Mayor Astrid holds the majority of the votes.”

“What are my chores besides cooking?”

“Laundry once a month.”

Will now owned three changes of clothes and a nightshirt. He didn’t have to do the math to know he’d stink and itch long before laundry day arrived. “Just so you know, my father paid a daily cleaning service. Room and board at the saloon included laundry service twice a week. The only laundry I’ve done was washing the cum out of my briefs when I was a teen.”

The shifting ceased. “Men shouldn’t admit to spilling seed in their briefs,” Zach whispered.

“Ah, the prudish ways of you squatters.” Squatters referred to the people who’d usurped the promised land and was considered less offensive than subhuman lifeform.

“Ha. Better a squatter than a lying, rutting Islander.”

Will opened his mouth to refute the words, then realized he was a liar and had rutted. Fortunately, Belle was perched on the rafter with her head tucked under her wing, exhausted and not listening for interesting words to repeat.

The shelf creaked louder with every restless movement.

“Come down here before you break the shelf. Who’s going to know if we share a pallet for one night?”

“There are ways to dig it out of your memories. Violations aren’t condoned.”

“Ooooh, a highfalutin word. Impressive.” Will tittered like Miss Glorianna.

“The truth always comes out in the steam lodge. Though we don’t have your highfalutin tech, we do use a drugged vapor that squeezes out truth under questioning. All servants must visit the lodge and undergo the mayor’s questioning before returning to their homes.”

Will sat up. “Servants have never mentioned this.”

“The vapor scrubs recent memories and extracts information. Some servants have been spies and have planted harmful devices. Smokes can fail to subdue ruts. What if Mayor Astrid asks if you panted after me during your rut. Hint at yes, and I’ll be fined, and you’ll be hanged unless I agree to marry her.”

Will tsked . “But you’ll be the mayor questioning me. I suggest you don’t ask anything that gets us in trouble.”

“A mayor is honor bound to ask for the truth.”

“You don’t know politics. Honor be damned. Trust me. I’ve lived my life surrounded by lies for the good of the people. Now keep still, and let’s get some sleep. We’ve plenty of time to talk while we travel.” He flung the blanket over his head and reminded himself that had he married Elliston, he’d be sleeping on a foam mattress with curtains fluttering in the crisp ocean breeze… and with his ass sore and his heart aching.

The hacking from the rafter woke Will. He sat up on his elbows and found insect legs sprinkled over the blanket. He shook them off. “No eating near my bed, Belle!”

“Don’t like spiky legs.” She flew to the door, lifted the bar, and went outside to do her business.

“If you don’t cage her, she’ll fly away to join a flock,” Zach said without making a move to catch her.

“No cage will hold Belle if she wants to escape.”

They ate meat pies and refilled their canteens from a rain barrel. The clean water was as good as any of Davis’s gin drinks.

Will sniffed his pits. Phew. “Does your cabin have a gravity shower?”

Zach laughed. “You want a shower, city boy? Then stand on the porch, wet down in the rain, scrub with soap, then rinse off.”

Will waited for a laugh that said it was a joke. It was no joke. “Is there a privacy screen?”

Zach laughed harder.

Will had no words to express his dismay. Sleeping clothed on a pallet with his owner would get Will hanged, yet showering naked in the rain was okay.

They paused at noon to rest the ponies and sat under the wagon’s tarp out of the rain. Will served Zach a bowl of cold mush that had been soaking in buttermilk since they’d left the rest station. He’d sprinkled raisins on top, and Zach elbowed Belle away when she begged for one.

“Sooooo hungry,” she pleaded, though she’d eaten her weight in unspeakable tasties all morning.

Will fed her raisins from his bowl to hush her, and she repaid him by dropping a juicy water crawler in his bowl. He gagged and plucked it out.

Belle gobbled it up before it hit the ground.

Zach was staring at him again. “I can see how you’d pass for a woman. Your skin’s smooth. Your nose is cute as a button. Your high eyebrows and lashes belong on a woman.”

Will glared at him. “I deliberately plucked my brows and aged my face to discourage amorous men. I’m tired of using nose putty. And I resent being turned into someone with a welcoming asshole. Maybe I’d like to be the man pumping ass.”

Zach’s jaw dropped. “You’re a blunt talker, Will van Diehn.”

“Get used to it.” He ate the last spoonful of mush and chased it down with a drink from a jug Zach handed him. The liquid tasted like delicate spice… until it delivered a peppery kick that felt as if he’d been yanked out of bed by his ankles.

“What was that?” Will wheezed. His knees bounced with energy.

“Tea made from the bark of a shrub. It acts as a repellant. Leeches crossing the road can be kicked up by hooves and burrow in your clothes until they find skin. One suck of repellant, and they fall off.”

Will drank another mouthful.

Regardless of the steady rain, Belle flew when bored, always within sight of the wagon. She perched on the ponies, who nickered and slapped their tails at her. The ponies fascinated her, leading Will to believe such animals were a novelty in her home territory outside of Fort Hope.

Since her vision was telescopic, Belle trilled when she sighted snails in the ditches. She’d dive after one, place it on the buckboard between the men, then crack the shell and slurp the slimy meat. “Tasty.”

“They’re good eating raw.” Zach held out a hand for a snail, but Belle refused to share with the “hairy beast” who didn’t share raisins. However, she did share with Will, who snuck the slimy things to Zach when she flew away for another.

Now Zach had snail breath and a slimy beard. Will scooted to his end of the buckboard.

When the wind picked up, Belle retreated to her cage beneath the tarp and napped.

Zach pointed out distant terraced farms, describing the system of ditches and ponds with dams that irrigated the farms in the dry season.

Will gazed at the land as he’d gazed at priceless artwork in the Island’s archives. If one mile of Fort Hope adopted the efficient agri-platforms and bioengineered crops of the Island Federation, the harvest would feed ten thousand extra mouths. Just one fucking, measly mile from those stingy squatters.

Belle hopped from her cage and perched atop the wagon post, peering around. Suddenly her crest stiffened, and she soared toward the faint outline of an orchard. He hoped she’d spied edible nuts. Instead, she disappointed him by returning with a branch of red berries. So excited by the find, she could only chirp as Will rubbed a few berries between his palms.

“Has my pretty bird found some kissies?”

She stood still while he fingerpainted dark red lips on her beak.

The berries grabbed Zach’s attention. He reached for the branch, and she pecked his gloved hand, screeching “Mine,” then retreated inside her cage with the branch and latched the door.

Will snickered, as it seemed that Zach bit back a remark that Belle would have repeated for hours.

“What are they?” Will rinsed his fingers in the rain.

“Crapberries. We eat them for sluggish bowels. Don’t know how it affects birds. But I hope she ate one, and it scorches her ass into next week.”

Belle trilled at the reflection in the piece of mirror installed in the cage for her. Will knew she wasn’t fooled that she was preening for another bird in the mirror. The vain bird admired herself. Fortunately, she hadn’t noticed the fading dye of her tail feathers from the rain yet.

By the time the men reached the half-mile-long tunnel, the wagon was splashing through puddles. The rampart enclosing Fort Hope ended where the basin’s exterior wall began. The tunnel’s east entrance faced the distant coastline. Soon after the domes surfaced, explorers had eagerly charted the territory outside the rampart. To Will’s right, the north side of the basin and rampart faced an unnavigable river with waterfalls and a jagged, stony bottom. The south side was a crusty salt flat with toxic gases seeping from cracks.

The basin’s wall was constructed of a high-tech gray stone, described in the archives as being able to withstand, heat, vibration, and laser fire. The exterior was a sheer surface soaring thirty levels without a handhold or crack, and the east tunnel they were entering was the only known entrance on any side.

Two thousand years ago, when the alarms had sounded, the chosen mariners filed inside their massive crystalline domes and were launched into the Atlantic Ocean. The Carolina Sanctuary had promised them a thriving farm basin and a welcoming homeport when their ten domes surfaced.

But seventeen centuries without communication had passed before the domes were able to surface, and a primitive sect now occupied the homeland and had renamed it Fort Hope. Fort Hope didn’t care that the anchors of the underwater domes had to be blasted free of barnacles before its desperate people suffocated from the failing ventilation, or that the blast had corrupted the power grid.

Of all the preventative measures for the catastrophic changes projected, the Carolina Sanctuary had never foreseen that after seventeen centuries of breathing recycled air, the transition to breathing fresh air modified by climate changes would create a euphoria that turned the dome dwellers into a marauding alien horde. Unable to penetrate the rampart with their lasers or cross the turbulent current, Islanders had sailed farther south and boldly claimed the calmer coastline of the forested south side. They had depleted power cells to cut down the trees. But cutting the dense forests had released underground reservoirs of toxic gases that had wrapped around the roots. Dozens had died.

Islanders blamed the squatters for not warning them of the gases. The squatters argued how often they’d warned Islanders that legends said not to cut the trees.

Though Islanders claimed the large Island and the smaller barrier island with the bridge, Fort Hope controlled the impenetrable gate at the end of bridge and claimed all land enclosed by the rampart and the basin wall. With their power grid corrupted, Islanders were forced to conserve energy. They lacked the materials and powered machinery to build vessels capable of withstanding the mile-wide strip of turbulent water between the Island and the coastline.

Eventually, the euphoria faded, and the two sides established a strictly regulated trade, with the smaller island, known as the Trading Post, serving as a neutral zone.

Neither side foresaw the population explosion on the Island Federation.

Or the declining population of Fort Hope.

Or the inability to interbreed that formed a chasm impossible to bridge.