Mallory’s sleep was fitful that night. Her dreams were strings of incoherent scenarios interwoven in a chaotic tapestry. In one moment, she was older and happily married to Caleb. They sat nestled together on a couch, sipping hot drinks from mugs while their children played with wooden blocks at their feet, and a fire roared in the fireplace. Mallory was watching the fire, and in the fire she could see the city burning: The buildings turned to ash as tiny fire sprites walked along stacked logs, streams of fire arcing from the nozzles on their arms. The sound of scraping metal filled the cozy room, and the family laughed. Outside the picture window of the house, she could see the light ebbed and sparked, shielding them from all the ills of the outside world, but it did not project an endless prairie as the city light once had—instead, she could see through it to what was being kept at bay. Her parents were out there, standing with the Governor and the Administrator, and behind them stood an army of blue-clad magistrates. They were all holding weapons and firing their barrels at their cozy house. The light sizzled and cracked as it absorbed every shot.
She smiled and lightly brushed the hairs on the back of Caleb’s neck. He squirmed under the rising goosebumps. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the kids get up and run to the door. “We’ve got to let Grandpa and Grandma in,” the child squealed in delight. Mallory tried to get up and stop the child, but Caleb was in a playful mood now and held her firmly in place, trying to tickle her back. The cushions of the loveseat had become quicksand and were pulling her and Caleb down into their depths even as he continued to tickle her. Their child had made it to the front door and was turning the knob. As the door opened, Alex walked into the house. On her chest, the outline of a key glowed in yellow light. Another of the children laughed and ran up to her. “Auntie Alex,” she squealed. “Look, they match!” The child held up one of the wooden toys: a key carved in the exact shape of the glowing one on Alex’s chest. Alex smiled and bent down to the little girl, who touched the toy to her chest. When the keys collided, the light that protected the outside of the dream house suddenly vanished, and the Administrator’s face contorted in a wicked grin. He pointed his weapon directly at Mallory and squeezed the trigger.
Mallory’s eyes shot open, and she saw nothing but darkness. She was blind. She could feel that her hands were up in a defensive posture, but she could see nothing. She patted at her eyes and found that they were bound with a piece of cloth. It was just the sleep mask to keep out the Dikaió lights that could not be shut off. She pulled down the mask as she breathed a sigh of relief and squinted in the brightness of the light above her bed. That confirmed it; she was alive and in her own childhood room. The dream family was just that and nothing more. She pressed her hands into the bed to push herself up and found that her bedsheets were cold to the touch; they were drenched in sweat. When she was sitting up, she wiped away trickles of sweat on her brow. Her hair was quite damp from the night terrors.
She stepped into her bathroom and turned on the water. As she washed away the sweat from her face and hair with cold water, she thought of her grandmother. The old Matriarch had often said, “Dreams are just the Dikaió’s way of sorting out life for us. The answers are often there in front of us all along; it just takes a bit of magic for us to see them clearly.” So, what was this dream trying to tell her? That she was supposed to marry Caleb, or that doing so would turn the city against them and mean the death of them all? Just then, cold water trickled down the front of her nightgown, and she tensed with the shock of it. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and her hands clenched in fists; the picture of a wooden key filled her mind’s eye. Suddenly, her eyes popped open, and she raced out of the bathroom to get dressed. The purpose of the dream was instantly clear.
She dressed quickly and ran down the stairs to the dining room. Her parents were not there, though a small plate of cold fruit and oats were sitting in her spot at the table. This is how every morning had been since the fire at City Hall. The mornings of having a breakfast as a family were becoming more of a memory than an expectation. Her heart ached in her parents’ absence. She felt homesick in her own home. Despite those feelings, she could not ignore the deep, empty hole in her belly. She sat down at the table and looked at the small plate and bowl. The fruit smelled a little bit over-ripe, and its taste and texture was sweet but mushy. The oats had been made with too much water to make the bowl look fuller than it really was, which helped their weekly food storage last longer. Before they lost the Dikaió, breakfast used to consist of eggs, toast, butter, juice, yogurt, fresh fruit, oats, granola, and occasional bacon or sausage on special occasions. Most of the time, they threw away more food than they ate. Now, there was barely enough to curb the gnawing hunger of breaking the nighttime fast.
As she sat and slowly ate the meager meal, she thought of the people she had seen in the streets last night. If the governing class were barely eating enough to survive, those people were starving. She had seen the hunger in their faces and their demeanor, and she knew that she was the cause of their misery. They knew it too; the men that grabbed hold of her last night wanted to kill her. Apparently, the Administrator wanted to kill her too, and maybe they were all right. Maybe justice demanded that she pay that ultimate price. However, justice would not solve the lack of food in the city due to the preoccupied culture sprites, and the Administrator wanted more than justice—he wanted complete control over the city. The fire sprites Caleb wanted to build could solve both those issues. They would give the Matriarch and the Governor the means to oppose the Administrator, and they would relieve the culture sprites, so they could return to the culture farms atop the skyscrapers on Main Street.
Mallory finished breakfast and stood up. A kitchen sprite automatically rushed in and cleared away her dirty dishes, nearly knocking her over in the process. She pirouetted clumsily out of the way to regain her footing then ran through the kitchen and out the back door into the sunlight. As her eyes adjusted, she could see Caleb standing beside the bush near her workshop. He was plucking leaves off the bush and tossing them in the air, looking quite impatient. “How long have you been waiting there?” Mallory called.
Caleb brightened considerably when he saw her. “Long enough, Mal. I was starting to wonder if you’d ever wake up. It’s nearly lunch time for goodness sake, and we haven’t even started.”
“And how are we going to start without the book?” A voice called from behind the bush. Caleb nearly fell over himself wheeling backwards away from the intruder. Alex stepped out. She was dressed neatly in her magistrate uniform without a single wrinkle. Light glinted off the brass buttons that closed the jacket and the brass belt buckle at her waist. The belt was black as night, as was the holster and the handle of her weapon.
Caleb gained control over himself and stepped between the two girls, facing Alex and protecting Mallory from a perceived threat. “We don’t want any trouble, Alex.”
Mallory bounded past Caleb and hugged her friend. “It’s okay, Caleb. Alex and I talked last night. She’s with us.”
Caleb looked unconvinced. “Why would she go against her family? How can we trust her?”
Alex looked pained, and Mallory turned on Caleb. “Alex and I have been best friends since before either of us can remember. Why would either of us want to fight the other?”
Alex nodded. “I do love Mallory like a sister, but that’s not the only reason I want to help. What my grandfather is doing is wrong, and it’s not the worst thing he’s ever done—if anyone should pay for his crimes, it’s the Administrator.”
Caleb raised the palms of his hands and asked in confusion, “Hold on—What did you say?”
Alex nodded toward the workshop. “Let’s go inside. There are too many eyes and ears in the Governor’s District.”
The trio moved inside where the Dikaió light shone bright, and a vent in the ceiling blew cool air making the small space feel frigid cold. The room was not large, so after a few moments, the teenagers’ body heat began to compensate for the cold. Alex pulled herself up on a clear spot of the table and sat with her gloved hands in her lap. Mallory sat on her workbench, and Caleb plopped nonchalantly on the floor, with one leg stretched out and the other bent up so that he could rest an arm on his knee.
“Okay, we’re alone; what are you talking about, Alex?” Caleb asked.
Alex sighed and shifted uncomfortably. “I went home last night and had gone to bed, but I woke up in the late hours of the night, and I heard my father and grandfather talking downstairs. Since I was thirsty, I thought I would slip down and grab a drink of water and maybe sit with them by the fireplace for awhile. I paused on the stairs when I heard my father ask my grandfather about the fire sprite. I’m not sure what made him bring up the fire sprite, but given my talk with Mallory, I was afraid they were on to your plot, so I slipped back behind a corner and listened closely. It turned out to be unrelated to all this,” Alex pointed at the mess of the fire sprite parts sprawled throughout the workshop, “but it was so much worse.”
Mallory was eager to tell them about her epiphany this morning and wasn’t interested in hearing another story about the old fire sprite if it was unrelated to their plans, so she interrupted Alex. “My grandmother used to tell me about that day, and Caleb’s grandfather told him what he saw too. We know that story pretty well.”
Alex nodded, “But did they tell you about the third boy who helped build the fire sprite? The one who didn’t die when the sprite was birthed by the Dikaió?”
Both Caleb and Mallory sat up straighter and leaned their heads forward.
Alex nodded, “That’s because the third boy was my grandfather.”
Caleb coughed and again exclaimed, “Wait, what?!”
Mallory swiveled in her chair, “But our grandparents said that he was there on the street with all the rest of the people.”
Alex nodded again, “That’s what my father said last night too. My grandfather smiled and said, ‘Yes, I was there with the rest of the city leadership: The Governor; the Matriarch; my grandfather, the Administrator; all their heirs; and the entire City Council were there looking on like buffoons, putting the whole city in danger of being entirely without real leadership. My presence amidst them was part of the plan.’
“‘The plan?’ my father asked.
“‘Yes, the plan, Daniel. The plan to take control of the city and save it from itself.’
“‘Save it from itself? I don’t understand.’
“My grandfather sighed and settled back in his chair. ‘Where do I start? There was a man that lived in one of the houses that burned down on Manuel Avenue. Like the Matriarch’s girl, he was a Dikaió Chorus. Unlike her, he did not cause much trouble. He kept to himself for the most part, but he was friendly enough when approached. However, he did not seem to have a productive job in the city, and yet, he did not go without. I began to grow suspicious that he was stealing. I started watching him covertly, trying to gather evidence that I could present to the Chief Magistrate, my father.
“‘Over the course of the next few weeks, I noted that he never paid for his groceries, but kitchen sprites would work together with a grocery box and collect a share of supplies for him and deliver it to his house. It was the oddest thing to watch the sprites at the market—everyone acted as if they did not see them. The kitchen sprite would weave in and out of the crowd and grab shares off the owner’s tables, putting them in a grocery box, and no one—not even the owners—noticed the food being taken. It was as if the oddity was so out of the ordinary, that they purposefully ignored it. One day, I confronted the kitchen sprite at the market and began to take the groceries out of the grocery boxes, putting them back on the tables. The kitchen sprite went back and recollected the produce and extended its arms upwards to add its ill-gotten gains to the grocery box, which gained enough altitude to be outside my reach. I hollered for a magistrate to help me, and the fool just stood there, unable to comprehend the idea of using sprites to steal.
“‘I followed the sprites back to the Dikaió Chorus’s house and confronted the old man on his porch. “What do you mean stealing groceries from the Dikaió Culture Guild?”
“‘His dark, wrinkled face smiled back at me, exposing a mouth with more than one missing tooth. “Mornin’ to you, young sir. ‘Fraid I didn’t quite follow the direction of your comments. I’m gettin’ on in years and can be a little slow. Want to give ‘er another go?”
“‘I am the heir of the Administration, son of the Chief Magistrate, and I demand to know why your sprites are collecting groceries at the market without paying for them! It’s theft of the highest order.”
“‘“Ah, I see. Well, if that’s all, come in and sit a spell. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“‘I hesitated, but I could tell the old man was not a threat, so I followed him into his house. Daniel, you should have seen the books in that house—hundreds, maybe thousands of them, stacked in every nook and cranny, on the floor, on shelves, on the stairs—the danger of the knowledge contained in that house was staggering—though the city had not quite begun to understand the dangers of reading at that point. I stood with my back to his front door and awaited an explanation.
“‘“Care for some tea?” he asked, ambling toward the kitchen.
“‘“Only if you can prove that it’s rightfully yours to offer,” I shot back.
“‘“Oh, well, okay then.” He stopped and lowered himself down onto a pile of books. “What proof should I offer you?”
“‘That was a question I had not considered. Was there a way to prove that he had paid for the groceries? “Any proof will do. Do you have any money to pay for them?”
“‘“No, can’t say that I do.”
“‘“So you admit that you haven’t paid for the food those sprites are putting away in your kitchen now?” I could see the commotion of the kitchen sprite and the grocery box in the other rooms.
“‘“Oh, yes. Those aren’t even my sprites, young sir.”
“‘“Aren’t your sprites? They’re right there in your kitchen. I can see them with my own eyes.”
“‘“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with your eyes. They’re in there putting away groceries all right. Same as they do every week, and when they’re done, they’ll leave.”
“‘“Leave?”
“‘“Surely. Not all of us can afford our own kitchen sprites like the rich folks up on Governor’s hill. Least that’s what my mother used to say before she left.”
“‘“No one in the city is without a grocery box or a sprite,” I retorted. “It’s a right of the Dikaió.”
“‘“True, it is, but a Dikaió Chorus wields a different magic.” He gestured around him at the books. “An ancient magic.”
“‘I looked down to my right and saw a book called Birthing Sprites.’”
Caleb and Mallory both pricked up their ears.
“That’s the book in Book Club. The one with the instructions for making the fire sprite,” Alex continued.
Mallory nodded enthusiastically. “You mean that book came from the Dikaió Chorus? My grandmother knew him and used to spend afternoons reading books with him. She never told me about that book, though.”
Alex shrugged. “I suppose not, and you’ll know why if you let me finish.”
Caleb and Mallory both settled back and indicated that she should continue.
“Okay then, let’s see. My grandfather picked it up and thumbed through it. As you know, there were hundreds of familiar sprites in the book, showing how they were birthed in the Rookery, and there were schematics showing how their inner parts worked together to do different things. And of course, there were some unfamiliar sprites in the book as well that surprised him—at least that is what he told my father: ‘I closed the book and tapped its binding against the palm of my hand and said, ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but it seems you owe the Dikaió Culture some compensation for the groceries you’re eating, or you need to tell the sprites to stop bringing them to you.
“‘The old man threw his head back and cackled loudly. “Alright then, young sir.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Hey you, sprites. Stop putting those groceries away and come here.” Nothing happened, and the sprites continued unloading groceries into the cupboards. The old man shrugged and said, “Perhaps you’d like a go at it?”
“‘His incompetence made me angry, and I yelled, “Kitchen sprite, Dikaió kitchen sprite, cease.” The sprite paid me no heed either. I marched past the old man and yelled again, “Kitchen sprite cease.” Still the sprite continued in its tasks. I turned on the old man, sure of some trick, “Why doesn’t it hear me?”
“‘The old man shrugged. “Some magic is older than me, young one. My parents might’ve been able to answer your question, but I was just a little one when they left, and whatever makes the city work the way it does ‘tis long forgotten. I’ve spent my life readin’ these books, tryin’ to understand, and there’s nothing here that helps. That book you’re holding is the nearest I’ve found, but it still doesn’t explain nothin’ useful—just how to make a sprite if you want, but not how the Dikaió makes them work.”
“‘I looked down at the book with curiosity. I do not know why, but I suddenly wanted to have the book and learn its secrets like the old man had. I looked him directly in the eye and said, “No one in the city should be able to just take whatever they want without payment. As heir to the Administration, I judge that this book should be payment enough to cover your crimes, so I will take it with me.”
“‘The old man raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. “Quite alright with me, young sir, there ain’t a book in this house that I ain’t committed to memory anyway. Take whatever you like.”
“‘“This book is sufficient for now, but I may be back should the need arise. Take care to keep yourself out of trouble.”
“‘The old man cackled again as I turned to leave. “Oh, that I will, young sir. That I will.”
“‘I walked slowly home, thumbing through the pages of the book. When I got to the section on the fire sprite, I sat down and studied the thing in detail. What would the city do if one of these sprites were set loose? Could it overcome a challenge like this? The magistrates were not trained to deal with this sort of disaster. What if there was a food shortage? A power shortage? No running water? No one in the Triad or the City Council was planning for anything other than continued excess. I do not know what made me worry about things that had never happened at that young age, but I could tell even then that the city was one crisis away from chaos.
“‘I had two friends who shared my concerns, and I decided to call on them that afternoon to discuss a plan that was forming in my head to at least get the city to consider changing course and start planning for a safer tomorrow—like a planned test of the city’s services. Jacob LaMarr and Dillon Silvana, heirs to the Sprite Master and the Smith Guild, lived in the market district not far from our home. I stopped in to see them, and we slipped away to our secret meeting place in the Sprite Rookery. We had cleaned out a small supply closet on the lower level of the rookery near the forge. People rarely go downstairs because of the heat, but Jacob had discovered that the little room was insulated from the heat and had a vent that pumped in cool, fresh air. When the supply shelves were in the room, there was just a small aisle, but once we cleared everything out, we found we could comfortably stow a table and three chairs in the space. We sat around the table, and I placed the book I had secured from the Dikaió Chorus in the center.
“‘Jacob, recognizing the mark of the Rookery on the cover, grabbed it and started flipping through the pages. “This is fascinating, Will! Wherever did you find it?”
“‘“The old Chorus had it and many others. There’s a particular sprite I want to show you.” I reached for the book, and Jacob handed it over reluctantly but was soon satisfied when I handed it back just as quickly with my finger stuck between the pages to mark the spot. It pinched when he grasped hold of the book, but he opened the pages and relieved the pressure.
“‘“It’s a fire sprite,” I intoned, pointing toward the diagram that showed fire spewing out of the nozzles.
“‘“What would we do with it?” Dillon asked.
“‘“Exactly what we talked about. Make the city leaders understand that things happen and that we need some contingency plans in place to keep the city safe. Dillon could provide the raw materials from the Smith guild, and Jacob could birth it as the heir to the Sprite Master.”
“‘“And then what? We’d let it spray fire all over? What if someone got hurt?” Dillon was always the pragmatist.
“‘Jacob answered, “We could stop it before that happened. It’s just a sprite.”
“‘You have guessed by now that we could not stop it before it hurt someone. It was my idea to birth it on Manuel Avenue near the Dikaió Chorus’s house. I knew that we could make it look like the old man and his books had been the cause if anything went wrong. Jacob and Dillon were supposed to say the words, and I would get my father, the magistrates, the City Services Manager, and the firefighters to come and stop it. But I was still running down the street to gather everyone when they said the birthing words. The sound it made when the Dikaió entered it was terrifying—like a metallic, high-pitched scream. I did not look back, but I could feel the heat of the fire at my back as I ran. The whole way I was yelling, “My father! Someone call my father and the magistrates!”
“‘Of course, we couldn’t very well blame the Dikaió Chorus because they found Jacob and Dillon’s bodies near where the fire sprite was activated. They did not even have time to back up before the sprite turned on them, and the Dikaió Chorus was in his house when it burned, as were several other people on Manuel Avenue.’ He turned and looked at my father with tears in his eyes. ‘I’ve never shared this story with anyone, son. Not my parents. Not even your mother.’
“My father looked away from him; his lip curled in disgust. ‘Why are you telling me now? Have I made a mistake throwing in my lot with you and your plans for the city?’
“My grandfather stood up and began to pace with his hands folded behind his back. ‘No, son. That’s why I’m telling you all of this. What we did that day wasn’t wrong; it was just ill-conceived in the ignorance of youth. That day has haunted me, and I had almost convinced myself that it had all been a mistake. Nearly forty years have gone by. I was ready to retire and live my life out in the peaceful tranquility of a city without want or need, where nothing ever went wrong like I used to think it would. Even my grandfather’s choice to ban reading for all but the Triad didn’t seem to make anything worse in the city, though I thought an ignorant populace would almost certainly bring destruction on us all. Everything seemed to support the utopian vision, but then that witch’s curse proved my youthful foresight was correct all along. The city did need a backup plan. We were ill-prepared for this disaster—but mostly the Triad was unwilling to prepare.
“‘I have been calling for a solution to the Mallory-Knenne issue ever since her witch of a grandmother cursed her to be a Chorus . . . and then to find out she used a book to trick an heir to the Administration into bringing about that catastrophe? It sounded so much like my own childhood mistakes. I see myself in Alex so much. There is something unnatural in the magic of the Choruses.’
“‘Yes, I see your point,’ my father allowed. ‘Alex wasn’t responsible for her actions, and I agree she should not be punished. Perhaps the Chorus did the same to you all those years ago?’
“‘Exactly! I fear that Alex may find herself drawn back into the Triad, so we should move quickly to initiate our plans.’”
Alex sighed and looked at her friends. “We don’t have much time now—the magistrates will make their move soon.”
Mallory jumped off her stool. “Well, let’s not sit around telling stories then. We’re going to need that book if we’re going to build these things.”
Alex deflated, “But I don’t have the key, Mallory!”
Caleb was trying to pull himself off the floor while patting at one of his legs, which must have fallen asleep. He nearly toppled back down when Alex said she did not have the key. “What do you mean you don’t have the key?”
Mallory stepped between them holding a bottle of black ink and a piece of paper. “Actually, you do have the key, Alex. It left its shape on you. If we apply some ink to the scar and press this paper to it, I can make an outline that we can use to carve a wooden replica.”
Alex’s eyes got wide as she asked, “Do you really think that will work?”
“It has to—all we can do is try, right?”
Alex unbuttoned the top two buttons of her magistrate’s uniform, and Mallory began to carefully paint black ink on the key-shaped scar. Caleb was hunting through the piles of parts looking for a piece of wood around the right size for a key, and respectfully trying not to look toward the girls. He found a piece that might work under a pile of wooden handles for the Chorus carts. “How about this one?” he said turning slightly to show it to Mallory.
The wood was plucked out of his hand before he had finished turning.
“Thank you!” Mallory giggled on her way to the work bench. She pressed the paper to the wood and made the imprint of a key on the block. She worked fast with an awl and chisel, splintering out pieces of wood and used a sharp knife to whittle down other parts. Alex and Caleb watched her progress in amazement, and within thirty minutes she had a fairly decent approximation of the key to Book Club.
“What do you think?” she asked holding it up so her friends could inspect her work.
“Amazing,” Caleb said taking the key. “Do you think it will work?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Alex was already moving toward the door. “My family is out meeting with the Captains of the magistrates until lunch. If we hurry, we can be in and out before they even notice.”
The trio were running together again, though their expressions no longer bore the careless joy of youth like they once did. Now their expressions were weighed down with the experience of pain and responsibility. The streets in the Governor’s District were empty. Before the city lost the Dikaió and City Hall, they would have been bustling at this time of the day with business owners and bureaucrats bantering about policies and taxes, but now the silence was an uncomfortable reminder of how much had changed. Today, it was a reminder of the urgency of their quest as well. This silence could be filled with sounds that would be so much worse if they were unsuccessful and the Administrator actually managed to start a one-sided war in his coup d’état against the Triad government.
They reached the Administrator’s house quickly and piled up the stairwell to Book Club. Caleb handed the wooden key to Alex, and she slowly inserted it into the keyhole. She turned the key.
The door remained closed.
“Let me try,” Caleb pushed past the girls and took back the key. He tried to turn the wooden key in the lock. It still did not move, so he applied some muscle. The extra torque did not unlock the door, but it did cause a loud crack. Caleb carefully pulled the key from the keyhole, brushing wooden splinters off what was left as it came out in pieces.
“Oh, man, there goes that idea,” he sighed.
The trio walked morosely back down the stairs. They exited into the hall of the Administrator portraits, and Mallory felt their heavy gaze staring down at her again. How were they going to stop this current Administrator from undoing all their work? How could they save the city without the book? And how could they get the book without the key?
“Maybe we could break down the door?” she thought out loud.
“We won’t have to,” Alex chirped. “Look!”
Mallory and Caleb followed the direction of her pointing finger and saw a gleam of bronze on top the mantel of the fireplace: It was Alex’s key.
Alex rushed across the sitting room and grabbed the key. “I was so caught up in all the drama since I got home, I just never noticed it.”
Caleb turned back toward the stairs. “Quickly, let’s get the book and get out of here.”
The trio bounded back up the stairs. Alex inserted the bronze key into the keyhole and turned it, and the door to Book Club swung open.