I cannot deny any of that. The entire mine was turned into a graveyard by the Arelian air fleet, and all because of my actions. “The workers were starved and unable to meet the demands. Treating them better helped production go up. Commandant Gant did what he thought would bring his self-glorification and help him advance up in the ranks, not for the betterment of Arel. The uprising was the result of years of mistreatment by the hands of a man bent on furthering his own ends. I failed to consider that my actions might give them the courage to act upon their sentiments. It’s just…”
I should stop myself. I have said too much, but the words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them, betraying me.
“…I am an arbiter, charged with protecting all citizens, and that included the ones at the mine. It turned into something I could not control.”
“Most situations do. The world is a messy place, Noni. We have rules for a reason.”
“Some of them seem a bit too strict,” I mumble, but Commander Vye hears it and raps her fingers on the edge of her desk, stopping me.
Her eyes dart between me and the door before she jumps from her chair and hurries to it, opening it just a little, making certain the hallway is empty. A single click pierces the tension I have caused when the door closes, and Commander Vye rounds on me.
“Expel such thoughts from you mind!”
She grips my shoulders, causing me to tip my plate up and spill the scrambled eggs onto the carpeted floor, and I try to take a step back, to get away from her, as a crazed, but frightened, look covers her face, but she stares right into my eyes, holding me in place with her hawk-like gaze. My reaction forces her to release me and calm herself as she places her hands by her side, straightening her shoulders, standing even more erect and looking like the Commander I know.
“I apologize, commander,” I say, hoping that this will quell her sudden rage, but perhaps it wasn’t anger at all, but something else.
A grim line settles on her face before she speaks. “There comes a time, Noni, when every arbiter realizes just how uncertain the world is, and they have to make a choice. Each choice has a consequence. Make sure it is one you can live with.”
Commander Vye paces the room before going back to the chair behind her desk and settling down in it, while still maintaining her erect posture. “What happened in the mines is in the past. Lieutenant Renal spoke very highly of you in his report and mentioned how Commandant Gant’s rebellion helped lead to the uprising. He also mentioned that you are responsible for rescuing him from such insurrection.”
I couldn’t have done it without Trevors, but instead of opening my mouth, I ascertain that it is best if I let Commander Vye finish.
“Therefore,” she continues, “it is best if you do not speak of it again. Once you have finished your visit, you may take the rest of the day for leisure activities. Just make sure you are back before curfew.”
“Yes, commander,” I say in a robotic tone.
“And as for the crematoriums, it is best you forget that they happened.”
I understand. The aftermath of our actions there have not been felt, at least, not by me. We both overstepped our bounds that day. The council may decide that it is the normal happenings in such a place, as everyone there is considered expendable, or, they may decide that a stricter hand is needed to keep their arbiters in line.
“Understood,” I say.
“Dismissed.”
I salute her and reach for the door.
“And, Noni,” Commander Vye says before I can open the door, “you’d do well to remember that you are not the only one who has changed since leaving the training facility.”
I hurry out into the hallway, wondering what caused the entire exchange, but that isn’t what bothers me most: her last words to me seem to be more of a warning—her way of protecting me. I spot Chase, hunkered behind a wall cabinet, waiting for me, and I start to head for him, but stop when Molers appears in the corridor. We lock eyes, and as though we are able to read the other’s mind, we both turn and leave, going in opposite directions. Chase disappears into another room, while I hurry to the front door, noting how its yellowed glass has darkened even more, and slip outside, glad to be away from the oppressive atmosphere within the manor. I inhale as deep as I can, relishing the feeling of the warm sun on my face as my skin tingles beneath its rays, before heading down the driveway to the street. Faya is waiting for me in the plaza, and I have been ordered to go see her.
Chapter 21
An Old Friend
I reach the plaza in the eastern sector, somewhat comforted by its familiarity as I step across the broken, discolored bricks that make up the square itself, as people dart back and forth in a hurry to get to where they need to be, afraid of lingering too long and attracting an arbiter’s attention. The bell of the trolley echoes around me as it storms past, bouncing down the rails in an effort to get to its destination on time. Schedules must be kept. Someone bumps into me, dropping his bag, and I turn around to find a man scrambling to pick up the spilled cylindrical packages that roll across the blackened bricks, which seem to have been soaked with blood, and upon closer inspection, I can see that they have been—a concept that does not surprise me. The man looks up at me as his glasses slip down his nose, threatening to fall off, as he reaches for a cylindrical package, more afraid of losing it than of angering me; though his wide eyes remain fixed on me as he waits to see what I will do for his indiscretion. I stare at him, mesmerized by his spectacles. It isn’t often that one sees a person wearing glasses in Arel, as they are a sign of physical weakness and discouraged, unless the individual is of some value to the city. Without a word, I pick up one the cylindrical packages, wondering if they are maps or designs for a new building as I study the man’s uniform. I hand it to him, and like I have experienced on many occasions, he hesitates to take it, wondering if I am toying with him, or testing him, and as he continues to debate whether he should fall for what he views as bait, I place the package in his bag, noting that the edges show some signs of wear as they start to fray, sending small bits of threads in various directions. Once his packages have been recovered, I motion for him to go about his business, and he scurries away, thankful to be free of me. I watch him, not with pity or judgement, but with a bit of sadness. I do not want people to fear me just because of my uniform, I want them to understand that I am here to help them and protect them from danger, not abuse them, but Arel has made good people fear me.
Once the man has disappeared, I remember my purpose for being in the plaza, and glance around, wondering where Faya is. Perhaps I am early, which would be a minor miracle if it is true.
“Noni!”
No such luck.
I whip around and find Faya sitting at one of the outdoor cafés that we have—though I have never eaten here, having always preferred Sigal’s, and finding my mouth lamenting the absence of his miracle entrées—with a man I have never seen before. Glad to see her, (How long has it been?) I rush over to her and we give each other a hug, while a few people passing by us give us a wide berth. Faya takes a seat, while I glance at the man with her.
“This is Joel,” she says, with an elated smile on her face, and memories of the last time we had lunch together as she told me all about him come to mind. Coupling among arbiters is not allowed, but it still happens, and as I watch the way she lights up around him, I cannot blame her.
Joel stands up, showcasing his muscular shoulders and tall stature as he reaches out for my hand, and I shake his, putting as much pressure into it as possible, so that he does not think of me as weak.
“Good to meet you,” I say to him before taking my seat.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” His deep, resonating voice tickles me, and I see why Faya is attracted to him: the perfect physique, the deep voice, and a genuine sense of propriety surrounds him; I detect no arrogance—something that plagues most citizens in Arel. Well, no more than usual. Nothing like what Molers displays.
“She has m
entioned you as well,” I say.
“All good things, I hope.” Joel smiles a little which makes Faya beam even more, and I can tell that she is having trouble not wrapping herself around him, but public appearances must be maintained because no one ever knows when someone will decide that your happiness is undeserved and seek to take it away.
“So,” Faya says, “how have you been?”
“Okay,” I tell her.
I don’t know what to say. I cannot tell her about my excursions at night, nor can I divulge my feelings toward Chase, and how he spared me from a beating, not out of a sense of obligation that a servant has toward his master, but because he did not want me to suffer; and I have been unable to repay him.
“Just okay?” Faya looks at me over the rim of her glass of water with a doubtful expression.
“It’s the eastern sector,” I say, hoping that it eases her curiosity and stops her from trying to delve too much into my current life.
She rolls her eyes and agrees with me, for which I am pleased.
“I see what you mean,” Joel says as he watches a couple of plebeians hurry across the street, jumping two steps back when an arbiter arrives, their raggedy clothing trailing behind them in the breeze, with bits of thread falling off. “They definitely gave you a terrible assignment.”
“Joel!” Worry crosses Faya’s face when he says that, not because she disagrees with him, but because of what might happen if the wrong ears hear him.
“Everyone knows it’s true,” he defends himself.
Faya gives him a reprimanding expression, mixed with worry.
“I’m sorry,” Joel says, placing a gentle hand on hers, but removing it the moment the waiter shows up with three plates, each with a steak, cooked to medium, roasted brussel sprouts, and some sautéed leafy greens. We hold up our wrists, allowing him to scan our wristbands as he fills our glasses of water, and he gives us a curt nod before hurrying away.
“I didn’t realize you guys had ordered already,” I say.
“We didn’t,” Faya replies.
“They must have an arbiter special,” Joel quips, and we all chuckle a little.
Arbiter special is a term used among arbiters to describe a place that only serves one dish to arbiters, instead of giving them a choice. Every eatery knows the dietary restrictions that arbiters have, and the punishment for deviating, not that it ever stopped Sigal, but some would allow us a few choices. This place is one that does not, not that it matters; I am famished and need to eat something.
As I chew on a piece of steak, my thoughts turn to Sheila, Gwen, and Chase. They could use some better nourishment than what plebeians are allowed, and the thought of wrapping my meat up strikes me, but dissipates quicker than it had arrived when I remember that I have company.
“Is something wrong with your food?” asks Faya.
“Wha—no, it’s fine,” I say. “I was remembering this place I, and others went to, that always served the best food.”
“Anything would taste delicious after that training facility garbage,” Faya mutters as a brussel sprout rolls around in her mouth.
“True,” I laugh, “but Sigal had a way of making the most basic food taste like the stuff served in the presidential palace.”
“What happened to him?” Joel asks.
“He disappeared and his place has been closed down,” I respond as I think back to the night I had helped Sigal and his family escape, even though it meant betraying Renal, a fact that still haunts me, since Renal has done nothing but protect me since I arrived here.
They chewed on their food in silence, knowing what I mean by “disappeared”.
“It’s probably just aw well,” Faya says, after taking a swig of her water. “We don’t need people like that in Arel. Didn’t you tell me, once, that it was popular among the arbiters here?”
“Yes.”
“And none of them spotted anything odd?”
This line of questioning is a side of Faya I have never seen before. When we were at the training facility, she never struck me as someone who would be so callous about a person having been disposed of for going against Arel, and this newfound coldness unnerves me; though, maybe it isn’t new; maybe I never noticed it before because I once thought just like her and such a notion fills me with guilt.
“Noni,” she says, mistaking my internal conflict for feeling like I had let down all of Arel for not noticing Sigal’s crimes, even though I had suspected but never said anything, “you cannot be blamed for what he did. You were new and hadn’t been here that long. It is the others who are at fault. They should have known.”
I manage a weak smile, but remain silent, fearing that I might give myself away and tell her about the night I hit Renal over the head with my baton before helping Sigal and his family escape Arel.
Faya continues talking, going on about the business district and the demands placed on her there, and how she had to put two economists in their place when they got into a public argument about the proper way in which Arel’s economy should be handled, but I’m not listening. As she drones on and on, her voice becomes distant, mired by my own internal thoughts about everything that has happened to me since I had arrived in the eastern sector, as I shove one bite of food after another into my mouth, as though I am little more than a mindless drone, while my gaze remains fixed upon the people walking by, each with their own internal struggles, each with their own fears, and each pretending to be happy… just like me. I watch as a young plebeian girl hurries to a store, her hair covering her face the same way Gwen’s covered hers the night I first met her, the night I first met Chase, as he shoved me down a flight of stairs to protect his sister. At the time, anger over my failure to stop two curfew violators had filled me, but now, guilt anguishes me as I think about what would have become of them if I had succeeded in detaining them.
“Noni? Noni!” Faya waves her hand in front of my face, and I realize that I have been holding my fork in the air as bits of sautéed leafy greens fell from it, almost like I am frozen in time. “Are you all right, Noni?”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Joel steps in. “Probably just tired of hearing you go on about yourself.”
Annoyed, Faya chucks a brussel sprout at him, before relinquishing. “Sorry. I have been dominating the conversation. Tell us about your exploits. About the eastern sector.”
“There isn’t much to tell.” I eat the last of my lunch and place my empty fork back on the plate. “With the constant attacks on the wall, and the rise of terrorist attacks within the city, we are all on edge.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
“Is that why you volunteered for the trial of fears?” Faya asks.
I had almost forgotten about that. “No,” I reply.
“Then why did you?”
I look at Faya, trying to decide how to form my words, when I settle on, “Molers happened.”
“He’s here?” says Faya with incredulity, while Joel has a different reaction.
“I’d heard that he had finally managed to get transferred here.”
“What do you mean by finally?” I ask him. Everyone at the training facility knew that Molers had wanted a transfer to another sector, but I didn’t know that he had been trying to get here all those years.
Joel leans in closer, keeping his voice low. “Word is, he has been vying for a position in the eastern sector for over ten years. I guess he got his wish.”
“But why now?” I ask, confused as to why Molers would be allowed the assignment of his dreams, if one could call it that, now of all times.
“The increased unrest within Arel. It is believed that if the eastern sector, the most troublesome sector, can be controlled, it will send a powerful message to the other sectors.”
And stop future riots, no doubt, but I don’t voice my thoughts.
“And whomever can control the eastern sector, will have their pick of assignments in Arel,” Faya says. She had told me something similar when I was first assigned here.
“But you received the Arelian Medal of Honor,” Faya continues, pointing at me. “That would reflect favorably on your commander.”
“Except,” I say with dismay, “there have been a lot of riots lately, and that bombing would be a black mark on her record.” If all of our speculations are accurate, this explains not only why Molers is here, but the increased tension between him and Commander Vye. I do not know what Molers’ final aspirations are, but, for now, they seem centered upon getting rid of my commander, and somehow, I feel responsible.
“None of this affects you,” says Faya.
“It will if Molers is made commander here,” I say.
A sly smile creeps across Faya’s face as she nudges Joel’s arm, and the thought that the two have held a secret from me permeates my brain.
“What’s going on?’ I ask.
“Tell her,” Faya urges Joel.
“We wanted to wait until it is official, but there is the possibility that you won’t have to be in this sector for much longer.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.
“Joel got that transfer to the executive district and…”
“And,” continues Joel, “I have put in a good word for you. Faya told me about what you did for her in the gauntlet, and achieving the honor you did looks very good. Now, don’t get your hopes too high. My influence is limited, but I like to think that I have my commander’s ear, and it helps that President Tapiwa has taken an interest in you.”
He knows about that? Does he also know about my mission to the mines?
My face must have betrayed me because to assuage my misgivings, Joel says, “Much of what happens at the presidential palace gets gossiped about in the executive district.
My lips do not move. I know I must say something. I have to say something. They expect me to say something, and it would be rude to not show any appreciation for their efforts at helping me move up, but silence settles between us as a familiar shape steals my attention, and I recognize the person on the other side of the plaza, and disgust fills me the moment I do. Amal. He approaches a girl (who looked to be no more than eleven) wearing a blue uniform, the color for the water treatment and sewage departments, and one of the few who are looked upon with as much disdain as plebeians. She walked with a plebeian boy of about the same age, but instead of forcing the plebeian to walk behind her, she allowed him to walk beside her. It is not unusual. This happens sometimes among the young, until they are trained to loathe the plebeians as much as Molers does. Amal sneaks up behind the two kids and grabs the plebeian boy by the shoulders, throwing him to the ground, before knocking the tablet out of the girl’s hands, causing it to break into three pieces as it hits the pavement.
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 32