Iliara Mustardtop: My Story

[Iliara_Mustardtop]

Prologue

---

My family was cloistered around the table, firelight throwing dancing shadows over the room. We were generally a talkative bunch, and today there was a lot to say: my youngest brother was recounting his latest close call with a Pacifier, involving a couple bananas and a convenient shop door. My mother shook her head and took a sip of tea. She needed it these days: her children had an unfortunate habit of getting into trouble with Automatons.
You see, we were a Resistance family. Even right in the heart of Evercity, under Lucky’s watchful eye, there were those faithful to the Great Engineer, who remembered the old stories and who looked for His appearing. That was why my father spent his days in the Engineering Division in the inner ring of the city, and returned late at night, laboring tirelessly over his secret Aether-powered inventions. That was why my mother stayed at home all the time, appearing to be a simple housewife but in reality transmitting messages from Resistance members all over the city. That was why my three eldest siblings strove for the best grades in Evercity’s Elites Program, hoping to land strategic jobs to further the work. That was why my youngest brother was constantly landing in scrapes with the local Automatons.
And that was why…I didn’t care.
Maybe it was because I was surrounded by people who thought Resisting was important. Or maybe I never would’ve cared in the first place. At any rate, I resented it. I resented their questions about what I planned to do for the Resistance. I didn’t want to talk about the Great Engineer. I certainly didn’t want to talk about the Scarlet Man.
Maybe that was it. Somehow, the mention of the Scarlet Man infuriated me. I didn’t want someone else to tell me what to do with my life. I had my own dreams, my own plans—and they didn’t involve him.
No, I wanted to be an actor. My dream was to perform at Evercity Theatre, the most illustrious theatre in Aethasia. I would stun the crowd with my ability. I practiced in secret, refining my skills, honing my talent. I didn’t dare share my dreams with my family. How could I? These weren’t skills useful to the Resistance. And I could hardly tell them I just didn’t care about it, after all my family had sacrificed.
My mother brought out scones, and the conversation dragged on. I sat at the table, chin in hand, pretending to be interested in what everyone was saying. Idly I traced designs on the table, my thoughts wandering again and again to a poster I’d seen tacked on the wall of the Bread-and-Barley Inn. Casting for “Tragedy in the Sky”, it had said. More than ever, my mind was in turmoil. This was the sort of opportunity I had been looking for! But I didn’t dare speak out.
I was drawn from my musing by rapidly approaching footsteps and a sudden knock on the door. Instantly the talk ceased and we looked at each other. We lived with the constant danger of Lucky’s spies discovering our secret, and my father’s steps were slow and measured as he walked to the door.
“Who is there?” His voice didn’t shake, but I could tell he was tense.
“Don’t be afraid. It is I.” My family gave a sigh of relief. It was the Scarlet Man! My father opened the door and the cloaked and hooded figure stepped in quickly, shaking the rainwater from his boots.
“Sorry to intrude,” he said, taking my father by the hand warmly.
“Not at all, sir. We’re blessed to have you.” My father’s excitement was written on his face.
“Can I make you some tea?” my mother asked, rising from the table.
“That’d be lovely, thank you. May I sit down?” asked the Scarlet Man, taking a chair at my father’s assent.
I looked down at the table again, tracing patterns once more with my fingers to hide my growing resentment. They were acting so subservient, so thrilled, like he was something special. They’re just your puppets! I accused silently. You don’t really care about any of them. You don’t even consider what they might like to do with their life.
The clank of a teacup startled me, and I glanced up—straight into the eyes of the Scarlet Man. Suddenly I had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew what I’d been thinking. Inwardly I squirmed. Don’t speak to me! I glared back at him, willing him to say nothing, to leave me alone.
“Iliara.” I was sure no one else could hear the gentle challenge in his voice. “Time waits for no man. You cannot tarry forever. Danger is at the door. How will you serve the Resistance?”
I stared back, my heart thumping wildly. I’d hidden it so well, but suddenly anger was boiling up inside me. There was the proof. He didn’t care about anything but his stupid Resistance, didn’t care about me, didn’t know me. No one knew me! Well, I wasn’t going to put up with it any longer!
The chair screeched on the floor as I shoved it away and stood up. “I won’t! I won’t serve the Resistance, and you can’t make me! I WON’T!” I continued, ignoring my father, who had started to speak. “You don’t care! And I hate you! I HATE YOU!”
In the silence that followed, a teacup dropped from my mother’s hand and shattered into a million pieces. Suddenly, I realized that what I’d done was unforgivable.
I made for the door. No one moved to stop me. Without cloak or hat, I dashed out into the rain and mist, puddles splashing my boots, the lamp posts casting dim pools of light onto the cobblestones. Behind me, the door slammed with a resounding thud.

[Iliara_Mustardtop]

Chapter 1

---

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I glared up at the gutter making the offending noise. Half of me wanted to scream. The other half wanted to break down in tears.

I did neither. Instead I returned to gazing at my boots, watching the rivulets running off of them into the street. I was soaking wet, and it was way past curfew, but I didn’t care. Talk about a load of Fog-rock? That was nothing compared to the load of guilt in my heart.

I was still miserably justifying to myself all the reasons why I was right. It had become a sort of mantra by now: It’s not fair—I wasn’t ready—they don’t care—I ought to be able to choose.

“Violation of order 99B. You are breaking curfew,” interrupted a tinny, nasal voice. I jumped up in alarm, fear instantly replacing my muddled emotions. Two troubleshooters were facing me in the narrow alleyway, their fog-green eyes glowing eerily. I gulped.

“Uh, no sir…” Had I just contradicted an Automaton? And had I just called it ‘sir’? “No, I’m, uh… on my way to the theatre! And I’m late for a show and I lost my way! Please, I’ll be moving on, just let me go!” I held my breath, hoping the excuse would suffice. I could hear their difference engines ticking as the Troubleshooters processed my request.

“Order 99B is rescinded due to provision 99B-6,” the Troubleshooter on the left responded. With no further ado, they turned in sync and marched out of the dark alleyway, metal feet clanking away.

I let out a huge sigh of relief. That was too close. I might hate the Resistance right now, but I certainly didn’t want to be captured by the minions of Emperor Lucky. He was the most feared man in Evercity…Evercity…

“Evercity Theatre!” I said aloud. It had been my alibi, but I needed to go somewhere, and why not to the place I had dreamed of? Maybe I really could get a part…

And I would be free. I felt almost exhilarated, in a strange sort of way. Temporarily distracted from the thoughts that had been churning in my mind, I got to my feet. It had grown thoroughly dark by now, and the rain was still falling as I hurried through the streets, avoiding the dim green glow cast by lamplights. When I had run from the house earlier, I hadn’t noticed or cared where I was going. Now as I ran, I glanced up at the wooden signs marking each street: Rustheap Alley, Molliglass Row, Lumpyhall Lane, Cartbrick Street, Flatkettle Street… I was getting closer to the inner city now.

I slowed my rapid pace as I began passing well-dressed party goers returning home. It was at least eleven o’clock, but the curfew didn’t apply to the innermost rings of the city, where the rich people lived. They could stay out late, amidst the sights and sounds of the glorious capital. At least, the propaganda machines said “glorious.” Belonging to a Resistance family, I knew better. Fear and manipulation were the powers that moved the city, the steel threads that bound everyone into the Emperor's web of control, whether they wanted to admit it or not. The Resistance was meant to break that web, to bring love and peace and hope back to Aethasia. At least, so I’d thought. I wasn’t sure what I thought now, but one thing I did know—it hadn’t brought peace to my life.

I stopped beneath a shop awning, looking around me. What good was a Resistance, anyway? Lucky’s power was everywhere, unstoppable, unescapable, inevitable. Besides, as I watched the people passing by, they didn’t seem unhappy. In fact, they seemed joyful. Content.

“…troubleshooters should really get those urchins off the streets,” a voice close to me said, and I glanced to my left in time to catch the imperious looks of an elegantly attired couple as they swept past me.

Blushing furiously, I suddenly realized how out of place I looked. My dress was nice, but plain compared to their fancy ball gowns—and the flower gardens some people had for hats? I shook my head. I probably stood out like a sore thumb.

I’d better find the theatre before someone reports me, I thought. Hurrying quickly on, I read the street names once more: Lensmine Street, Blackspinner Street, Candlepiece Boulevard…

“Candlepiece Boulevard!” I said aloud. This was the street. And there it was, situated neatly at the intersection. Rising two stories, Evercity Theatre had two grand wooden doors leading to the pavement. Marble columns held up an extensive terrace on the second floor, where people sat eating and talking at tables, shaded from the rain by magnificently large green umbrellas. On the whitewashed brick walls were tacked posters of every size and color, advertisements for upcoming performances alongside Lucky’s ever-present propaganda posters. Theatregoers were still crowded upon the sidewalk beneath, and I saw that getting in that way would be impossible. Was there a side door?

I slipped into an alley behind the building. Here, the refuse of the adjoining lots gathered and overflowed. One of the rubbish bins had been knocked over, and rotting fruit cores and empty tin cans were scattered across the area. I held my breath against the stench, looking for a back way into the Theatre. Suddenly a door to my left opened, and a large, muscular man appeared, clutching garbage bags in both hands and wearing a decided scowl. It deepened at the sight of me.

“What are ya doin’ here? Get out, we’ve had enough of you scamps round here!” He set down the trash bags and glared at me.

I backed up a couple paces, eyeing his clenched hands. They looked like they could knock a Pacifier out of commission. “I’m not a scamp!” I stammered. “I’ve come to see—I mean if there’s a spot—I came to see the Theatre—the owner—”

He interrupted, one eyebrow raised. “So you’re looking for a job at the Theatre?” he asked, eyeing me doubtfully. “You’ve found the back door.” He didn’t seem quite so angry now, and I took courage.

“Yes, I’m looking for a job,” I replied, hesitantly. “I’m—” I stopped. I had been going to say Iliara Mustardtop. But if anyone who had known me was to come looking, I didn’t want to be found. No, that name held my old life, my old memories, my old secrets. It was time to put the past behind me. I took a deep breath and stepped forward.
“I’m Rowena Brokenlance,” I said. “Can I speak to the manager?”

[Iliara_Mustardtop]

Chapter 2

---

For the fiftieth time I flicked away the strands of hair that kept falling in my face as I scrubbed the floors of the Theatre.
I had been naïve, I knew now, and every aching muscle as I polished these floors to a glaring shine confirmed that. I’d thought I could just walk in and try out and become an actor. Reality had hit like a rocket hammer. I was just an urchin off the street, in their eyes, and I couldn’t argue otherwise. After all, wasn’t that who I was now? No home, no family—
I slowly hummed a tune I’d heard the other day, fighting off the warm tears that threatened to fall into the mop water. I’d be in worse trouble if I cried.
The rough voice of the Theatre Director echoed around the bend in the corridor. “Mavin, your soliloquies were on point, but fogrock help us if you and Nel can’t get the timing on the swordfight scene! Haven’t you been working on this at all?”
I paused to listen. “Yes, yes, of course,” Mavin whined. “Nel keeps tripping me up on the third step and I—”
“Look, I don’t care what Nel did!” the Director interrupted. “Just work it out! For Aethasia’s sake, the Emperor’s coming tomorrow! TOMORROW! So get. It. Right.”
I heard footsteps and suddenly Mavin came round the corner. His sullen resentment turned into a glare as he saw me. Quickly I plunged the mop back into the water, but not quickly enough to avoid the stinging blow to my ear.
“Sneaking brat!” he hissed as he passed, heading toward the exit.
I rubbed my ear, wondering if I’d heard the director right. The Emperor was coming? I knew they’d been working on The Mechanic and The Enchanter for a while now, but I had no idea Emperor Lucky was a patron of the theatre. My first instinct was loathing: Emperor Lucky, the Usurper, the one who brought fog into Aethasia.
But honestly, did I really believe that? Sure, the Scarlet Man was real, but did it really matter who ruled? And maybe fog wasn’t that bad—I’d been breathing fog-conditioned air since I got this job at the Theatre, and after the first few days of coughing, I hadn’t noticed much difference.
Maybe the whole Resistance movement was flawed. In fact, I was certain it was. Everything was about the Resistance, not about who we were individually, not about what we wanted to do. Emperor Lucky said he wanted to improve Aethasia, and honestly, he was. He was even supporting the arts, for Aethasia’s sake! Sure, there were the Automatons, which no one liked, but maybe they were just a necessary evil.
I scrubbed the last tile on the hallway and picked up my mop and bucket to put away. Finally done with that task—though I still had to help put up the posters for tomorrow’s show.
“No, my lord.” A voice echoed down the hallway. “Just a girl named Rowena Brokenlance, my lord.”
I stiffened. That was the Director. Who was he talking to?
“Rowena Brokenlance, hm?” An unfamiliar voice answered. It was smooth, and dark, and strange. “Pacifier 92214, retrieve her.”
“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow, my lord…” I wasn’t listening anymore as my heart jumped into my throat. For all my musings about Lucky, I was still terrified of him. Spotting a broom closet, I jumped in and shut the door. What did he want with me?
I stilled my breathing as the Pacifier’s footsteps sounded in the hallway. It stopped—how far way I couldn’t tell. There was a beeping noise.
“Scan complete,” said a monotone voice. The door suddenly burst inward. I yelped and ducked as the Pacifier caught my wrists.
“You are being detained. Do not resist.” It clamped a Fog-bracelet on my wrist and began pulling me toward the door. Mutely, I followed.
The Pacifier opened the door that led to the lobby.
The director was standing next to a tall, smiling man. He wore a gray suit jacket with crossing green sashes. They made the green of his eyes startlingly clear. Even without knowing who he was, I would have been intimidated. Knowing that this silver-haired personage was the Emperor himself, my teeth practically chattered in terror.
“This is the girl?” said the Emperor. He smiled, showing white teeth with the slightest hint of a point. “Ah, yes. This, my dear Director, is not Rowena Brokenlance, but the wanted fugitive, Iliara Mustardtop.”
“We had no idea—” The Emperor waved him to silence. “Of course. That does not concern me. What does concern me, however, is her promise of talent.”
I looked up, startled. My promise of talent?
“Yes, my girl,” the Emperor said, catching my look. “Come. Ah, yes. I know many things. Sometimes secret thoughts are not so secret. Really, if you wanted to go unnoticed, you should have talked to more discerning friends.” He laughed, a clear, thin sound, and a placed a hand on my shoulder.
I almost recoiled. My brain was spinning. Lucky was…praising me? Why?
“The Director has been having trouble with his play,” the Emperor continued. The Director blanched, but the Emperor continued talking to me. “His lead actress is incompetent. I want you to play the role.”
“Me?” I stammered. “I—I’ve had no experience, and I—”
“Are you refusing my offer?” His voice was sharp. I flinched.
“No, not at all, I just—”
“Good. I merely need a small favor from you.”
The catch! “What is it?”
“What is it, my lord?” He added pointedly. Then he smiled. “It is nothing much. Your father is one of my top engineers. His work has been…satisfactory. But he is developing inventions of a different nature, and he has been keeping them secret. Nothing in Evercity should be secret, don’t you think? All should be shared for the good of the Empire.”
“Of course, my lord.” My mouth was dry. What would he do to my father?
“I am very interested in his work. It is praised very highly. The only drawback is that it is Aether-powered. If he would share with me his inventions, I might use them myself, powered by Fog of course, which everyone knows is much more stable and reliable. But I need to know where they are being kept. I would like to meet him in his lab.”
I was surprised. This was not what I expected. Lucky wasn’t concerned about the Aether-powered inventions. He just wanted to have access to my father’s designs.
“That seems reasonable,” I said, hesitatingly.
“It is reasonable,” he smiled. “Your father is a smart man. I may put more funds into his research after this. And don’t worry, I won’t tell him where you are. You need some time away from your family, Miss Mustardtop.” He handed me a piece of paper and a pen.
For a moment I held the pen, staring at the blank paper. Then quickly, I scribbled the address of my father’s workshop in my own small black script.

[Iliara_Mustardtop]

Chapter 3

---

It was too hot.
The tiny room faced off the alley, which meant I couldn’t open the window. At least, not if I wanted to breathe in the smell of garbage. I swung my feet back and forth lazily, fanning my face with the papers in my hand.
Once again, I flipped through the pages of the script. There were a lot of lines. “Not in my house!” “If you liked it, you should have kept it.” “Don’t blame me when the business goes south.” “Is that real magic?” And I was only about halfway through the script.
There was a bad taste in my mouth, but the pump was out on the street, and I wasn’t supposed to be out after 8:00 at night. Normally I didn’t give a rusted cog about the rule, but the opportunity I had wasn’t one I wanted to screw up.
Is it really just water that you need? wondered a little voice in my head. That sour taste in your mouth is guilt. You shouldn’t have given him your father’s location. Lucky is using you and you know it.
“Everything will work out fine,” I said aloud. The words seemed like a lifeline. “Maybe he wasn’t telling the whole truth. But he’s not going to hurt my father.” Besides, the Scarlet Man can take care of his loyal followers, can’t he? That’s not my life anymore. This is my life.
I tossed the script onto the bed and exited the room. I need fresh air. No one ever thought about going up on the roof.
The sun was brilliant orange. Golden hour. I looked toward the spire at the center of the city, the only thing shining. As the purple dusk cloaked the buildings, lights popped out like fireflies. Rich aromas wafted up from the Candlepiece Café.
Why did we ever think of Evercity as corrupted? I wondered. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. Everything in its place. The only danger is to those who don’t serve Lucky. And for what? What harm can it really do us to work for him?
I looked up, on an impulse, and noticed suddenly the first stars peeking out. One—in the purple grayness. Two—in the indigo night. Four—in the pure dark blueness. Seven—twelve—twenty…innumerable.
Beautiful. I glanced back down at the city. Somehow, though full of noise and movement, it had lost some of its color in my eye. Everyone was bustling around, people laboring, smoke pouring from chimneys, fog rising from factories—while the stars rested tranquilly above. I lay back on the roof and sighed. Suddenly, a shooting star crossed the sky. On an impulse, I shut my eyes.
“Make a wish, Iliara!” My mother’s voice, a hot tin roof, a velvet-blue sky—the memory was suddenly dancing on the edges of my vision.

I wish to never be alone.

Instantly, strangely, I was angry. Why this?! Why now! I thought I was happy! I am happy! With a little cry, I kicked the roof. The loud clang and pain in my toes was a numbing relief from whatever I was feeling.
Can a hollow soul feel?

<><><><>

“Citizen Mustardtop, you are under arrest,” said a nasally voice.
I bolted upright in bed to find the green eyes of a Pacifier staring back at me. As I shrieked and leaped back, two Troubleshooters emerged from behind the Pacifier with handcuffs.
“What have I done?” I screamed. “What have I done? Don’t take me away! PLEASE! Don’t take me away! I can explain, whatever it is—” I backed away. Images of the Fogworks were now running unbidden through my brain as the Troubleshooters advanced. A place of death, I’d heard Resistance members say. No one comes back. Or if they do, it costs them an arm and a leg.
The window! Turning quickly, I made to pull it up, only to find it bolted shut, and the smug face of a Technomite looking through the windowpane. Behind it, sunlight streamed through like a cruel mockery of freedom. I sank to the floor, a sob escaping me as the handcuffs clenched my wrists.
You, Iliara Mustardtop, were a FOOL.
At the door of my room, the Director was standing with a worried expression on my face. He met my eyes and then looked away, coughing into his handkerchief. The Pacifier stood still a moment, processing a new command.
“The Emperor Lucky thanks you for your service,” it said neutrally. The Director coughed again and hurried down the hallway, disappearing around the bend.
Cold tile. Blank walls. A pain in my chest. Suddenly we were outside of the theatre. There was a murmur of voices, and I realized that a large crowd had gathered. I reddened, wishing I could hide my face. What must they be thinking?
A dark shape loomed in front of me. I blinked and focused. A convoy vehicle! Suddenly pricked to action, I tried to trip the Troubleshooter on my right and dash away. Instead I stubbed my toes and ended up sprawled in the dust. Coughing and choking on grit, I was hauled to my feet and shoved into the back of the truck. I stumbled forward and tripped on something, again falling. This time I tasted blood in my mouth. Sitting up, I tried to make out what I had tripped on. It was the leg of a pale-faced girl sitting against the wall of the vehicle. Before I could apologize, a gag was stuffed into my mouth, and a Pacifer chained me to the wall next to her.
Looking around, I realized the truck was packed full of prisoners, all bound and gagged like me. One man, with scraggly white hair and a crazed look, was rubbing his handcuffs together as if he was trying to saw them apart. Screech. Screeeech. Screeeeeech.
I looked away. A silent, gray-haired woman sat next to me, apparently asleep. Her hands were folded as if she had been praying. To the Scarlet Man? I wondered. I cringed at the thought. Even if he had been inclined to do me any good, he wouldn’t be now. I’d practically spit in his face that one night, and besides…he’d probably forgotten all about me.
But not my family! No, they would be looking for me…or would they? My heart sank. They wouldn’t. Not after my…outburst. What could they expect from an ungrateful daughter like me? No, if I was going to get out of this, it would have to be on my own.
Saliva and blood ran down my chin, but I couldn’t wipe it away. Instead I closed my eyes, trying to close out the barrage of thoughts in my head.
The engine gunned with a loud whirr and hiss of steam, and the Troubleshooter guards pulled up the tailboard, locking us in darkness.
Correction: not darkness. Two pairs of unblinking green eyes. I shivered and shut my eyes tight.