Iris hurled the money to the ground. The bills spilled from the envelope, spreading like a green fan on the cobblestones.
“My father-in-law can keep his money,” she said. “And I will not sign that document. Tell him to save his efforts because my answer will never change.”
She picked up her luggage and strode away, relieved when the man didn’t follow. But she could feel him staring at her.
Iris’s hands were like ice as she turned the corner.
She could see the old building that held the Inkridden Tribune ahead, the upper windows reflecting the rising sun. But her attention was promptly snagged by a smart-looking motorcar, parked at the curb. Attie was standing beside it, as were Helena and a young man Iris had never seen before.
She quickened her pace, heart in her throat. Returning to the front almost felt like a dream. It didn’t feel real yet, and Iris wondered when it would. She could scarcely believe she was doing this again.
“Helena?” Iris said, finally reaching the group. “Sorry I’m late.”
Helena turned, left brow arched. Her auburn hair was slicked back, and she held an unlit cigarette. It was evident she was trying to kick the habit. “You’re not late, we’re simply ahead of schedule for once.”
Before Iris could reply, the young man stepped forward. He was dressed in gray trousers, knee-high boots, leather braces, and a white shirt, the buttons undone at the collar. His skin was a rich brown, his face freshly shaved. His eyes were dark and mirthful, framed by long lashes. A bowler hat with a feather tucked within its band sat on his head, and a pair of goggles hung from his neck.
“I’ll take your bags, miss,” he offered.
“Oh, thank you,” Iris said, surprised, as he took her things and stowed them in the trunk of what she assumed was his motorcar. “We’re not going by train?”
“No,” Helena replied, finally lighting her cigarette with a defeated sigh. She drew in a few puffs, the smoke curling in the air. “The train has become unreliable and untrustworthy. It’s also too slow for our present needs.”
Iris could hear the words she didn’t utter. The Kitts had chartered the railroad. The Kitts held immense power over most of the transportation in Oath, and now that Iris was refusing to do what Mr. Kitt wanted, she could only assume matters would get worse when it came to crossing paths with her father-in-law.
“We’re going by roadster,” Attie said in a low, excited voice. She was also wearing her correspondent jumpsuit with a leather belt fastened at her waist. Her favorite binoculars hung from her neck, as did a set of goggles, just like the driver’s.
Iris studied the motorcar again. It was built of sleek black metal with gold-rimmed headlights and wooden running boards. The tires gleamed with white spoked wheels, and there were two doors: one for the driver, and one for the back seat, which was upholstered in red leather. There was a windshield but no cover for the cab.
“I’ve never ridden in a roadster,” Iris said.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Make sure you wear these when you’re out on the open road going full speed.” Helena handed her a pair of goggles. “This is Tobias Bexley. He’s one of the most prestigious post runners in Cambria, and he’ll be driving you to each town. When you have your articles drafted and ready, he’ll transport them back to me while you wait for him to return. Then he’ll drive you to the next stop. I told him to take you as far as Winthrop in Central Borough. It’s as close to the front as I feel comfortable allowing you both to be, but even so, things can change overnight, so be alert.”
Iris nodded, slipping the goggles over her head. They clinked against the locket and she couldn’t help but picture Forest. Grease on his hands, scabs on his knuckles, sitting in their flat as the shadows crept across the floor in the evenings. A stab of worry made her stomach clench. She wished her brother wasn’t alone. She wished there was someone she could send to be with him while she was away.
“Are you listening, Iris?” Helena said wryly.
“Yes, ma’am.” Iris tucked a few threads of hair behind her ear. “Where is our first stop?”
“River Down, with Marisol. From there, you’ll go to my next contact, Lonnie Fielding in Bitteryne. After that, you’ll have to find places to lodge on your own with the funds I’ve provided, but most of all, if Bexley says you need to retreat, you jump into his roadster without question and let him drive you back to Oath. Understood?”