by Abbey, Kit
“Have you ever cheated on a test, Mr. Black?”
William was sorely tempted to reply with ‘what?’ but managed to control himself. “Sure, how else are you meant to pass.”
“Do you believe in fairies, Mr. Black?”
“Why not. Leprechauns too.”
“Is that an honest answer, Mr. Black?”
“Is that a real Armani suit?”
“Versace, actually,” said Wedding band.
“My mistake,” said William. “I hope knowledge of overpriced designer clothes isn’t a pre-requisite for a job.”
The smirk froze on Wedding band’s face and his eyes widened. William could have kicked himself. These men might have emitted a very principally kind of air, but they weren’t just going to give him detention if he mouthed off.
Wedding band leaned forward, almost rising completely off his chair. “What colour socks are you wearing?”
Is was an oddly innocent question, given the urgency in Wedding band’s voice and manner. “Um, stripy ones. All different colours. Red and pick and blue and purple and, um, yellow I think. Some green, maybe.” They were his lucky socks.
Wedding band breathed in sharply, and he looked to Mr. Grey as if to say ‘are you hearing this?’ If his brother was hearing it he gave no sign, he just continued staring solemnly at William.
Wedding band’s hand darted across the table, and he pinched William sharply on the wrist.
“Ow!” William yanked his hands back and tucked them under the table, out of pinching range.
“I apologise.” Wedding band finally stopped leaning across the table, settling back into his chair. It was like he couldn’t keep his hands still, they were fiddling and fluttering about on the tabletop, wedding band glinting when the light caught it.
“What are you doing here?”
”I’m looking for a job,” said William. He didn’t add ‘obviously,’
“What do you know about Grey Corp? And don’t-” he added before William could say anything, “-be pithy. What do you really know about Grey Corp?”
“Um,” William rubbed the spot on his hand where Wedding band had pinched it. “I know that Grey Corp donates a lot of money to, like, hospitals and stuff. And, uh, they commission a lot of artwork. And fund plays and whatever. My English class went and saw The Merchant of Venice back in high school, and that was Grey Corp funded.”
“What else?”
“Well. I mean, you run the city don’t you. Everyone’s too polite to say it, but we all know it’s true.”
“Do you think we do a good job?”
William considered it, then shrugged. “I’ve never lived anywhere else, I don’t know what a city without Grey Corp looks like.”
Wedding band leant forward again, elbows resting on the table edge. “Did you see Albert?”
William gave an involuntary glance to the ceiling before answering, “I did. Pleasant fellow.”
“And where did you see Albert, exactly?”
“In the entrance room.”
“Where else did you see him?”
“Where else?” William looked to the roof again, and his voice rose an octave. “Does it move around?”
“Answer the question.”
“I didn’t see it anywhere else. Should I be expecting to?” William was sure that the note of fear in his voice completely ruined any cool guy image that his stripy socks hadn’t already taken care of.
But perhaps not his chances at a job.
Wedding band nodded. Mr. Grey reached inside his suit and emerged holding a booklet, which he placed in front of William. “If you would just sign at the bottom of the last page, Mr. Black,” he said, “your employment will commence immediately.”
“Oh.” William looked to the bundle of pages and back up at the men, “should I maybe read the small print first?”
Wedding band shrugged, “if you wish.”
Trying to ignore their twin stares William bent over the booklet, which appeared to be written entirely in small print. You will be given personal rooms within the confines of the Grey Building, it informed him. This suited William, who since that morning was pretty much homeless. It then pointed out his wage, should he choose to sign, and he almost signed it then and there without a glance at the rest of the information. As it was he only managed to give the rest of pages a cursory look, the combination of excitement at the money he would be earning and the unblinking stares of Mr. Grey and Wedding band- William looked up.
“I’m sorry but what was your name?”
Wedding band smiled, and gave a tiny shrug. “I’m nobody. You don’t need to concern yourself with me.”
Alright, fine. The unblinking stares of Mr. Grey and Nobody were not conductive to close study. Disobedience will be punished by maiming and/or death gave him pause, but only for a second. It’s not like he hadn’t known what Grey Corp was before he came here.
He did notice that the booklet was rather vague on the matter of what it was that he would actually be doing.
He looked up and the men and asked, “so, if I accept this job, what would my, like, tasks and stuff be?”
Nobody gave a one shouldered shrug. “That’s up to you, really.”
“Oh, ok, thanks for clearing that up.” He looked back down at the contract for a moment before another question struck him and he raised his eyes once more. “Do I get a gun?”
“We don’t find a lot of need for guns.”
“Because of magic, right? Will you teach me magic?”
“This information is all in the contract, Mr. Black.”
William was tempted to ask where, exactly, as all he could see was information regarding dental plans, dress codes and his wage. His shiny, shiny wage.
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Grey, “you would take the booklet home for a few days and examine it, Mr. Black?”
William thought about going back to Carl and Aunt Janet’s and decided that nothing within the contract could be as bad as that. Quickly, before he lost his nerve, he flicked to the last page and grabbed the pen that lay conveniently by his elbow. He had barely completed the ‘k’ when Mr. Grey gathered the booklet up and spirited it away into his suit. He smiled.
“We are very pleased to have you join us, Mr. Black. I’m sure you will be a credit to Grey Corp.”
Both men stood moved towards the door, William jumped up and followed, unsure of what he was supposed to do now.
“We will place you under the care of one our valued senior Company members,” said Mr. Grey as he unlocked the door. (William hadn’t even known it was locked). “She will be your mentor. You will answer to her in all things, and any questions you have you can ask her. You will work under her supervision until Grey Corp feels you are ready to take on a more independent role.”
“Alright,” said William.
They walked out into the hallway, where leaning against the wall waiting for them was the woman from the entrance room.
“So?” She raised an eyebrow in the direction of Mr. Grey and Nobody.
Mr. Grey placed a hand on William’s shoulder and William resisted the urge to shrug it off. “Mr. Black is now a Grey Corp employee.”
Her eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t seem like Grey Corp material.”
Mr. Grey sighed. “You haven’t even given him a chance.”
“I don’t need to. How could you possibly think that this, this boy-“
Mr. Grey finally removed his hand from William’s shoulder, and held it up in a placating manner. “Mr. Black did not see Albert in the testing room.”
This seemed to throw the woman for a moment, but she rallied. “Be that as it may-”
His voice was firm. “Mr. Black has already signed the contract and this argument is without point.”
The woman looked like she wanted to stamp her foot again. William took advantage of the lull in the conversation. “Uh, like I asked before, does Albert move around much then?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you see the cables holding him there? How is he supposed to move around, exactly?”
William hadn’t seen the cables actually. But he would take her word for it that they existed.
“Albert does not move from the entrance room,” said Mr. Grey. “You would not actually have seen the real Albert in the testing room, just an illusion of the creature.”
“Um,” said William, “what?”
“Wow,” said the woman, “I can see why you hired him!”
“The testing room is a blank canvas. An employee projects an image of Albert onto the roof, and only potential employees with a modicum of mental strength are able to replace the image with anything else. It’s a good indication for one’s potential for, as you put it, magic. Mr. Filk was particularly impressed with your display. Actual artwork!”
This wasn't making a huge amount of sense to William, but he nodded anyway.
The blonde woman was growing increasingly annoyed. She shook her head. “I don’t have time to baby feed a new Employee!”
With a sinking feeling William realised this woman was the “senior employee” to whom he would be answering. He didn’t know what he’d done to tick her off, but it must have been bad because she really seemed to dislike him.
“You are the only one who does not currently have a mentoree.”
“And I’d like to keep it that way!”
“Enough. I am placing Mr. Black in your care. This conversation is over.”
Mr. Grey and Nobody walked away very quickly without giving her a chance to answer. William thought that was pretty wise of them. The woman glared at William for a moment and then snapped, “follow me.”
William saw little other choice, so he did.
Chapter 6.
When he was twelve, in the shed out the back of Carl and Aunt Janet’s house, William had discovered a beat up old record player and a milk crate full of records. Carl had helped him set the player up in the corner of his room, and even bought William a cheap pair of headphones to listen with. If asked, that old record player and the dusty, scratched and scuffed LPs that sat next to it would have been the only positive about his old room that William could supply. It had been small, mould had claimed the roof, the bed squeaked and the window wailed when you tried to open it, (which made sneaking out hard but somehow William managed). The carpet had been threadbare, no pictures on the walls, (Carl forbade posters out of concern for the paint, never mind that the paint was peeling off all by itself anyway), it was an oven in summer and a freezer in winter and without that record player William didn’t know how he would have survived.
It would appear that living in the Grey Building was not going to be quite as difficult.
William stood just inside the door of his rooms and looked in amazement at what was, apparently, his. The woman, who when William asked curtly gave her name as Rowan, rolled her eyes at his awe. “Meet me in the entrance room at seven thirty.”
William nodded. “Got it. Seven thirty.”
Rowan stepped back out into the hall, and just before she shut the door added, “If you’re late, I will cut off one of your fingers!”
She smiled sweetly, and then she was gone.
William couldn’t entirely shake the feeling that he had made a huge mistake, but huge mistakes were the only options life had offered him. Might as well go with the mistake that came with a room with a view, and enjoy it while you could.
Chapter 7.
For managing to coax his limbs to remove him from the comfort of his bed at six a.m., William couldn’t help but feel he deserved a medal. Even more impressive was the way he managed to resist the temptation that was the TV mounted on the wall, and instead had a shower. This probably took longer than was necessary, but the bathroom was bigger than the whole master bedroom at Carl and Aunt Janet’s, and it had a shower big enough to house a whole footy team, and a spa bath, and another, slightly smaller, TV. It was all very, very awesome.
Still, Rowan’s threat remained on his mind. She might have been joking, but William wasn’t going to risk it. And while he wanted to devote some time to tasting all the strange and fancy foods that filled the kitchen, and going through the movies that filled the large cabinets that surrounded the plasma screen, and most off all to figuring out what the myriad of buttons on the large remote control he found on his bedside table actually did; he wanted to keep his digits.
Was she kidding about that? She was probably kidding. But still.
His backpack was waiting neatly for him on the couch, but why pull an old shirt out of it when his walk in closet was filled with very expensive outfits, all of which appeared to have been tailored to fit him? After eyeing a purple, silk ruffled shirt William decided to play it safe; pulling on a pair of jeans and a black shirt. Ok, yeah, he had jeans and black t-shirts in his backpack, but these ones were new! He wondered if it was appropriate for what Rowan had planned for the day, but figured she would send him back up here to change if it wasn’t.
He cast one more disbelievingly happy look at his room, last night’s squirmy feelings of foreboding chased way but the sunlight glinting off all the fancy appliances in the kitchen, and started to make his way down to the entrance to meet Rowan with fifteen minutes to spare.
Which should have been plenty of time.
Chapter 8.
William blamed the elevator, which thought it was too good for buttons. He got inside the damn thing easily enough, it opened with a Star Trek-esque swoosh as he’d approached, and the doors had shut firmly behind him.
But after five minutes of alternating between staring blankly at the smooth walls and randomly placing his hand flat on the surface like the cheerful little guy had done, he still hadn’t moved. Not only had he not moved, but he hadn’t figured out how to get the doors to open and let him back out, either.
It was embarrassing. His first day on the job and he’d gone and gotten himself trapped in an elevator. I mean, honestly. William was just beginning to wonder how long it would be before they sent someone to find him when the elevator began to move upwards of its own volition.
He had no idea what floor it was when it came to a smooth halt, though he was willing to bet it was towards the top of the building. The doors swooshed open once more to admit an old man.
He didn’t in any way acknowledge William’s presence. The only movement he made was the briefly place his hand against the elevator wall, which got it moving again.
“How did you do that?”
The man turned to look at him, and William realised the guy wasn’t really that old. His longish hair was a silvery grey and this gave the impression of age, but his face was still youthful. William gauged him to be in his early thirties. His eyes were an extremely pale blue, almost entirely without colour, and there was a faint scar along his left cheek, and another, more pronounced scar that began (or ended) on his neck and presumably ended (or started) underneath his white collared shirt somewhere.
“How did I do what?”
His tone was polite enough, but there was something in the way the man spoke that set William’s teeth on edge. This man, William instantly decided, was not one he wanted to spend a great deal of time with.
“Uh, how did you make the elevator work? I haven’t been able to figure it out.”
The man’s only response was to stare at William, and William found himself wishing that he was wearing heavy amour in lieu of his jeans and shirt, so as to provide better protection of his vital organs.
“I’m new,” he added.
The man blinked, (when, William wondered, had blinking become so sinister?), and then said, “put your hand on the wall, and think about the floor you would like to reach.”
William looked at the walls suspiciously. “But I was doing that!”
The man shrugged and raised a hand to tuck his hair behind his ears, revealing yet another scar curling its way down his arm. “You have to mean it
. This elevator has a stronger will than the other one, and it particularly enjoys toying with the fresh blood.”
William was not comfortable with the way the man said fresh blood, as though just the mere vowels were as tasty as a thick, dripping cut of steak. Not comfortable at all. The man seemed to sense this, his mouth turned up at the corners ever so slightly.
“Maybe you should stick to the Eastern elevator, it’s not as wilful.”
Not much of what the man had said made much sense to William, and he was about to say so when the elevator halted and the doors opened. He had just enough time to recognise that this was the entry room before he was yanked out of the elevator and slammed into the wall next to it.
“You’re late,” an angry voice hissed and William realised the strong hands that had his arms pinned above his head belonged to Rowan. He also realised that she was wearing an extremely short dress, and that she smelled like caramel. Being pinned up against a wall by her might have been enjoyable, if not for the sudden sensation of a blade pressed up against his right pinkie finger.
“What did I tell you would happen if you were late?” The pressure on the blade increased, and William tried to hold back a whimper.
“Come now, Rowan,” said the man from the elevator. William could not see him past Rowan, but he sounded amused. “They just had the carpets replaced.”
Rowan loosened her grip, although she did not let go entirely, and she turned slightly to face the man. This gave William a view of him as well. With his hands tucked casually into his pockets and that slight upward curve tugging at his lips, he did indeed look amused.
“I can’t imagine a bit a blood is going to make much of a difference, considering the mess Albert makes,” Rowan replied.
She and the man both looked towards the ceiling, and William’s fear for his pinkie was momentarily usurped by his fear of the thing on the roof. He resolutely did not look up, and he wondered how the man and Rowan were able to stomach doing so. The man didn’t say anything in reply to Rowan’s logic, and William’s fear pendulum swung back to future of his pinkie.