#quill williams

[silvershears]

"Everything the old man says--they’re just outlandish rumors. You can't trust anything he tells you," said Quill when they rounded the corner.

"I can."

"What?"

"I can, because this time, he's right. That wedding? Everyone knows about it." She checked herself. "Or rather, everyone in the city does. It's one of the most monumental things we’ve had in ten years, the bonding of two of the most influential families in the city."

"So what? Then there really is a wedding, and the bride got left behind. You can't seriously believe there's some conspiracy behind it, that the groom’s family made the city leave early. There's always people that get left, ours as well as yours." He crossed his arms over the newspapers against his chest incredulously.

"Not someone on the groom's side of the family, no. Well, maybe. I don’t know. Whoever managed it, it was purposeful and with her in mind."

"What do you mean?"

"There's something going on in the city right now. The next time it docks, you'll see. Her getting left behind is the best thing for her. At least this way she'll live."

Quill put the papers on top of a pile of moldering crates along the wall of the alley. "You said something similar earlier. You said you wanted to save them. What did you mean? What's happening?"

[silvershears]

At a junction of three roads, he slipped between people to the other side and continued along a path through the gravestones.

"Excuse me," muttered Fell over and over, pulling up short a dozen times as people walked through her path. She jogged to catch up to him. "Ugh!" She pulled a handkerchief from her dress and held the embroidered bee to her nose. "What is that?"

"Is there a smell? Well, this is a graveyard after all. Does the city not have them?"

"What's a grave?"

"You know, a place to put the dead?"

She stopped, suddenly more curious than she'd been about anything they'd passed thus far. "You mean all the people who've died are laying in the ground all around us?"

Quill tiptoed back to her, a grin plastered on his face, fingers wiggling at her. "Does it frighten you?"

Fell smacked his fingers away as she marched past him onto the grass, directly to a grey stone pillar. The four sides tapered to a square-nosed point, on top of which sat an orb carved from the same piece of stone, completely smooth except for a missing chunk on one side. "Benjamins" scrawled across the top in fancy letters, and beneath it ranked a list of names: Brocade, Ginger, Cane, Fern, Holiday, and on and on. "Of course it doesn't," she breathed, tracing the lettering. "It's kind of comforting to know exactly where they are, isn't it?" she asked brusquely, turning on her heel and walking past him back onto the path.

Quill frowned at the monument before catching up. "I suppose."

[silvershears]

"I get it," Quill said. "I do. Knowing you're all going to die isn't a great feeling. I just.... This isn't a paradise you've found yourself in. The surface is just as brutal as the city, except it’s all the time instead of sometimes. You can't predict when things are going to happen. There aren’t little schedules posted around to tell you when the next flood is going to rip through town, you know? At least you can plan for it. You can all get together and sit with each other until the end. We don't have that luxury." Fell's face darkened to a faint purple the longer she held her breath. "We don't either. You misunderstand me. These cullings aren't decided by the people of the city; it's the city itself that draws the line for acceptable capacity. Then one day, you're all just gone."

[500 words later...] "Have you ever flown a dirigible?" His puzzled silence offered answers enough. "Me neither. I think I'd like to learn."

[silvershears]

The bells tolled at noon, their clamor spreading through the docks like the night fogs. Quill bit his lip. The crowds at the docking ramps shoved, jamming their carts of fruit and leather into the hips of others. Curses flew like gulls. He’d never make this departure without cracked ribs or worse. “Next time,” he whispered as the tremors began. “Next time.”

Who knew when the city would dock again.