Soulstar

by C. L. Polk

  “I’m taking Jacob’s place,” I said. “I’m the candidate for South Kingston–Riverside Central, and the leader of the Free Democracy Party.”

  The pen in Grace’s hand went still. “So you’re going through with the shadow election,” Grace said. “You’re maintaining all of Jacob’s plans.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And I have to get started right away if we’re going to run everything on time.”

  Grace nodded slowly, but she sat back with her arms crossed. “I think you’d make an effective Elected Member, but this shadow election … there’s poetry in it. I see the symbolism. But that’s a lot of effort and a lot of money to spend on a symbol.”

  “I know,” I said. “But it could be more than that. It could be a real step in gaining free democracy—”

  The music stopped. We listened for voices, but the music started again.

  “Who—was it the mail?” Grace wondered, but then the door opened, and King Severin let himself in. He stopped, staring at Joy tight-mouthed and scowling.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty,” we said, and Severin eyed me, head cocked in puzzlement.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your appointment,” Severin said. “I’m surprised to see you here, Mrs. Thorpe. I thought formal mourning wasn’t over until tomorrow.”

  “It’s not, but I had to speak to the Chancellor today.”

  “I see. What business brought you here, then?”

  “I had wished to engage Robin as an expert in civic matters,” Grace said. “But with Jacob Clarke’s death, she’s taking on his responsibilities, including his candidacy for Parliament.”

  Severin’s head came up as he looked at me, a tiny frown knit between his brows. “Well! That’s very ambitious, Mrs. Thorpe. Have you held office before?”

  He had to know that I had not. “The closest I’ve come is secretary to the president of the student union at Queens University. It was around the time you graduated.”

  “A time I still remember fondly,” Severin said. “Didn’t the students at the time stage some kind of protest? Over books?”

  “Over unfair pricing of textbooks, yes.” I smiled at the King. “We won. Queens University no longer produces ‘academic editions’ for six times the price of books available on the public market.”

  “And you remember all this because you typed up the reports.”

  I had to admit, I’d been snubbed with faint praise hundreds of times in my life, but never by a king. What a morning! “Something like that.”

  “Well, I wish you luck,” Severin said. “But I’m afraid I came with an invitation for the Chancellor. I hate to cut your appointment short—”

  “I understand,” I said. I had said what I needed to say, regardless.

  Grace circled her desk. “Perhaps we should meet again sometime next week,” she said, and helped me into my coat. “Whenever’s convenient for you should be fine.”

  “I should think Mrs. Thorpe would have buried herself in the work of an election campaign by then,” Severin said. “It’s a grueling project, by all reports.”

  He stepped into the room, as far from Joy as he could get.

  So Severin assumed that I would go on with the election, where Grace thought I would cancel it. I had to remember that Severin, for all his frivolous romances with theater actresses, was a clever, insightful man.

  “I’ll see when I have a spare moment,” I said. “Good morning, Your Majesty, Chancellor—”

  The door shut on my last words. Well. He was the King. Everyone had to jump to his bidding. I gave James an encouraging smile and headed out, feeling my pockets for gloves.

  The smooth, crisp edge of a folded piece of paper met my fingertips. That hadn’t been there before. I pulled out a hastily folded note, the letters blotted on the blank lower half of the message:

  I will help where I can.

  Never lie when the truth will do.

  Everyone has a hidden reason for their actions.

  When you find someone you can trust, don’t let them go.

  I folded the paper along its crease lines and put it back in my pocket.

  * * *

  I pulled my bicycle off the rack outside Government House, and took my time pedaling, but I was home soon enough, tucking my gloves into a box and replacing my coat on a hanger. I walked past the second parlor, but the people inside only waved. There was no delaying it. I climbed the stairs and nudged open my door.

  Zelind sat in the good chair, knitting a row of ribbing in soft gray yarn, kher needles still sliding against each other as khe looked up from kher work.

  “You’re good at that.”

  “We all knit,” Zelind said. “Sweaters, socks, mittens, hats, blanket squares. All of it plain, but we learned to cable in secret. Small charm patterns, mostly.”

  I shut the door and came closer. Zelind lifted one hip and reached into kher trouser pocket, producing an angular sailor’s star knitted on a square of yarn. Khe handed it to me, and I traced my fingers over the knotted arms of the star. Perfect. Not a single mistake.

  “They used to take my sweater away when they wanted to control me. I always did what they wanted so I could get it back. People used to touch it. For luck. For safety. When it was you who came to free us all—they’re too shy to tell you what that meant.”

  “Because they touched our clan pattern for luck.”

  “You mean a lot to them,” Zelind said. “Even though they don’t know you.”

  There had to be a reason why khe was starting here. “I’m glad our clan helped you all survive.”

  “I felt abandoned yesterday,” Zelind said.

  “You were disappointed,” I said. “You wanted to share your invention with me, and I wasn’t there.”

  “Because of Solidarity,” Zelind said. “And because of the election. And that’s going to take you away from me.”

  “It will,” I said. “It’s going to take a lot of my time.”

  “But I understand. The others need you too,” Zelind said. “I mustn’t be selfish.”

  So we weren’t going to fight. I leaned against the door and nodded. “You can be selfish,” I said. “You get to tell me that you need my time. I am supposed to give you my time.”

  Zelind returned kher focus to kher knitting. “Thank you.”

  “But it’s not going to be easy. If I win the seat, it will be just as bad as campaigning. But Jacob and Winnie did it together. You could help me—”

  “No.”

  I blinked at the interruption. “No?”

  “I’m going to be busy enough on my own. I invented a device that generates aether,” Zelind said, knitting needles sliding as khe worked. “Did you forget?”

  I hadn’t, but … “No. I just didn’t think about how much of your time it would take.”

  The needles never stopped moving. Zelind held the yarn in kher left hand, like an Aelander, and both needles rocked in kher hands. “Orlena’s looking over the contest rules and conditions today. She’s going to advise me. And I am surprised you didn’t realize that providing aether for an entire nation just might be important too.”

  “I know it’s important.” I had a sudden, fierce craving for a smoke. “I had just … hoped that you would team up with me.”

  “And now it is I who has no time for you,” Zelind said. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

  Heat flushed my cheeks. “That’s not fair,” I said. “I didn’t know you were brainstorming the invention of the century. Forgive me if I’m a little behind.”

  “Well, now you do,” Zelind said. “I have something that’s just as important as yours.”

  Did khe think I didn’t know how important aether was? “All right.” I gritted my teeth. “So you’ll do your invention, and I will lead the nation to democracy, and everything will be just fine.”

  The knitting landed in kher lap. “Why aren’t you proud of me?”

  “I am proud of you! What you’ve done is enormous! It’s going to help everyone
in the nation and you will be a hero!”

  “Maybe an even bigger hero than you,” Zelind said. “And that’s what you can’t stand!”

  I went still as the words wrapped around my throat. “Is that what you think of me? That I need to be better than you?”

  “You need to be the leader of Solidarity more than you need me,” Zelind said. “You’re happy to have me as a follower, but I want something of my own.”

  “Then have it!” I cried. “Didn’t I already say you should?”

  “But that isn’t what you want. That’s just what you think you should say—and then when I do it, you’ll resent me. Because I’m not around to admire you.”

  “I don’t need you to admire me! I need your help!”

  “My help,” Zelind scoffed. “Why would you possibly need my help?”

  “Because no one really thinks I can do this!”

  Zelind shut kher mouth, understanding flooding kher eyes. “Oh, Robin.”

  “Jacob was the leader. He had the vision, and now he’s gone, and I can’t—I just held on to him long enough to finish his speech, but now everyone thinks I’m—” My throat closed tight. My sinuses burned, clogging with tears. “Nobody can do it but me,” I choked out. “Everyone assumes that Jacob is there, in my head, but he’s not and I’m alone and I don’t want to be alone and I—”

  “All right,” Zelind said. “All right. And you want someone to—come here. Let me … there.”

  Kher arms closed around me. Khe cradled my head, and rocked kher weight from one foot to the other, as if we swayed in a gentle spring breeze.

  “I don’t want to be alone,” I said, my voice still watery. “I can’t tell anyone but you. But you can’t—”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “But the turbine—”

  “I’ll need some time to fill out the contest form. I’ll probably need to meet with people who work for the King. We can help each other. I’ll help you, and you’ll help me, and we’ll work it out.”

  Which is how we should have done it in the first place. If I hadn’t been so secretive, so stubborn, we could have figured this out last night.

  I didn’t pull out of kher arms, and even though I’d stopped crying, khe didn’t let me go. I sniffed. My breath hitched. Zelind held me and swayed. Khe stroked my back, and I sniffed and finally leaned back, tilting my head to look at kher.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are,” Zelind said. “I was cruel to you. I’m sorry too.”

  “I was hurting you,” I said. “I’ve been all caught up in my own nonsense—”

  The knock was timid, but it shut my mouth. “Who is it?”

  “Jean-Marie,” the voice came through the door. “Are you—”

  I opened the barrier and she held my sweater in her hands, the fabric neat and even from a proper washing and blocking. She flinched and backed up a step.

  “Are you fighting?” she whispered.

  “We were,” I said. “But we’re done now. Thank you for taking good care of my sweater.”

  “I can come back,” she said.

  “No. You’re fine. What’s on your mind?”

  She shook her head. “It can wait.”

  “No it can’t,” I said. “What is your wish?”

  “I need to show you something,” Jean-Marie said. “And please don’t get mad.”

  “Show me what?”

  “It’s at the hotel,” Jean-Marie said. “Please come.”

  * * *

  We followed, of course, and soon we were looking for a place to lock our bicycles among twenty more that had taken up space just outside the hotel.

  “Who’s here?”

  “You’ll see,” Jean-Marie promised.

  Muffled voices made it out to a much cleaner entry. All the trash was gone, and someone had organized all the food on the shelves. Some of it was gone.

  “You’re cleaning up for Miss Brown?”

  “Yes. But come on.”

  She dashed past the custodian’s apartment and led us to the main lobby, where twenty asylum witches, their shorn hair growing into tight coils or loose curls or straight tresses, sanded and swept and mended the grand entryway. They’d even lowered the chandelier, and two young people wiped each crystal pendant free of dust.

  Seated on a heavy green brocade sofa was Minerva Brown, pouring out powdered tea mix and serving jam crackers to anyone who needed a break. Jean-Marie dragged me to meet the grand dame, who smiled to see her.

  “It hasn’t looked this good in years,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I’m so happy that you have volunteers to help you,” I said. “I imagine you’ve wanted to see the beauty of this place for a long while.”

  Jean-Marie knotted her fingers together. “We need to ask you something—”

  “We have a proposition for you, Mrs. Thorpe, and I hope the Solidarity movement has room for another project.”

  “You want to restore the hotel? Open it to guests again?” Zelind asked.

  “Not quite,” Miss Brown said. “Not to guests. Residents.”

  “We want to live here,” Jean-Marie said. “The witches, I mean. I told them about this place at the celebration in the park. We could have a home.”

  “But you have homes,” I said. “No one is putting anyone out of the clan house.”

  “We want a home together,” Jean-Marie said. “We’re used to being together. Even the witches from the other asylums are better with us than they are feeling like outcasts in the clan house. It’s lonely.”

  “Because you’re not with your people,” Zelind said. “I understand. I feel lonely too sometimes.”

  Zelind felt lonely too. A sick, heavy feeling rolled over in my stomach. “You don’t want to live with your family?”

  I kept my gaze squarely on Jean-Marie when I spoke. Whatever shadow passed over Zelind’s face, I couldn’t bear to see it.

  “I don’t know them the way I know my friends. We understand what we went through. We know what it was like. We don’t have to hide it for fear of upsetting people.”

  Upsetting people. Miles told me once that many of the soldiers didn’t open up to him until they knew that he had been in the war, that he had known its horrors. That they couldn’t talk to their experience with anybody but each other, because it was too much for their spouses and children to bear.

  But it was Zelind who spoke first. “You want to be your own clan.”

  Jean-Marie sighed through a relieved smile. “Yes. I don’t know if we can be, but that’s what we want.”

  They needed each other. I glanced at Zelind, but khe stared at the lowered chandelier.

  Jean-Marie didn’t want to live in the clan house. She was lonely in a house full of family. And she was afraid that the reaction would be less than supportive. That I would … do exactly what I was doing.

  Miles would understand why they wanted this. Miles would trust that they knew what would make them feel safe.

  “You need a name,” I said. “For your clan.”

  “Cage,” Jean-Marie said.

  “Clan Cage. It isn’t subtle,” Zelind said.

  “It’s so we don’t forget,” Jean-Marie said. “This is what we want. Granny Min is our Eldest. We’ll live here, together, eat together, work together—”

  How would they do that? “But you need money,” I said. “Most clans have a healthy amount in savings. They own their property outright. But you don’t have anything in the way of income—you will have your pensions, but they’re meager.”

  “We know,” Jean-Marie said. “But we can make do. They weren’t exactly serving up the butcher’s finest at the asylum. We know a lot about making what we have stretch farther—”

  “I have a hundred thousand marks,” Miss Minerva Brown said.

  We all stared.

  She nodded, twinkling at our shock. “Well. A little less than that. My clan will want for nothing, Mrs. Thorpe. I hate the idea of dying and leaving th
e Princess Mary alone and abandoned. And it isn’t every day you get to found a clan. We are Clan Cage of the Sheltered Harbor, and this is our home.”

  “If you’re sure,” I said, “we can get a doctor of laws to advise you.”

  Jean-Marie whooped. “She said yes!”

  All the witches cheered. Some of them jumped up and down. Others hugged each other. Murray kicked over a wash bucket, which led to laughing and scrambling for a mop.

  And into the midst of this celebration walked Nolene Brown, carrying her basket of hot food and a bewildered expression.

  “Granny Min? Who are all these people? What’s going on here?”

  The witches went still. Jean-Marie gasped, but Miss Minerva covered her hand, patting it.

  “It’s a happy day,” Miss Minerva said. “The Princess Mary will rise again.”

  Nolene stared at the witches, then cultivated a patient smile. “Don’t you think that would be expensive? It would be. The hotel needs more than just cleaning off the dirt, and the renovations needed to attract a certain caliber of guest—”

  “I’m not reopening the Mary to guests,” Miss Minerva said. “We are founding a new clan, and this hotel will be their clan house. They’re going to live here, with me.”

  Nolene went gray. She stared at her grandmother with her jaw hanging open, until a thought blazed across her face. “Con artists. Grifters. Taking advantage of an old woman!”

  “She was the one who suggested it,” Jean-Marie said. “It was Granny Min’s idea—”

  “Don’t you dare call her that,” Nolene seethed. “You won’t get away with this, you hear me? I’ll have you in jail, all of you. Trying to steal my inheritance—you won’t get away with it!”

  She dropped the basket on the floor and marched straight out of the lobby. Miss Minerva watched her go, and then tugged at my sleeve.

  “If you’d just pick up that basket, dear, that would be a great favor. And you were mentioning a doctor of laws before. Do you happen to know a good advocate?” Minerva watched the doorway Nolene had disappeared through. “I think we’re going to need one.”

  TWELVE