There was a smattering of laughter, during which Laura snorted ungracefully, and the others raised their glasses before taking a drink.
That seemed the cue for everyone to go get dinner from the tables. The crowd filtered into a line and moved from dish to dish, filling their plates with whatever caught their eye. As Laura went through with her own plate, she saw pictures spaced between the dishes, along the wall so as not to get damaged. There were photographs of two identical children with a dark-haired old woman, a disgruntled Clae in his teenaged years, a blurry one where Clae seemed to be trying to avoid the camera altogether, and another that Laura actually recognized. That last one was taken maybe a week after Okane was brought in, and it was of the three of them in a photography studio with a dark backdrop. Laura remembered sitting for that photograph and being immensely annoyed with the photographer’s perfectionist approach to lighting and exposure. The memory made her smile.
She went back to the place she’d been standing with Okane. He joined her once he got his food, Cheryl on his heels. They took a seat at a nearby table to eat.
“Are those all cookies?” Laura eyed Cheryl’s plate.
“I got carrots, too.” Cheryl lifted the cookies to reveal some carrots from a stew. Just the carrots.
“At least have something with the carrots.” Laura scowled.
She picked up a spoonful of her own food and moved to dump it on her plate, but Cheryl quickly pulled it away. Laura rolled her eyes. Okane watched this exchange with guarded interest. Once Cheryl busied herself with the cookies, he looked up at Laura.
“How much do --- think will change?”
“Beyond everything?” Laura chewed slowly as she contemplated an answer. “I get to be head Sweeper now.”
“I figured as much.”
“You sound confident.”
“Don’t I?” He blinked owlishly at her. “It’s not supposed to be bad. I think ---’ll do good. It’s just—Can I still stay in the house?”
“Of course! What do you think I am, heartless? I’m not about to kick you out on the street! Besides, I’m sure Clae willed the place to you. The building was his, after all. But maybe you can keep the … uh … you know in the house. Joseph is trying to send us some backup and I don’t think they’ll go over well with any new employees.”
Crystallized people probably wouldn’t go over well with anyone, which was why just the two of them and Albright were privy to the secret.
“I can be your new employee,” Cheryl mumbled through a mouthful of cookies.
“Keep dreaming,” Laura scoffed.
“Excuse me.”
They looked up. Diana stood there, holding her own plate of food. She’d regained some of the feral aspect she had before, but still seemed fragile. She dug in the pocket of her bag and pulled out an envelope. She held this out to Laura. “Here. Before I forget.”
Confused, Laura took it. The envelope was thick but old. Its material had started to discolor and the surface was soft with wear. On the front was a series of names, all crossed out. Only the initials “L.K.” remained unblemished. The envelope was sealed.
“It’s something Clae entrusted to me,” said Diana. “He said if something were to happen to him, then I had to get this to the right person. It’s been a while since we last talked, but your name was the last one he gave me for it.”
Laura’s mind blanked. He’d left her something? She thought he trusted her, but seeing proof like this … She turned the envelope over again in shaky hands, squeezing the paper in hopes that would reveal what was inside. As far as she could tell there was a small object, nothing else. She frowned at Diana in confusion, to which the woman shrugged.
“I never knew what was in it.”
“Open it,” Cheryl squeaked.
“You’re sure?”
“Go ahead.” Diana gestured for her to go on.
After a moment more of hesitation, Laura fit her finger under the flap and tore the envelope open. She dug around, then pulled out the object. It was a strangely shaped thing, the size of a large key but with a stubby handle. One end jutted out only to wrap itself back in a sharply angled swirl, the other end decorated with a small tassel. Laura squinted at it, then held it up, wordlessly asking for an explanation. Diana was just as perplexed as she was.
“What is that?”
Okane leaned forward, reaching out one tentative hand. Laura let him take it and watched as he tilted the object so the tassel swayed.
“I don’t know. Clae never said anything to you about it?”
Diana shook her head. “No, he just gave me the envelope and said it absolutely had to go to the right person, and never to lose it. I wasn’t even thinking I was bringing it to you. I was coming to Amicae to return it to him. That … well, that obviously didn’t happen.”
Okane held the object in one hand, eyed it with furrowed brows, then announced, “It’s a key.”
“A key?” Laura couldn’t see how that could possibly function as a key.
“I’ve seen one like this before. It was a lot bigger, though. And red. Something from my childhood,” he mused, before returning it.
“How does it work?”
“I don’t know. I just know it was called a key.”
“But what does it go to? Where’s the lock?”
He shrugged.
“Well, you have it,” said Diana. “That’s all I had. I’m just going to … you know … go eat.”
“Right. Thank you,” Laura replied, though as soon as the first word was out of her mouth, Diana began to leave. “I don’t think she’s very comfortable around us.”
“Maybe we’re finally succeeding in being pains?”
“It’s better to be a pain than a comfort?” Laura sniggered. “I wonder how Puer Sweepers would react to that motto?”
They chuckled while Cheryl took the key and examined it with an exaggerated pout.
“Whoever joins us, we’ll manage,” Okane mumbled, nodding to himself.
“We’ll just stick together, right?” Laura beamed.
Okane appeared uncomfortable looking at her smile, and glanced off to the side as he grumbled something in the affirmative.
The chatter and clinking of silverware went on, echoing through the room. It seemed the restaurant was overflowing with noise and people, save for one empty table. Here Clae’s coat had been thrown over the back of a chair, while the metal briefcase rested by its legs. A single glass of water sat on the table before them, as if waiting for their owner to storm through the door as he had countless times in the past. No one acknowledged it.
Read on for a preview of
The Monstrous Citadel
Mirah Bolender
Available November 2019 by Tom Doherty Associates
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A Tor eBook ISBN 978-1-2501-6929-7
Copyright © 2019 by Mirah Bolender
Lux Beacon, November 11, 1233
AMICAE RIOTS
The friendly city of Amicae descended into chaos following a massive infestation. Amicae has long believed that infestations cannot penetrate their city walls, but these delusions were rudely swept away on November 5th by a damaged Pit and ensuing swarm. With their Sweeper department crippled and consisting of only three persons—now only two—Amicae was ill-equipped to handle the event. Assistance from Puer and Terrae Sweepers allowed them to repel the infestation, but not before the city was evacuated and many lives were lost. The death toll is yet unknown but growing as citizens sweep through the streets and protests for truth become violent. Lux head Sweeper Olga Verbaun says that while painful to hear, this protest is necessary. “Amicae has lied to itself for too long,” she explained yesterday morning, after a routine safety demonstration at a local school. “Ignorance of a problem is not safety. With its location Amicae can’t afford to pretend invulnerability. It’s a miracle the city hasn’t been destroyed already.” Verbaun is a crusader for public awareness to locate and minimize
damage done by infestations. When asked if she had any advice for the Sinclair Sweepers of Amicae, she replied, “I hope that they’re able to recover quickly. Even with Amicae finally aware of the danger, two is a very small number for Sweepers. If even one falters, the city will fall.”
Canis Trekker, November 16, 1233
EYES OPENED
This past week Amicae’s Council was forced to come clean regarding the existence of infestations. “The wall policy” has been the bane of city relations for decades, but with its demise Canis and surrounding cities hope for better communication and trade with our befuddled neighbor. Despite this, Canis’s head Sweeper has misgivings. He advises that Canis businessmen stay on their toes and, if possible, handle any Amicae dealings remotely. Sweepers warn that infestation activity is rising fast again, and who would wish to be stranded in a doomed city?
Avis Wings, November 19, 1233
SWEEPERS IN MOURNING
Last evening Sweepers gathered at the reflection pool to grieve for those lost to Amicae’s Falling Infestation. Amicae’s tragedy has one of the highest death tolls in recent memory. Avis’s head Sweeper stresses the importance of recognizing the losses of other cities, not only as an act of compassion, but to impress upon our own citizens the danger we face. He wishes Amicae, especially new head Sweeper Laura Kramer, the best of luck.
Amicae Dead Ringer, November 26, 1233
SWEEPERS RIDICULED, BUSINESS AS USUAL
Despite destroying an infestation running rampant in the First Quarter, Head Sweeper Laura Kramer has been lambasted by the general populace for “gross negligence.” For what, one may ask—for not responding to no less than 3,000 telephone calls from paranoid citizens in a single day? Only one of these proved valid and the police department has investigated every other call. For property damage, perhaps? Testimony from foreign Sweepers and even previous Amicae records show that damage goes hand in hand with Sweeping. You are pleased if a roof caves in on mobsters during a fight, but if the same happens during the eradication of a monster that would destroy other buildings, eat any who cross its path, and spread its offspring through the city until it can feed on everything you love from the inside out—this is where you draw the line? At least a mobster will leave you a body to bury. The Ringer bids you review your priorities immediately.
Amicae Sun, November 28, 1233
HEAD SWEEPER FIRED
Amid the turbulence of recent events, the Council has chosen to remove Laura Kramer from the head Sweeper position. At 20 years old she was not the youngest head Sweeper in Amicae’s history—see Clae Sinclair’s 15—but citizens expressed doubt in her ability to uphold the office. Many push for her to be removed from the Sweepers altogether, claiming that she should have done everything in her power to spread the truth. Councilwoman Victoria Douglas pointed out to these protestors that the situation was beyond Kramer’s, or even Sinclair’s, control. She further stated that we must bolster our Sweepers in any way we can; to fire Kramer would mean our only Sweeper is not yet 20 and not yet employed for four months, a recipe for certain disaster. Efforts are under way to recruit more Sweepers, and Juliana MacDanel of Puer has been appointed as new head Sweeper. MacDanel, 35, has worked as a Sweeper since her school days and came highly recommended by her city.
Amicae Dead Ringer, November 28, 1233
AMICAE NEVER LEARNS
Once again the public bends its ear to the very problem. Who will you trust, Amicae: the Council who deliberately chose not to warn you and caused the very destruction you’re screaming over, or the person who risked life and limb to save you from your nightmares? Congratulations. You’ve thrown your hero to the wolves.
1
BACKLASH
Laura’s dismissal had been a shock, initially. It came on the tail end of an infestation, just as reported in the Amicae Sun. Damage had been done, yes, but it hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as what she’d done to the army barracks in September, or even what she and Clae had done to a residence in August. Where those incidents had been either picked at or overlooked entirely, stories about this one had ballooned. It couldn’t be blamed on mobsters or another far-fetched reason, not now in Amicae’s “age of truth.” As good as it was to have people who knew about infestations, in this instance it proved extremely annoying. When infestations came up now, the public reacted in hysterics. Citizens wrote to the papers, bemoaning her ineptitude: Why couldn’t she have just not damaged anything? Why couldn’t she have prevented the infestation from coming at all? Why hadn’t she done her civic duty and shared the truth with everyone from the start? Okane suggested that maybe she should avoid the papers for a while, but she ignored him. If she was head Sweeper, she’d do this right. She needed to know what everyone was saying, so she could give them a proper and well-educated fuck you in case she ever met one of these idiots in person. (“—sound like Clae,” he’d informed her, and even his lack of “you” sounded exasperated.)
Part of her was viciously pleased when the Dead Ringer newspaper rose to her defense, but mostly she felt squeamish. Anyone with a brain knew that the Dead Ringer was run by the Mad Dogs mob. The Mad Dogs helped Sweepers during the Falling Infestation, but that had been basic self-preservation. With their own fleet of Sweepers far outnumbering the Sinclairs, there was no need for them to dig in their heels like this. Laura had a bad feeling that the Mad Dogs would come knocking on her door with a debt she’d never asked for. Furthermore, the obvious new link between Sweepers and Mad Dogs was a nightmare in publicity. Albright had since redirected any phone calls to the shop, but after the first Dead Ringer article a woman called the Sweepers and accused Laura of assisting the Mad Dogs in bombing a business on the east side and killing her son. Adding insult to injury, the bombing in question had been undertaken by Blackwater, a completely different mob. The very next day, the Dead Ringer churned out a page reading, You don’t even know which mob you hate! Why do you think you know enough to judge an organization you didn’t even know existed?
Laura had braced herself for a rebuke from the Council. Sure enough, she received a letter with the Council’s phoenix stamp. Inside it simply read:
Due to recent circumstances, we have agreed that you are no longer suitable to hold the position of head Sweeper.
Below it were signatures from multiple Council members. Councilwoman Victoria Douglas hadn’t graced the letter with her signature or approval, but majority ruled. Laura was demoted. She might have been biased, but she was still convinced this was a petty dismissal. There was no benefit for Amicae in removing the most veteran member of such a small Sweeper department, and Clae had remained in power for twelve years under the same tactics. Worse, there was no one to replace her with. The only Council-approved option was …
“Juliana MacDanel’s been authorized for full citizenship.”
In the here and now, December 5, 1233, Okane paged through another newspaper. It still took him a while to read everything, but he took in all the words with eyes she vowed never to compare to silver coins. “The Sun’s done a highlight on her in celebration.”
Laura’s head lay in the middle of a newspaper halo. She turned to look at him, scrunching the pages of today’s Dead Ringer.
“A highlight? Like they do for film stars?”
“Yes. I don’t see how they had the opportunity to do this kind of interview unless they paid for the telephone call,” said Okane. “It says she enjoys dogs, playing Aces, and eating Ralurian potato peels. When advertisements listed that as a delicacy, I thought it was a joke.”
“I’m still not convinced it isn’t.” Laura felt tempted to sink lower in her slouch, but there wasn’t anyplace lower to go when one’s face was plastered to the counter. She had no doubt this interest in Juliana MacDanel was engineered: a way to soothe the public, make Amicae feel like the Council was answering their call, all while endearing the Sweepers to them like the friendly entourage of a film star. “If they’re trying to make the head Sweeper into a mascot, I’ll admit I�
��m not a good fit for the job.”
Okane eyed her reproachfully. “There’s no way she would know the job better than—do.”
“With twenty years on the job, she would,” said Laura. “Knowing layout isn’t everything. She’ll probably learn quickly.”
“I still think—’re more suitable,” said Okane.
Laura snorted. “Look at it this way. If the head Sweeper’s going to be a media darling, that cuts back on her Sweeping time. She’ll be in an interview, and I’ll be on the extermination. I won’t have the title, but I’ll still be the real power here. So long as I can keep Sweeping, that’s enough for me.”
It was a lie, but admitting that felt petulant. She’d reach for any silver lining she could at this point. Okane seemed to be even more upset about this than she was, but luckily she was spared any additional arguing by a knock at the door. While strange during business hours, the gesture meant it must be one of two people. Okane waved at the large windows, and the visitor creaked the door open.
The police chief, Heather Albright, stepped in. She carried her black helmet under one arm, freeing dark red hair to fall in a frazzled braid down her back. Her glasses half hid the dark circles under her eyes, the sheaf of paper under her other arm presumably to blame. At one time her presence might’ve been odd, but ever since the disaster she dropped by to check on them multiple times a week. Whether this was because she worried over losing a vital cog in the city machine or actually felt concern for their personal well-being Laura didn’t know, but she appreciated the attention. She’d expected Albright to drop by, but the man who sidled in behind her, hands in the pockets of his overcoat and a pipe held loosely between his teeth, wasn’t familiar. He stood behind and off to Albright’s side, close enough to observe but not in the way, and seemed very used to this spot. Albright didn’t so much as look at him, instead fixing her tired gaze on the Sweepers.
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