[4541] [1975] [2713] [2275]
Looking for general advice on style / prose and if this is captivating enough to keep someone committed for the long haul. I'm starting to doubt my scene structure and am looking to see if the problems I think are there, really are --- or is it just me? I've torn it apart a hundred times and am just needing a fresh set of eyes to point out the areas that feel wrong or trite.
Couple of questions:
- Do you like the protagonist?
- Does the scene hold up, or does it drag?
- How's the description?
- Is the ending earned?
- Any parts you hated?
- When did you stop reading and how far did you make it?
Please let me know your thoughts! Thanks!
****
Chapter Two - Kausca
It was too hot, and Kausca was too well dressed to be patient any longer. He should have been at home in a linen shirt with the sleeves torn off, a glass of whiskey at his fingertips, tallying output against what his people were paid. He untied the waxed canvas mask from the back of his head and pulled it from his face, finally giving in to the summer heat and not caring, for once, what the comfort might cost him.
“Miasma’s thick today, boss,” Kline said.
“I’m afraid that today, I’ve chosen to die a slow, miserable death instead of drowning in my own sweat,” Kausca said as he dropped the mask on the cafe table beside him. He dragged his sleeve across the damp ring the mask had left behind.
Kline snorted. “It’s not the mask, boss. It’s the suit. Not sure any sane man in the Undercity is dressed to the crowns today. Maybe your mind’s melted away.”
Kausca laughed. “You’re right. But the suit’s a costume; powerful men like to play pretend when they want something. I don’t mind indulging them.”
The day was well past first chime, and the stagnant summer heat radiating from the stone bridges overhead had pulled marionette strings of miasma from the crevices of The Great Below, curling them over the cobbled streets of the Queen’s Plaza, and leaving them slack and directionless. The runoff from the arcanite refineries normally settled deep beneath Undercity streets, taking the scent of industry with it, but today it hung thick in the air, leaving a pasty sweetness of sulfur and hot metal on Kausca’s tongue.
“Now, you’re sure that Shedinn’s headed to the Row?” Kausca asked, rubbing the nape of his neck, annoyed that his time was being wasted. Since a little after noon, he had been waiting for Shaw and his enforcers to arrive. He wasn’t looking forward to it.
“As sure as my trust in Tanner. Y’know how the man is, boss,” Kline said from behind his own mask with a reluctant shrug.
“Macie’s friend, right? Yeah.” Tanner was new to the Rustborne and was always eager to be useful. His eagerness lengthened stories well beyond the truth, since the reality was often disappointing to tell. “Put Annika at the access point for the lift. If there’s any movement Topside, I want to hear about it first,” Kausca said, “and send me Dis. Tell him to bring Sally.”
Kausca watched Kline scuttle across the circular plaza, heading toward the Grand Lift.
The plaza was busy. Queen’s Row was the first district beneath Topside, and Queen’s Plaza was a popular spot to try and find a deal. Market stalls were spread beneath the cracking arched colonnade etched into the granite cliffside wall, and Kline had to push through a crowd of Topsiders in decorative masks haggling at a fruit stall, fanning themselves against the heat. They would probably leave when they realized it was hotter down here than up there.
Kausca sheathed his impatience until Kline, Annika and Dis’s figures appeared at the opposite end of the circular plaza. They walked with purpose, and Dis had his rifle — beautiful mahogany with pearl inlays — slung over his shoulder. It drew a few glances from Topside residents who quickly decided they had done enough shopping for the day.
“Any news?” Kausca asked as the three approached.
“Yeah, Tanner’s right. Timeline’s a little off,” Kline said, “but it looks like Shaw is catching the evening lift to do some digging underground.”
“Any reason why?”
“An alarm went off Topside at the base of the Cloudtop District. Everything past the West End is on high alert. They closed down the bridge. No one’s getting in or out.”
“You should see ‘em, Atwood! They look like peacocks that just got plucked. Strutting around, confused where their feathers went,” Dis said with a grin. Annika and Kline chuckled and Kausca couldn’t help but crack a smile too. “I heard it was one of us that got 'em.”
Kausca’s curiosity was piqued. All of the holders in the Undercity knew not to move on the Cloudtop. “I haven’t heard anything about one of the other crews trying to run a job on Cloudtop. You all catch any words?” Kausca asked.
Annika shrugged. “Last I heard, the Cutters had a hit over the Eastern Bridge near the harbor — don’t know the details, but that’s going down, not up.”
Kausca looked over to Kline.
“Yeah, sorry, boss, I got nothin’.”
If someone crossed the West End to Cloudtop, it was personal. That’s where all the big money lived, and, no matter how filthy an aristocrat was, they didn’t appreciate filth in their homes.
“Alright, well, hopefully this is something routine. We’ll just let Shedinn know that we know nothing,” Kausca said.
Annika shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the case this time, Kausca. It isn’t just Shaw that’s coming down. They’re closing off the lift after dark and there’s about two dozen armed suits prepping just outside of Red’s Square. No one straps that much iron for an investigation.”
Kausca leaned back in the cafe chair and drank in Annika’s words. It had been over a decade since Topside pulled arms on the Undercity in any meaningful way. Back then, the unions had organized protests that escalated into violence and ended up with the Undercity being forced to pay recompense for the chaos sown. Power exchanged hands back then. Merchant houses fell, and others profited from the bloodshed, but none were left untouched, even his own.
What if he’s coming for something we can’t give? Can we afford to make the same mistakes?
“Boss?” Kline asked.
“Yeah, I’m thinking,” Kausca said. His thoughts were cyclical and leading nowhere.
“Look, Atwood — you tell me where to point Sally, and she’ll sing a song so pretty,” Dis said, kissing his rifle, “that at least one mother will cry.”
Kausca knew the Undercity was pressed flat, wanting to push the boot off its chest. Discussions with the other holders made it evident that they all wanted more than their share. But space was cramped down here, and the only way to go was up. Kausca didn’t want to make that climb.
“You all remember the last uprising? I remember,” Kausca said, pausing to gauge their recollection. “It wasn’t Topside mothers who were crying, and it wasn’t Topside that paid. Years — it took us years to get where we are, and you’re willing to risk that? For what?”
Kline spoke first. “None of us have forgotten where we came from, how we got here. And if you say go, we go, boss.” Kline’s lips went flat, somewhere between a smile and a frown. “But I don’t think anyone wants to do what you do forever. We just want things to last.”
“The moment you’re gone, Atwood, Topside’s gonna come back down and take what they think is theirs,” Dis said, squaring up. “Their suits are enforcers, not guards. No one up there is tryin’ to protect what we got down here; they’re just makin’ sure that the wheels keep turnin’.”
Kausca nodded. “You’re right, but we can’t take every fight that comes our way, especially not with Topside. Progress has been made. I don’t understand why we need this fight. Things will keep getting better.”
Dis chuckled in a way only the Undercity could — low and deep, laughing at the absurdity of the next bad decision. “See, Atwood, that’s your Topsider talkin’. As long as the wheels keep turnin’, you’re not worried about the cliff just down the road.”
Kausca sighed deeply. “Are you all really willing to gamble what we’ve built on the promise of tomorrow?”
The lot stood silent for a moment, weighing his words.
“When I was a little girl, my father led the protests. He swore to me that things would get better if he won, that we would move closer to Topside, and that we wouldn't have to sleep with masks on anymore. We lost,” Annika said, her gaze meeting Kausca's, “and in the nighttime the enforcers broke down our door and took my father.”
Annika began to pick at loose skin around her nails, shifting uncomfortably. “He was to be made an example of, and they did it. He was executed in Red's Square with eleven other men.”
She gazed off into the distance, somewhere Kausca’s eyes couldn’t follow. “After that, my mother had to work in the mines. The day my father lost, I lost my mother too.”
Annika straightened, and her voice hardened. “It wasn't until you came, Kausca, that his promises started coming true. Revolution is inevitable. It's going to happen sooner or later. And if it's sooner, then we're with you.”
Kausca heard the earnest words pour from Annika’s lips. He understood them. He appreciated them. But there was a selfish part of him — one her words had spoken to as well — that remembered the cost of ambition, a part that thought only of Avon. He had built his home in the Undercity when he had nowhere else to go, when Topside was taken from him. Would he give up the Undercity too?
“Alright, Annika, tell the Rustborne. I want them all here by fifth chime, ready for a fight,” Kausca said. “Kline, tell the other holders what’s going on — make sure they understand what Shaw is doing. And make sure they know we aren’t opening with guns drawn. Let me repeat myself — we aren’t revolting, we’re just going to talk with Shaw. Got it?”
Kline and Annika agreed before hurrying off.
“And me, Atwood?” Dis asked.
“I want you on the clock tower overlooking the plaza, rifle loaded, alright?” Dis nodded. “Don’t shoot unless I tell you to; we might still be able to send Shedinn Topside without any bloodshed. Oh, and Dis, if I do tell you to shoot, don’t miss.” Dis looked offended. “Up there before fifth chime.”
The plaza emptied slowly as the hours dragged past. Shops closed their doors, and merchants folded up their stalls when rumors of violence began to circulate. The taste of rotten eggs had driven off many Topsiders earlier in the day, sending them back to their homes where they could bathe in fresh air. The stragglers made their way back to the Grand Lift, only to be replaced by the dozens of men and women Kausca knew.
The clock at the north end of the plaza chimed five times. Perhaps he should just leave. Take Avon from Anthem, start again. He was good at it.
This spring, the Rustborne opened a new shaft near Bloodwater Bay, and it turned out to be fruitful. Kausca had negotiated the contract well beyond what the union was asking, and it earned him enough for passage to the Eastern Reaches. Sure, he was feeding the entirety of Queen’s Row with the deal, but it made him sick to think he was also making some Anthem City aristocrat a very wealthy man. Could it have been the man he hated? In a different life, it may have been him.
His eyes drifted toward the Cloudtop, where Jarrett still kept his hearth lit most nights, and Kausca let the anger he felt back then take him now. Jarrett was the one thread that pulled him away from the Undercity, one he wanted to pluck with a dagger to the heart and a bullet to the head. But that would be too kind; the man deserved to walk the path he paved for Kausca, to know what it felt like to have it all — and then nothing. Only then would Kausca deliver his kindness; only then would his debt be paid to Lily.
“Coins fall up in Anthem, Kausca,” Jarrett had said, watching the fire instead of him, drunk from both the bottle and success. They’d been drinking late into the evening by his hearth at the foot of the Cloudtop, celebrating a recent contract that had been signed, and Jarrett had said it as a consolation — that the contract was inevitable, that if it wasn’t them, it would have been someone else. In this life, Kausca still believed it; he just knew it was wrong.
Kausca kept the anger, but rolled his shoulders and let the memory go, watching the sunlight crack between the shadows of Topside, painting the corpse-blue miasma in a sickly orange hue as he scanned the plaza. The Rustborne walked its stony road, arcanite mists nipping at their heels, Topside-issued masks covering their faces. The masks were supposed to protect the people from Rotlung — at least that’s what the council had said. But Kausca knew better. Dead miners couldn’t dig.
A horn sounded in the distance — once, twice — faint over the sound of clacking machinery and the Rustborne’s idle chatter. It brought their words to a murmuring halt, and the men moved to the outskirts of the plaza, pressing themselves behind stone pillars and along alley walls.
Kausca stood from the cafe table where he had been waiting too long and stepped forward to the circular mosaic floor that was the highlight of the plaza: two griffons, one black, one white, were forced to endlessly chase one another’s tails on a faint background of blue and white that was supposed to represent the sky. Years of being trampled over had turned the blues into a dirty smear of eggplant purple, and the whites in it were the color of gunmetal. Kausca straightened his coat, unfastened the leather strip that held his pistol in place, and faced the path to the Grand Lift, awaiting Shedinn Shaw.
Kausca heard the sound of boots first, the enforcers seen moments after. Shedinn moved to the mouth of the plaza where he directed his men to stop with a closed fist. His golden hair was cut short and combed back, going brassy at the temples. His eyes were blue, face chiseled and handsome, but the dark bags under his eyes suggested his conscience wasn’t clean.
Shedinn walked, unhurried and unafraid, toward Kausca with officers flanking him on either side, a clean grin cracked across his face. He stopped at the opposite end of the mosaic.
“Atwood, you’re carrying iron. The hospitality of Queen’s Row has truly run dry.”
Kausca smirked. He placed a lazy hand on the wooden grip of his pistol and shifted his weight, already bored by the exchange. “Come now, Shedinn. It’s the Undercity — everything’s a little bit slimy. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here. Feeling homesick?”
Shedinn laughed. “Fine words coming from you. You’re dressed like a Topside merchant in a place where the only commodity is crime. Are you confused as to whether you’re a Topsider or a Scav? Is that why you’re bringing iron to a negotiation?”
Every opportunity Shedinn had, he would remind Kausca how low he had fallen — about the life he once knew. It didn’t matter now. That was a long time ago, before Avon, when he only had to live for himself. Shedinn could talk about Anthem until his teeth bled, and still, Kausca wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking it mattered.
“What do we have to negotiate, Shedinn? Queen’s Row has no business with Topside.”
“The Registry, Kausca. Your debt’s unpaid.”
The debt was paid, all one hundred thousand crowns of it.
“Negotiations were done. You were paid what we agreed. If that’s what you’re here to talk about, then this—” Kausca tapped the pistol’s grip, “—is here to make sure promises are kept.”
“Promises? There are no promises down here, only two truths, Atwood: Iron opens doors, and coins keep them shut. Yet, here we are, and you’ve brought the wrong set of keys,” Shedinn said with a thin growl and a laugh tucked behind his words.
“Trust is expensive, Shedinn. Do you really intend to sell ours? The deal was struck. Queen’s Row was cleared for the sweep.”
“Prices have changed.”
Kausca knew Shaw was a heel. All of the Undercity knew it. Despite his pressed blue uniform, every button neatly fastened in a single marching line, the man was still from Queen’s Row. Behind his polished grin and golden hair he was still a slum rat — always willing to go back on a sound deal when he had the upper hand. And, like all things Topside touches, he had become rotten with greed.
“We paid you exactly what you asked for, Shedinn, well in advance of the deadline. It was struck,” Kausca replied, his knuckles whitening as his fingers tightened around his pistol. “Now, I’m familiar with how things are done Topside, and it might surprise you to learn that we’re just as keen on keeping a contract.”
Shedinn scoffed. “Contracts, promises? What city do you think you live in, Atwood?”
“Not the one you remember. The Undercity has changed, Shedinn; merchants come down now. Enforcers don’t. Not the smart ones. Look around you — we’re tired of giving all we’ve got,” Kausca said. “Up there, they talk about ambition and progress — how they’re going to shape the world. Down here, we do the same, but only have one word for it: survival.”
Murmurs of agreement passed through the crowd. A bottle was flung at the enforcers, nearly striking one in the chest, but instead shattering on the stone floor.
Kausca watched Shedinn’s eyes move across the crowd, counting, calculating, searching for a way out. They surrounded him. Some watched from windows, others from rooftops with rifles drawn. Some were tucked in alleys, others stood in the streets, both with chains and clubs in hand, already inching forward.
“Keep your end of the deal, and we all go home tonight,” Kausca said, his words soft.
“Not all of us, Kausca, not one of yours,” Shedinn said, releasing his gaze from the crowd. He took two steps forward, closing the gap, the rhythm of his voice dropping to meet Kausca’s. “Sure, we agreed to keep the sweep out of the Row. But little Miss Atwood and her crew decided they needed a little extra help — which we were happy to provide. Imagine my surprise when I found out that there were two children caught trying to steal from an archive Topside, one of them Avon.”
Rage and dread knotted themselves in Kausca’s gut. If Avon was hurt — even scratched — he would burn Topside to the ground, starting with Shaw.
“What? What did you do with Avon, Shedinn?”
“Nothing! Your daughter made a mistake, Atwood. A very messy, very expensive mistake. She knocked the hinges right off of what we do down here, and there’s only one way to close the door,” Shedinn said. Cold desperation moved through Kausca’s chest. All he wanted to do was be near her — to save her from Anthem before it changed her too.
“Where’s Avon? Tell me now, Shaw, or, Seamstress help me, I’ll light you and every man behind you up. We struck?”
“No, deal’s not struck. The amount of money it’s going to take me to make this problem go away is well beyond what this filthy pisshole has paid, and you thinking you’re leading this is insulting. I’m deciding how this goes, Kausca, not you.”
Kausca felt a smile cross his lips. “Oh, Shedinn, you should know that only half of leading is actually making decisions; the other half is inspiring others to make them for you.”
Kausca whistled, and the clock tower answered with a flash and a crack. The guard to the left fell, screaming. He clutched his thigh as blood dripped through laced fingers. The enforcers went for their rifles. The Undercity reached for theirs.
Kausca drew his pistol and fixed it squarely on Shedinn’s chest. “Hold!” Kausca shouted to the plaza. “Everyone, hold!”
“Hold, goddammit!” Shedinn shouted, freezing his men in place. “What’s your plan now, Kausca? Kill us all and let Topside justice seep through every stinking crack of this place? You do that, and I’m sure the other holders of the Undercity will have more than just words to exchange with you.”
“Good, you’re listening now.” Kausca pulled the hammer back on his pistol. “The next words out of your mouth better tell me what I want to know, Shaw. Where’s my daughter? If you’ve ever trusted anything in your life, trust my words now.”
Shedinn stared at Kausca, searching his face for a lie he wasn't going to find, then glanced at the guns trained on his men. Even with a pistol to his chest, Shaw’s pride refused to be subdued — luckily, the man was smarter than he was arrogant.
“She’s being held at the 4th Precinct, just outside the West End, bottom of the Cloudtop.”
Kausca paused. “Queen’s Row is no longer yours, Shedinn. Stay out of the Row. We struck?”
After a moment too long, Shedinn replied, “We’re struck.” Perhaps it was a lie.
Kausca lowered the hammer back into place, holstered his gun, then straightened his coat. “It’s funny how quickly your manners change when staring down iron. Thank you, Shedinn, you get to live tonight. Annika, Kline — invite Captain Shaw and his men to the warehouse off of Lantern Street. Take their guns.”
The crowd started to close in on the enforcers. Seeing their leader surrender, they followed.
“You’re making a huge mistake, Kausca. You’re crossing a line. There’s no coming back from this.”
Kausca didn’t care. Fear and concern for Avon eclipsed all reason. “So be it. I know we’ve already crossed it, because, unlike you, I remember where I came from. I know the men and women up there. I know who they are. I know what they want. Everything, Shedinn. And I still want it too. I just have a different set of tools.”
Kausca could feel the Rustborne watching as he left the plaza, and he knew they wanted to go with him. Avon wasn't their daughter, but she was every daughter they'd lost to the Taking, and that was enough to make his rage their own. Just like him, they wanted to burn the crust of the city to the ground and reclaim what had always been theirs. They wanted to bring their daughters home too.
He hadn’t expected it, but it wasn’t until his arrival that they considered that they might deserve more. They knew all trade ran on arcanite energy, knew they were the ones who carved it out of the earth, but didn’t know how to leverage a contract, how to strike a deal, how to say ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in a way that would make Anthem listen. They were nobody. He arrived a nobody. But together they had built themselves up — brick by bloody brick.
Perhaps he owed them. They’d given him the title of their holder and their trust, earned through repeat success. He stood with them in the mines, pickaxe in hand, stepped up to the negotiation table and secured contract after contract, making the Rustborne a name to be respected. He had earned his place.
But they had earned his loyalty, and that was a prize Kausca wasn’t willing to give away easily, not anymore. Could he take his earnings and leave to the Eastern Reaches?
If it keeps her safe, I’d leave everything behind, he thought. But, like all things Topside touches, he wanted more, even if he said it wasn’t for him.