The Monstrous Citadel

by Mirah Bolender

  “Yes, we are,” said Laura, already searching for someone who looked less offensive.

  “Giver-upper. Coward. Yellowbelly. Chicken.” The woman followed them, calling out taunts. What a child.

  Much to Laura’s displeasure, no one seemed at all interested in helping them. The passersby glanced over, but otherwise gave no indication that they’d noticed anything. Okane walked closer, almost brushing shoulders.

  “Do - - - think we should ask at an official office after all?” he whispered.

  “I was trying to avoid that. We’d have to make up a story, or—”

  Before Laura could finish her sentence a hand descended on her, thumbnail digging into her spine while fingers curled about her neck. Judging by the squeak from Okane, the same thing happened to him. The Kalu woman steered them close together, her head between theirs. Laura twisted her head around to rebuke her, but froze immediately. Thin numbers stretched on the woman’s cheek: 1100100. Shit.

  “You’re a Sweeper,” Laura whispered.

  “Well. Not really.” The woman slid her way between them, pulling them flush against her and moving so her arms draped over their shoulders, in a less dangerous position but still enough to make Laura feel trapped.

  “If you’re not a Sweeper, what are you?” asked Laura.

  “Why don’t we talk this over with some drinks, hm? There’s a café just up the road. My treat.”

  “Why don’t I trust you?”

  “Honey, don’t trust anyone in this town. That goes especially for dream boy.” She tilted her head against Okane, peering up at him. He leaned away, but her arm kept him from getting too far.

  “And yet you want us to have drinks.” Laura reclaimed the woman’s attention, and when those brown eyes turned on her again, they sparkled with something more like excitement than scorn.

  “It’s easier to talk there than on the street.”

  The café’s small room held a cast of thin chairs and tables, the metal of them twisted in plain but decorative shapes that dug uncomfortably into Laura’s back when she sat down. Laura couldn’t make out any of the individual conversations around them, but the loud babble filled the room and carried over the heads of the customers and the coffee bar. Laura, Okane, and the woman claimed the empty table by the large window. As soon as she released him, Okane took the chair next to Laura and scooted it as close as humanly possible. The woman occupied the third chair, back to the window. She was a small person, but sat in a way that took up the entirety of the chair and beyond, like a king sprawling on a throne. She observed them the way a king would inspect peasants, too.

  “Why so interested in Rex Sweepers? Seems to me like this is the last place to go on holiday.”

  “We’re not ‘on holiday,’ we’re here on business,” Laura replied.

  “Ooh, business. Elaborate.” The woman’s eyebrows rose and her eyes sparked a mocking curiosity.

  “Private business. If you aren’t a Sweeper, you’ve got no right to the information.”

  “Oh. Oh, baby.” The woman leaned over the table and rested her elbows on it. In films this might have been a move for the actress to show off her breasts, but her coat hid what little bust she had, making the gesture useless. “Sweepers here don’t have much information at all. They’re like dogs. Their handlers direct them.”

  Laura let this information sink in. Did that mean this woman was a handler? Did handlers get tattooed as well?

  “Who exactly are you?” she asked.

  “The name’s Zelda. No last name. Haven’t picked one yet.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Well, they didn’t give us names to begin with, and once somebody gets a name, it sticks throughout life, doesn’t it? Need to find one that fits right.”

  She stood up, reaching to pluck the tray from a waiter. She set it down in the middle of their table while the man kept walking, arms propped up as if he were still carrying the tray.

  Laura looked between her and the waiter, flabbergasted. “You can’t just take that! We’re trying to keep a low profile!”

  “And - - -’re doing such a remarkable job of it,” Zelda said dryly. “Sit back down, he doesn’t notice and he doesn’t care.”

  Sure enough, the man kept walking as if this were an everyday occurrence.

  Zelda handed out the cups she’d stolen. Laura found herself with a tall soda glass of peach-colored substance with chocolate sprinkles on a whipped topping. Okane received a shorter ceramic mug with something dark like coffee under a cream pattern; he looked at it like he’d been offered poison. Zelda claimed a pale pink drink in a teacup. A lone tea remained between them.

  “Okay, Zelda, I still don’t know who you are.”

  “My face should make me obvious, right? These numbers mean I’m part of Rex’s Sweeper breeding program.”

  “But you said you weren’t a Sweeper. And I thought the Sweepers didn’t have names, just numbers.”

  “That’s why I had to find my own.” Zelda sipped loudly from her cup and smacked her lips. “I was in the breeding program until I was five, and then I gave them the slip. They haven’t found me since. Wonderful thing, this magic.”

  “Magic?”

  Zelda gestured at Okane. “Of course. What, did the info not get out? We’re bred from people like him.”

  Laura’s mouth clicked shut again. Okane’s hands tightened on his mug, but while he avoided eye contact he didn’t look surprised.

  “Rex rounded up a bunch of those magicky people during the witch hunts, turned them into breeding stock. With magic in our blood we repel monsters, so we make great Sweepers. Perfect little soldiers. Of course all the inbreeding results in some, shall we say, undesirable conditions. And then our little magic Sweepers need to be kept very close so they don’t go making their own decisions and getting out of control. Part of why we don’t have names. That’s why I got out as soon as I could.”

  “How did - - - know about me? Was it the eyes? The speech?” Okane whispered.

  “I feel it. The speech was the real tip-off, though. Don’t use that word if - - - can help it here.”

  She did the “you” thing too. Laura leaned back against the metal of her chair and looked at Okane. “You knew about this?”

  “I did,” he confessed. “It’s one of the reasons we’re never supposed to trust anyone from Rex. Honestly, it’s more dangerous for me here than it is for you.”

  Zelda smiled. “Glad to see - - - understand. Don’t get caught. Rex always wants new stock.”

  18

  TREASURE IN THE LABYRINTH

  Rex’s evening traffic trundled slow along the roads, headlights trailing over the pavement and briefly illuminating sidewalks and windows before fading again. As one of the passing automobiles lit the sign of a clothing store, the letters on the window cast an eerie reflection.

  “Is this really a good idea?” Okane peered around for witnesses.

  “Of course it is!” Zelda snorted, sashaying to the door.

  “But he looks like a tramp,” said Laura. “Nobody in their right mind would let a hobo into his shop, especially in this Quarter, right?”

  “Nobody’s going to see a tramp. Magic, remember?”

  True, they’d stayed in that café for an hour as Zelda snatched food and drinks from unsuspecting waiters and they’d left without anyone giving them a bill, but Laura remained skeptical.

  “How exactly does your magic work?”

  “Same way all magic shit does,” said Zelda, twisting the doorknob and swinging it open. “It’s self-preservation instinct going on overdrive.”

  Laura and Okane followed her into the shop. An old man with a graying mustache sat behind the counter to their right, eyes fixed on his newspaper as if he’d heard no customers at all. Shelves lined the other walls, while racks and displays of the latest styles cluttered the middle. The stock mostly catered toward men, but some women’s coats and gloves could be glimpsed on the far wall. Zelda took a quick look at Okane’s
rags and beckoned them further inside.

  “Think about all the times magic gets used. Go on, list them.”

  Laura glanced at her companion. “I suppose it helps him land on his feet? He heals fast. Runs fast.”

  “Sometimes I’m stronger. I’m lucky, too,” he added.

  “Luck has nothing to do with it, only reflexes,” said Zelda. “What magic usually does is pump up a person’s attributes. Temporarily multiplies whatever one of us has. That’s type number one. Type number two—”

  She paused, picked up a shirt from the nearest display, and motioned for Okane to try it on right then and there.

  “Type number two is the same as our little speech impediment: works on other people. Problem is, when a person has number two, they’re lacking in number one. I have number two, but I can’t bump up my speed when I’m running from something and I can’t let off a flare if an infestation tries to get me. Sweepers might think that’s useless, but it serves me well. Other kids in the breeding program? Not so lucky. They don’t display the right attributes, and they either go into hard labor or they get culled. I escape notice. When my magic is going, no one realizes I’m here. I’m like that thing in the mirror: in the corner of the eye but gone before it’s clearly seen. Unless they’re specifically looking for me, they don’t notice at all.”

  “That’s amazing,” Laura whispered, awed despite herself.

  Zelda preened, lips curling into a smile that looked more malicious than pleased, before faltering.

  “Didn’t I say to try that on?”

  Okane held the shirt closer to his chest. “I don’t know where the dressing room is.”

  “Just do it here.” Okane looked away and blushed slightly. “What, embarrassed to change in front of ladies?”

  “Don’t make fun of him,” said Laura.

  “I’m really not comfortable,” he said.

  “Well, a changing room is out of the question. Get too far from me and - - - don’t get the benefits of my magic. The geezer will hear every move.” Zelda jerked her thumb at the shopkeeper.

  “You work on noise, too?”

  “Little things. Can’t disguise a foghorn, but a squeaky door, sure. I just muffle it is all.”

  “You can’t just stand outside the dressing room?”

  “And let that geezer breathe on me?” She shuddered. “No.”

  “Nice to know your compassion goes so far,” Laura drawled.

  Okane fidgeted. “Could I at least go on the other side of the rack?”

  Zelda rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  He hustled away immediately. Laura heard him shuffling around, and turned to check on the shopkeeper. The old man picked his nose, newspaper up so no one outside could see it.

  “So what’s this business with our Sweepers?” asked Zelda. “They’re mindless, but most of them are brutes anyway. The inbreeding really didn’t help tempers.”

  “It’s still a private thing,” said Laura.

  “‘Private’ isn’t in my dictionary. Secrets don’t mean shit to someone who’s uncatchable.”

  “It’s—Well.” Laura squirmed, trying to figure out exactly how much to tell this woman. She turned around to ask Okane’s opinion, and halfway through the motion realized her mistake. She didn’t see much before snapping her head back around, but she saw enough. A mess of symbols scarred his shoulders and back. Her stomach lurched.

  “What are those?” Zelda’s voice rang low and flat next to her ear; she’d peeked at the same time as Laura, and her face froze in shock.

  “Shh!” Laura hissed, trying to gesture that this was not an acceptable topic.

  Zelda snarled and caught her by the arm, dragging her in close to growl, “What happened to him?”

  Laura squeaked in surprise at the motion and gathered her thoughts before answering, “Not everyone understands magic, do they? I’m sure you’re not a stranger to that. Some people react worse than others. Just don’t say anything about it, okay? He doesn’t like it.”

  It wasn’t much of an explanation, but Zelda took it. She stared at Laura’s face a while more. “But we don’t scar easily.” Her nails dug painfully into Laura’s arm before drawing back again.

  “I think this shirt is a little big,” said Okane, thankfully ignorant of their conversation. “Is there a smaller one?”

  “Sure thing, dream boy!” Zelda chirped, and she tossed another over the rack. Her voice had returned to its normal tone, but it took a while for the steeliness in her eyes to fade.

  They rotated around the store, swapping Okane’s torn clothes for new Rexian styles, but after he collected a new outfit they gravitated toward the overcoats.

  “These do nicely for camouflage,” Zelda declared, pulling one of the coats out by the sleeve. “Latest fashion. All the respectable people wear them. Get too far away from me and some kind of disguise is necessary.” She raked Laura’s clothes with a scathing glance. “No wonder nobody wanted to answer any questions. They’d sooner step in dog shit than answer such an unfashionable girl!”

  True, Laura still wore Cherry’s spare coat, but underneath it she still had the expensive kin-infused gear.

  “People back home think I look great,” she grumbled, pulling the coat tighter around herself.

  “Must be a Terulian thing.” Zelda smirked at the surprise on Laura’s face. “What? I’m not stupid, that accent’s not Zyran. I’m still waiting on an explanation of this Sweeper business too, of course.”

  “What do you think?” Laura peered over at Okane.

  He mulled over it for a moment, tugging at the cuffs of his new shirt. “It would be nice if we could have - - -r help. As - - - can see, we don’t have much to go on at this point. Without a guide, we’re probably sunk.”

  “True.” Zelda tossed an overcoat at Laura, and snickered as she scrambled to catch it. “But I’m not helping anyone until I know what’s going on.”

  Odd words from someone who’d already helped them find a meal and warm clothing. Nevertheless, Laura told her. Not in excruciating detail, but enough to give Zelda the general idea. She didn’t mention Clae or Anselm, just the Gin stones.

  “Sweepers, then,” Zelda mused, trying on a new set of gloves and dumping her old ones on the shelf where they’d been. “Here on a retrieval mission.”

  “That’s the deal,” said Laura, buttoning up her new overcoat. It seemed more showy than functional this far south.

  “But here’s what gets me. Sure, cities would come running to recover their Gin, but Sweepers? Really? More than that, why would Rex specifically target - - -? What’s so special about that city?”

  “Have you heard of Clae Sinclair?” Judging by Felix’s reactions on the train, Clae’s name had power beyond Amicae that Laura had never realized. Sure enough, the name brought an immediate reaction.

  “Wait, - - -’re Amicae Sweepers? When I think Amicae, I expect a little more…” Zelda flipped her hand at them, grimacing. “Intimidating? Bigger?”

  “Are Rexian Sweepers that much more imposing?” said Okane.

  “In their own way,” said Zelda.

  “Did you hear about the commotion around Amicae in November?” said Laura. Judging by Zelda’s widening eyes, she had. “Rex has always been after some sort of Sinclair secret. When they heard about the incident and knew Clae would be out of the way, they came in to raid our armory.”

  “Did they get the secret?”

  “There wasn’t a secret. But they did steal a journal that had vital points of the city structure. Pit locations, weaker defense points, Sweeper-wise, anyway. We need to get it back.”

  A total lie, but Okane made no move to correct her.

  “They’ve probably been through that book and learned every secret. Not much point to getting it back,” said Zelda.

  “If we get it back we can reinforce everything, right? Besides, maybe Sweeper handlers are stupid too and haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  Zelda pouted as she perused the hat section
, looking bored again. Helper or not, she was still Rexian. She might be willing to look out for people like her, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t follow Rex’s teachings, or that she cared about the fate of other cities.

  “How’s this,” Zelda said at last. “We visit the headquarters, we chat some people up, we snoop a little, and I go home. Then, sometime in the future, I get a big fat reward.”

  “What kind of reward?” Laura asked, suspicious.

  “Depends on my mood. Depends how much trouble we get in. Maybe I’ll want a candy bar, maybe I’ll want a million argents. We’ll see.”

  “Candy we can do, but money’s not something we’re rolling in,” said Laura.

  Zelda let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Deal.”

  * * *

  Night fell completely over the city, but the neighborhoods Zelda walked through remained bright and boisterous. Deeper into the city, businesses became less formal, and soon they passed signs for more lecherous attractions, which pointed down alleyways and mazes of streets. Laura would’ve believed it was a red-light district if Zelda hadn’t laughed and told them it was located in the Second Quarter. Other walkers jeered at one another, but the trio went unnoticed all the way to the inner wall of the Third Quarter. The inside walls of Rex were structured like those of a castle, bearing the tall towers that had been visible from the train, dotted with windows but otherwise bleak if not marred by propaganda posters. Zelda clapped them on the shoulders as they drew closer.

  “Welcome to Sweeper headquarters!” she announced. “Sure, there are other facilities, but this is where all the action happens.”

  “Here?” Laura squinted up at the closest soaring tower.

  “The entire ring around the Second Quarter: the wall itself and a good chunk of the interior,” said Zelda.

  Okane looked faint. “We have to search the entire thing?”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve got a friend in there who might help us.”

  “A friend who can see - - -—?”

  “Of course. Come on!”