Lewis parks's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

The crow was still up there. Lewis heard it through the broken door, one rough call, then another. Grit wiped his hands on his apron and looked at the ceiling. "Bird saw it all," he said. "Bird tells the man past the canal, and the man past the canal sends ten more like the one behind the tarp." Ember had not let go of Lewis's hand. She did now. She walked to the workbench and picked up the wand Sedrick had dropped. "Then the bird doesn't get there," she said. Lewis pulled his notepad out and started sketching fast. He drew the flying machine. He drew the crystal bush by the door. He drew a forked branch with a wider mouth. "The wing piece worked because the channels spin," he said. "If we grow a wider one, heat it the same way, it throws what we put in it. Chips, salt, anything sharp. Point it up, spin it up, the bird flies through a wall of it." Grit looked at the sketch. "One shot," he said. "Bird won't circle twice after the first miss." Lewis nodded. "Then we don't miss." They worked in the yard. Ember cut a thicker branch from the crystal bush and shaved the fork into a cup. Grit smashed a handful of leftover prism chips into grit the size of seeds. Lewis ran the heat along the channels until the cup hardened. They mounted the cup on the cradle the machine had rolled on. Ember spun the wheel by hand to test. The cup whirred. The chips would leave it fast. Above them the crow turned a tight circle and dropped lower, watching. Ember stepped back from the cradle. She looked at Lewis. "You aim," she said. "You're better at it." Lewis took the handle. He waited until the crow tipped its wing toward the canal, lining up to go. He shoved the wheel hard. The cup spun. The chips tore out in a bright cone. The crow came apart in the air and fell in pieces on the workshop roof. Lewis lowered the handle. His hands were shaking. Ember put her hand on his shoulder, once, then took it away. Grit climbed up and brought down what was left. He laid it on the bench without a word. Then he sat on the floor and pressed his palm to his side. He pulled the palm away red. "Wand caught me," he said. "Earlier. Didn't notice till now." Ember knelt fast. Lewis ran for cloth. Grit waved them off, slow. "Done a lot of things wrong in this shop," he said. "Flying machine works. Bird's down. That's a good count." His head went back against the bench leg. His breath stopped a minute later. Ember stayed kneeling. Lewis stood holding the cloth. They did not have long. The man past the canal would notice the silence even without a report. Ember stood up. She walked to the corner where Lewis's larger forge piece leaned, the one she had agreed to help finish the day they met. She picked up the prism hammer beside it. She turned it once in her hand. "We finish it," she said. "Then we go to the house ourselves." Lewis shook his head. "He'll be ready." "I know," she said. "I still need to know what happened the night I was born. I'm not going to get another chance." Lewis looked at Grit on the floor, and at the flying machine with its wings out, and at her. He picked up his notepad. "Then I go too," he said. They flew over the rooftops of the city at dusk, the wings holding the way Grit had said they would. The crystal house glowed below them, sharp and bright, every window lit. Ember held the hammer in her lap. Lewis held the controls. They came down in the garden. The door opened before they reached it. Men were waiting inside, more than two, with wands of their own. Ember walked in first. Lewis walked