For Darkness Shows the Stars

too.
    Ro began to shuffle the pots, burying the hybrid blossoms among the others. “Shh,” she said. “Shhh, shhh.” But she couldn’t be trusted to keep the secret. Not like Dee or any of the other Posts.
    Elliot plucked a single bloom and rubbed the petals between her fingers. They were so small and perfect, so alive and vibrant. How could such a thing, such a tiny, beautiful thing, be a sin against God? Surely a sinful flower would wither and die, but look how these prospered under the care of the most humble of creatures. Whatever else this meant, the existence of these flowers, on this day, told Elliot one thing: Let her father trample what wheat he may—Elliot would not give up.
    ON SUMMER AFTERNOONS, BARON North and Tatiana made a big show of descending into the star-cavern sanctuary for Luddite services. Their piety waned in the winter months, however, when the ancient refuge was less a cool retreat from the sun and more the frigid, punishing darkness that their ancestors had endured only because the wars had driven them underground.
    Elliot didn’t begrudge them their activities, though. She used the time to have uninterrupted access to her father’s study, so she could deal with his correspondence. Once, the job had been her mother’s, and so by rights it should now be Tatiana’s, but Elliot’s sister showed the same interest and head for numbers as their father—which was to say, very little at all. Left to them, the desk would collapse beneath the weight of unanswered requests and unpaid bills—mostly the latter variety of late. Then again, people stopped asking for favors once they knew you owed money all over. Even if your name was North.
    When her mother was alive, there’d been economy in their house. Economy and industry both, to balance out her father’s worst tendencies. His older brother had been raised to manage the farm, not Zachariah North. Elliot’s uncle had died before Elliot’s parents were even married, leaving behind an infant son too young to take over and Zachariah, who hadn’t been fit to lead but became the baron nonetheless. The North estate had never been the same. Elliot’s father possessed the Luddite sense of superiority, but without its corresponding call to action. And ever since his wife died, he deeply resented anyone who made him remember it—by, say, suggesting that one’s debts ought to be repaid.
    Most days, that was Elliot. She had to be very careful with the bills now, or risk lectures from her father on the honor due to Baron North. They were not even ordinary Luddites, the Norths, but one of the last great baronic families who had preserved the world in the wake of the Reduction. Their ancestors had led the remnants of humanity out of the caverns. They had held their land for generations.
    Hard to remember all this family honor when Elliot spent every day staring into the eye of a cyclone of debts called due.
    Her wheat could have saved them, kept the estate from needing to import food this winter. Even allowed them a surplus for the first time in Elliot’s memory. But it was not to be this year. Her father would rather build a racetrack for horses he could barely afford.
    One of the letters caught her eye. An unfamiliar correspondent, and a Post by the look of the address. Elliot opened it.
    Most Admirable Baron Zachariah North,
    Forgive me the trespass of writing this letter. I have never had the honor of being introduced to such a lofty person as you. Most likely, you do not know me, nor of my reputation amongst your illustrious fellows. I am an explorer in the service of my Luddite lords, and in the past ten years my activities have brought great distinction and wealth to my patrons, who include the honorable families of Right, Grace, Record, and Baroness Channel. For my references, you may apply to any of these families.
    I have learned that you are currently in control of the shipyard belonging to Chancellor Elliot Boatwright. If the facility is not in use, I would be interested in renting it from you, as well as some residential properties and the use of some of your labor force while my shipwrights work. I seek to build a new ship, one much bigger than any of my current facilities can handle. I am told that Boatwright shipyard is the best in the islands, and I am sure we can come to an agreement that is profitable and advantageous to us both.
    I remain your ever-humble servant,
    Nicodemus Innovation, Admiral of the Cloud Fleet
    Elliot had