Chapter 14
There were a lot of Drones in Suljem, Sylenn discovered; far more than the information available to the Descendants had indicated. By the time evening fell, there were ten fewer. She'd allowed the beast a few moments to feed, but always after they'd taken the Gontozenel from the host and left the scene. It was quite likely that a new crop of ghost stories would soon spring up in Ivrithan about invisible spirits who came to steal souls or some other such nonsense. Sylenn didn't really care. She was enjoying her freedom far too much.
She didn't even mind as much that beast was still inside her. After eight years of slavery, forced murders, and abject fear, she felt freer than she could ever have imagined. The thing was cooperating with her, not using her, and It almost felt ... comfortable with her.
She, however, felt hungry. Digging into one of her many pockets, she came up with a few coins that she'd discovered in alley-ways, on the side-walks, and in other people's pockets. Old habits do linger. Given the late hour, however, where could she go to spend them? The nicer restaurants weren't a consideration; they'd never let her in. The grocers were closed for the day. The public houses wouldn't have meals, just over-fried, over-salted snacks. She wandered the streets for a bit before she found a little shop still open. Given its proximity to several theaters, she shouldn't have been surprised. Actors kept odd hours, after all.
Tucking the information away for future reference, she went in and bought a tiny loaf of day-old bread, a rind of cheese, some broken bits of meat, and a scraping of butter. It was a meal she would have killed for half a year ago. The sweet-faced old woman behind the counter wrapped and packed the items carefully in the small, threadbare sack Sylenn had pulled from another pocket and, when she thought Sylenn wasn't watching, snuck a few pieces of penny-candy in as well. Sylenn bobbed her head gratefully and left with her treasure tucked in her arms.
Now to find herself a quiet place to eat. As she left the shop and turned toward the Parliament House (it was time for her to be getting back, after all), her street-honed senses detected a presence behind her. Deliberately not reacting, she kept walking, aiming for the street lamps a little ways ahead at the next intersection.
"Well, well, what we got here?" a male voice sneered behind her.
"Looks like a little rat with some crumbs," another replied. Sylenn ignored them.
"Too small for a rat; gotta be a mouse." The first speaker drew up alongside Sylenn, letting her see him from the corner of her eye. The second one came up on her other side. Common street thugs. She knew she could hurt them even without suiting up, but they didn't. Didn't mean she was looking forward to doing so; she'd have to explain her own condition when she got back to the Temple, since she would take a few licks before she brought them down.
"Hey, girl," the second one said, trying to get her attention. He didn't get it. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you!"
The first one brayed. "Mouse has some guts, eh, Elish? Thinks if she doesn't answer, maybe you'll go away, huh? Take your ugly face and leave her be?"
"Maybe she thinks she's got guts," Elish replied in a low voice. "I say we take a look and find out." He reached for the sack in Sylenn's arms.
Sylenn's head whipped around. Elish thought she was responding to him, but she her gaze went past him. They'd just come to the intersection, and she smelled something. The beast smelled something.
"Here now, what's all this?" a new voice demanded.
The thugs looked up from their game, Elish's hand still on Sylenn's sack of food. Another man walked up to them; he'd been traveling down the cross street. Dressed in a neat suit and carrying a leather satchel and frowning, he came to a stop in front of them. It took Sylenn a moment to gather her wits; the strange smell was one she hadn't encountered before.
He smelled tainted, but he wasn't. And it wasn't that he associated with someone who was tainted, because the smell was inside him, yet it was old, decaying. Finally her brain put it together. He had been a Drone, and she had cleansed him. That reporter from the ceremony those months back. Jerell Graig, who now smelled like an empty tomb.
"Nothin', just havin' a conversation is all," Elish snarled, not letting go of the sack.
"What's it to you?" the other growled.
"It looks to me as though the lady does not wish to have a conversation with you," Graig replied, still frowning. "Am I correct, Mistress?"
"This thing? A lady?" Elish and his partner howled derisively. "This here is gutter trash, mister fancy-suit."
Sylenn took the opportunity to jerk away from the duo. Since they were standing partially behind her, she had to step forward, toward Graig. He obviously took the move as her wish for protection. Just as well, so long as the thugs backed off before she had to endure another lecture from her brother.
"Your opinion notwithstanding, I think you should leave now," Graig said with a half-growl, stepping forward so that Sylenn was partially behind him.
"Hey, hey, it's alright," the first thug said, easing Elish backwards. "You want the whore, you can have her."
"Yeah," Elsih snapped before turning away. The night was early yet, and there would be easier marks.
When the toughs were out of earshot, Graig turned to Sylenn. "I'm dreadfully sorry you had to hear that, Mistress, and I am happy to have been of some assistance to you. Are you well?" He looked her over carefully, as though assessing her for injury. Did he think she would faint?
He was definitely different without the Sukker in him. Of course, one could argue that he was now talking and not the Gontozenel so there would obviously be a difference. She couldn't quite get over the strange way he smelled to the beast. It was puzzled but not upset.
Graig must have taken her scrunched face for something like shock, because he next said, "If it's not too forward of me, Mistress, you seem a bit shaken, which you have every right to be. May I offer you something warm to drink? There is a little cafe just up the street; you can see it there. I would be honored to purchase a cup of something for you. If you feel unsafe, I would also be happy to hire a cab to take you to your destination."
From most of the men she'd ever dealt with, Sylenn would have known he meant the offer as a prelude to other offers. Graig, though, didn't strike her as the type. Even for a well-dressed man, he simply didn't have the air of trying to get a lay out of her. Not even that well-concealed hint that so many practiced. Besides, he was offering free food, and the beast was insanely curious to investigate this not-prey.
She nodded without speaking, playing up the scared damsel a little. Graig smiled kindly and gestured for her to turn up the street. With another smile, he offered his arm out of courtesy.
He had a nice smile, Sylenn decided. A very nice smile. Timidly, she slid her hand through the crook of his arm. Up close to him, she realized he had a nice smell all his own. The beast approved, inhaling with her nose. The prey was gone, every last bit of it. It had never encountered this situation before, but now that It had, the thing subsided within her. It would not forget.
What strange sight they presented to anyone glancing out their windows, Sylenn could guess. A shabby waif arm-in-arm with a nicely-dressed business man. They would draw their conclusions, so let them. Graig gently guided her up to the cafe and opened the door for her. A jingle announced them.
"Hello, and welcome!" a portly man called out, rounding the counter. "Oh, it's you, Jerell! Good to see you, young man! Good to see you. And whom have you brought with you, hmm? A lovely young lady, I see!"
Jerell returned the handshake warmly. "Jothun, this young lady is in need of something warm to drink; she just escaped from a near-dangerous encounter with some petty thugs."
"Is that so?" the proprietor cried, looking with concern that seemed genuine to Sylenn. "Blessed Lord preserve us all; the streets simply aren't as safe as they used to be, are they? Well, come, come, let's get you into a seat, my dear, and get you taken care of. Such a terrible thing for a young lady to go through. Maree! Some fresh juava, quickly! There
you are dear, and you, too, Jerell! That's it; may I take your coat or parcel, Mistress?"
Sylenn clutched her sack reflexively. She hadn't meant to refuse him, but a few months ago she would have died before parting with food or possessions.
"Not a worry, my dear," the man soothed her; "You can set it right here on this chair, where it's quite within sight. Ah, thank you, Maree. Here we go; fresh, hot juava. We buy these beans from the best vendor in Suljem; they come directly from Toklea, make no mistake. Cream? Sugar? There we are. Now, I'll stop hovering so you can enjoy and relax for a bit."
Sylenn was glad he'd left; his presence was … like a very large blanket thrown over her. Jothun was likeable, but … he reminded her of Mosin, just a little. She looked over at Graig before picking up her cup, sniffing it, and taking a cautious sip. Not bad for juava, though the beans grown on the Island were smoother. This was bitter enough to choke a Sukker. She stifled a giggle at the phrase.
"Are you feeling any better, Miss?" Jerell asked after sipping his own drink with apparent enjoyment.
She nodded, setting down her cup and hiding her hands in her lap. Now what?
"I do beg your pardon, Miss, for not making proper introductions. My name is Jerell Graig; I work for the news-paper, Ivrithan Today. I live at the boarding house run by Jothun's sister, which is how I know him and his family. May I ask your name?"
"Um, Sylenn," she mumbled. "Sylenn Jenfsen." She wasn't entirely comfortable giving him her real name, but he'd been straight with her so far. And it wasn't as though any of her family lived anywhere near here, so the chances of him digging anything up on them were small. But old habits ... For the first time since she'd awakened from the nightmare of her life, those habits bothered her.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Jenfsen. How do you do." He gave a small bow from the waist over the table, smiling. She couldn't stop a small smile from tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"That's the spirit!" Graig cheered. "How do you like your juava? It's a bit strong, but I like how bracing Jothun makes it."
"Um, I don't ... I've never drunk much juava, so it's ... stronger than I'm used to." How could he be so nice? His eyes were so honest that she was having trouble keeping up her guard.
The last time she'd spent time with truly nice people had been before the beast took her, when she was a child. Since that day of dying, she'd been on the streets, under bridges, in abandoned shacks, and anywhere she'd thought she could be left alone for a few hours. Every other vagrant had felt fairly much the same way, agreeing to that unspoken pact to let one another be. No questions, no friendships. No weaknesses. Surviving was not living.
The people at the Temple were always around, constantly pressing on her, talking to her, making her do things. They cared, but they were so focused, so determined to use her to defeat the Gontozenels. She could understand that. But it was squeezing the life out of her.
Graig wasn't like either group. He didn't look at her with the eye of someone trying to take something from her, and he wasn't suffocating her or ordering her about. It was ... strange.
Graig nodded in understanding. "It is an acquired taste, Miss Jenfsen. Would you like some tisane, instead? Jothun would be only too happy--"
"No! Um, no, this is fine." She wasn't sure why she was keeping the drink; she really didn't like it. Perhaps because it was free and already here.
"Oh. Well, if you're fine with it, then we won't bother with a change. Did you need something to eat, perhaps? It is past the dinner hour, after all."
Tempting, but luck only went so far. He seemed honorable, but she wouldn't take chances. "Thank you, but I'm fine."
"Quite alright. Would you mind if I ordered something, then? I haven't had my dinner yet, and I confess to being more than a little hungry myself."
"Um, sure. Do what you need to." She ignored her rumbling stomach and hoped he hadn't heard it. There were some tantalizing smells coming out of the kitchen.
Graig waved at the barmaid, Maree, who nearly jumped over the counter to reply.
"Whatcha need, Jerell?" she asked, her bright eyes torn between drinking in Graig's clean-shaven face and peering curiously at Sylenn's half-hidden one.
"Maree, could I get a basket of those fried potato skirls, some steamed rice, and a plate of tips and gravy?"
"Oh, sure, Jerell! I'll get that right up for you. Need anything else?" the girl simpered.
Maree looked to be about Sylenn's age, which put her perhaps five to seven years behind Graig. She was cute and pretty and attractively plump, which suddenly made Sylenn very aware of how shabby she was. But at least she wasn't dirty anymore. That was one thing to say for the Temple; she never had to go longer without bathing than she wanted to. And there weren't any more fleas to worry about, either.
"No, that's all, Maree. Thank you very much." It was the most polite dismissal Sylenn had ever heard. Maree pouted for a moment before swishing away.
"You'll have to forgive Maree," Graig said, turning to Sylenn. "She is a wonderful girl but a bit fonder of me than I am of her. She means well, so don't take her attitude to heart."
Why was he apologizing for the girl, Sylenn wondered. "It's alright. I don't mind girls like her."
"Oh?" Graig seemed to hear something in that. "What do you mean, if I may ask?"
"Um, well, just that I've met girls like her before, and they never bother me."
"I see." Graig seemed torn between curiosity and manners. Sylenn snorted and leaned forward.
"Look, Graig, you can just ask me. Yeah, I'm a gutter-rat. I grew up on the streets, and I've lived rough. The reason I don't pay attention to girls like her is because I know all they can do is give me lip. They try to hurt me, and they learn fast that they can't. Not that I'd try anything on her; she'd probably run crying if I so much as smiled at her."
Graig chuckled good-naturedly. "I'm glad to hear that, Miss Jenfsen; I truly am."
"You are?" she blurted.
"Yes, I am." Graig took another sip from his cup, sparing her his probing glance. "Not only that you wouldn't try to hurt Maree but that you can take care of yourself. There are a lot of people who just lie down and let life run all over them; I can see that you are a woman who doesn't let fate roll over her. So, I'm glad to hear what you've said."
He set down his cup and looked kindly at her.
Sylenn looked blankly back at him. How-- "How can you say that?" she murmured. Graig started to reply, but she cut him off.
"How can you say that? Don't you see me? My clothes are castoff rags, I sleep wherever I'm allowed to, and I eat whatever molding crap I can dig out of a trash pile! I don't have any choice about what fate has done to me! I never had any choice about anything that's happened to me since I was born!"
She refused to cry, forcing anger to steam away the tears that hovered under her eyelids. It wasn't quite a lie, what she'd just told him. Yelled at him. All her clothes were from someone else; either she'd pulled them off a corpse or found them in the wardrobe at the Temple. They weren't hers. The room where she slept wasn't hers. Meals were more plentiful in the Temple than on the streets, and better-tasting, but they was still decided for her. At least what she'd dug out of the heaps had been her decision.
Graig kept a pleasant expression. "But you did have choices, Miss Jenfsen, and you've made them fairly well, from what I can see. You were born and raised on the streets, but you didn't let them crush you or turn you to drink or hashish. You only take what you need to survive instead of stealing things for the sake of stealing them. You don't manipulate others into doing things for you that they might not want to, and you won't hurt someone who's weaker than you.
"I've met many people who lived and died on the streets, Miss Jenfsen, and you're doing quite well compared to most. You chose to live, to have morals, and to dream of bigger things for yourself. Yes, life hasn't been kind or considerate, but you've not let that stop you."
As Sylenn stared at him, he flushed and looked aside self-consci
ously. "I do apologize, Miss Jenfsen; I get on my lectern far too often."
"How do you know I'm not manipulating you?" Sylenn demanded, brow furrowed.
"Because I've been manipulated by some of the best out there, and I don't see you doing anything remotely like that. You haven't asked me for anything and even turned down an offer of a free meal. You're not probing me; you're not asking me any questions about myself. If that's a kind of manipulation, I'm very impressed."
"And what makes you think any of what you just said about me is true?" she demanded.
"Because I'm good at reading people," Graig replied easily, taking another sip. Sylenn ignored her cup. "And you told me most of it. I know you don't like hurting weaker persons because you assured me that you wouldn't hurt Maree. That also tells me that you have some morals. You didn't pick any of my pockets, even though we walked next to one another for several minutes, so you don't take what you don't really need.
"When you speak, your voice is firm and strong, and though you don't like looking others in the eye, you're not afraid of them. You protect yourself, but you don't limit yourself, either, by protecting too much. You're willing to take risks, since you came along with a perfect stranger to an unfamiliar cafe. In summary, you're not broken by the life that you've been given. Am I right?"
Sylenn stiffened, nearly leaping to her feet.
"What is it? Have I insulted you with my frankness, Miss--"
"My brother," Sylenn muttered, biting back a curse. Mosin-- no, Vyenthon had just crossed the platform into Suljem. "Um, it's getting late, and my brother will be worried. I should be going." She grabbed her sack and got up.
"Of course; how thoughtless of me to keep you," Graig said, grabbing his coat. "Please, allow me to fetch you a cab--"
"No! Um, thanks, but I can walk; it's not far." Damn it, Vyenthon was moving fast.
"Then may I walk with you, to make certain no-one else accos--"
"NO! Just-- Look, I appreciate what you did, and you're really nice and all, but I've got to ..." she trailed off, looking toward the door of the cafe.
Mosin stood there, glowering.
"Ah," Graig said, looking from Mosin to Sylenn and back. He finished straightening his coat, then walked up to Mosin with hand proffered. "You must be Miss Jenfsen's brother; I'm Jerell Graig."
Mosin stared at Graig's hand before brusquely shaking it. His gaze darted back to Sylenn.
"I thought you agreed to be back before dark," he said evenly.
"Sorry," Sylenn muttered. "Got delayed."
"So I see." Mosin's gaze knifed back to Graig.
"I met Miss Jenfsen on my way home from work, not fifteen minutes ago," Graig replied calmly, without defensiveness. "When I came to the intersection just back there, she walked up; two ne'er-do-wells were bothering her, and I made certain they left her alone. I thought she might need to sit and rest after such an encounter, so I prevailed upon her to allow me to purchase a cup of juava for her. She was just leaving when you arrived."
Mosin glared back and forth between them.
"I was hungry," Sylenn answered his unspoken demand. "I stopped and bought something." She hefted the sack.
"You could have eaten when you got back; we've more than enough," Mosin replied. The leash on his temper wouldn't hold long.
"I said I'm sorry," Sylenn snapped, stalking toward him. As she shouldered past Graig, she added, "Let's just go then, alright? You can lecture me later."
"Fine," Mosin snapped back, grabbing her arm.
"Miss Jenfsen," Graig said, stepping forward. "I hope that you know that you can trust me. If ever you need someone to talk to, just let me know." He held out a small white plaque.
Before Mosin could yank her away, Sylenn grabbed the paper rectangle. Then she dashed out the door ahead of her brother.
As soon as they hit the street, Sylenn ran for the nearest alley-way. She could hear Mosin say something behind her, but she ignored him. A few steps into the alley-way, she called up her suit and yanked her hair-band.
Mosin pounded into the alley-way a second later. Swearing under his breath, he suited up.
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