by Jackson Lear
I tried my luck with the more receptive sesta. “When will Joa be back?”
“I don’t know. She might be asking around, looking for anyone who saw something.”
Curious. A disappearance like this should’ve sent alarm bells ringing through the conscience of every decent person in the city, yet the orphanage was practically empty. “Were the rest of the kids escorted to work this morning?”
“They went in groups,” snapped Sesta Silvia.
“I took some of them,” said Nevah. “The older ones walked with the younger ones.”
I glanced back to the atrium. The ones in there were either too young or too sick to spend a day sweeping and scrubbing. The building was pretty much ours. “How did you find the note?”
“Enough of this!” cried Sesta Silvia, drawing the attention of the old man and the bored children nearby. “You shouldn’t be here, Brayen. You need to leave before the watch gets here.”
I admit, I needed help. Lieutenant would’ve been ideal. He had the grace needed when dealing with people in grief, a way of convincing them that his way sounded best. Unfortunately, there was no way I would’ve gotten anyone from the company to volunteer to come, not since it went against our oath to abandon every part of who we were before changing our names. It was the unbreakable code: never drag the company into whatever shit compelled you to join.
The others might have some idle curiosity in my venture to this part of town. They might even find it a little more interesting than sitting around all day waiting for some excitement to stir them. But there was no way the Captain would agree to send anyone to look into the disappearance of one unremarkable kid, not unless there was a fortune being offered for her return.
“The city watch didn’t help you the last time this happened,” I said. “You’re going to get a couple of sixteen year olds in hand-me-down uniforms, struggling to carry their spears under the weight of them. They’ll report back to their sergeant and he will accept that runaways happen all the time and orphans don’t really matter. And he will never, ever believe that a note was left behind.”
“It’s real,” said Sesta Silvia.
“Did they believe it?”
Sesta Silvia hesitated, no doubt hating herself as she started to take my side over theirs. Even Nevah started shaking her head.
I said, “Día might be as unremarkable as they come, just another pair of hands scrubbing a floor and another burden to feed, but every child matters to you, right?”
Now Silvia refused to even keep eye contact.
“The city watch don’t care about her, but I do.”
Sesta Silvia shifted. She removed a strip of paper as long and wide as her forearm. It was folded neatly in the middle, the edges lining up perfectly. She held it out to me. Maybe I had some of Lieutenant’s skills in me after all.
I took the note, glanced over the words as though they meant something to me, and studied it for a moment longer. Seven words. Six short, one medium. I sounded out the pattern inside my head. ‘Her death will live on for decades.’ I couldn’t make much sense of it as a whole. I didn’t know if the words were carefully written or done in a hurry, by someone who was articulate or if a six-year-old had scribbled it down. It appeared neat and even. I would have to bring it back to the company and have someone verify what it actually said. There was nothing else on either side of the paper I could make out. No signature, no insignia, no wax seal. The only smell seemed to come from the sesta’s finer-than-usual soap when she washed her clothes.
“Was anyone here in the last week?” I asked. “Anyone new? Unusual?”
“No one,” said Silvia, leaving Nevah out of the conversation.
I figured as much. I turned to the staircase nearby. It was time to make this a hassle for her knees and hips. “I’d like to see where Día slept.”
“Why?”
“Maybe she stole something and was taken as recompense.”
“Our children are not thieves! Though they may arrive as them and continue once they’ve left.” Her sneer landed on point.
“Even so, I’d like to see where Día slept.” I turned to Nevah, hoping she would help me. “Upstairs, I take it? On the left?”
“Yes,” said Nevah.
I started in that direction. I drew attention again from the old man in the atrium, watching me with a confused look stuck on his face.
Nevah hurried to follow me. “I don’t think you should go up there …”
“I’ve seen worse,” I said. “And exactly the same, for that matter. Which room?”
“Not that one,” she said, scampering up the stairs. We were leaving the uniquely sullen Sesta Silvia at the foot of the stairs.
Everything around me was almost as I remembered, though smaller. The corridors were shorter and narrower. One big difference I saw on the children downstairs were the clothes. They were a mix of crimson and cream, different from the dull brown I grew up with. Every orphanage I’d heard of was run by a benefactor, either a governor, senator, general or the like. No one wants to pay for one but without them you would have a thousand kids on the street, begging, stealing, and probably dying of starvation in front of some shop-front. That tends to put customers off, and if customers and merchants alike have money then they have friends somewhere above them in the chain of society, friends who agree that something must be done about the dying children. It looked as though this place had received quite a lot of fresh second-hand clothes within the last year. Maybe the governor had a heart after all.
The orphanage itself was a square base with one quarter cut open, exposed to the elements above to create an atrium. Dead birds were a daily problem for morale. They’d fly in, land for what should have only been the shortest of moments, then have a problem flying out again because the angle is too steep for them to fly out of. As kids we tried to nurse the injured ones back to life and release them on the street just outside. Most were too broken to survive without the orphanage’s care. The similarity between the birds and children was rarely lost on us.
My heart lurched at the top of the stairs. I avoided looking to the right, to the room that had seen me cry through the night on my last evening here, the room that had seen enough bloodied noses and bruised eyes. Forward, though …
“In here?” I asked, the lack of strength in my voice deceiving me.
“Yes.”
Of course it was in there. Día was old enough to be in that room, the window high enough off the ground to deter anyone from climbing into a room full of thirteen and fourteen year old girls.
My heart thumped with every step forward, rattling me like a maraca beating against a drum. I found myself frozen at the doorway, peering into the dark room with a sack-like curtain swaying against the breeze. Rows of woven-grass mats lined the floor, mattresses that had become so flat that they offered little comfort against the mud-brick tiles. The pillows were rolled up mats themselves, knotted carefully on both ends. Each one contained a child’s prized possessions, hidden away from the others and fawned over in secret. Thieves here were not just whipped by the sestas, they were beaten mercilessly by anyone who could land a punch.
The mattress second from the far left of the room held my attention for a moment.
Nevah pushed her way past me and crouched beside a neatly organized mat and pillow. “This was hers. She came to us when she was eight. Never spent a night away.”
I looked back to the left. Twenty years of castaways and beggar children had slept in Kiera’s bed since I last saw her. It might even be the same mattress.
Nevah followed my attention to the far side of the room. “You’re not here just for Día, are you?”
“No.”
‘Her death will live on for decades.’ I first heard that twenty years ago, the night Kiera disappeared.
Some events turn your life in a direction you never thought possible. You catch it in the drunken stares of men twice my age with half as many scars. They’ll be peering into the fire, watching the log
slowly break apart, wondering about the friend they once betrayed, or the first time they fell in love and were too stupid to stay faithful.
The day before I turned fifteen, instead of heading to the army recruitment center, I walked straight through the gates of the Governor’s Hand and volunteered there instead. They put a blade in my hand. They taught me magic. They prepared me to exact my revenge on whoever took Kiera. There was just one condition: I had to swear an oath to leave behind every reason that caused me to volunteer in the first place.
For the second time in my life, I was staring at a note I couldn’t read, feeling the same swell of anger as before.
Chapter Three
Disappearances aren’t all that unusual, especially from this kind of place. Most kids reach an age of confidence and decide they’ve had enough, that they can do better in the world without some sesta harping on at them. They generally end up working for whoever they were farmed off to. Día was likely to have done the same one day, staying at the tailor’s overnight, probably after fighting with her friends in the orphanage and being ostracized.
If a child is able to work then someone in the city will use them to scrub floors or sweep up wood shavings. The kids will be paid nothing except for a meal in the middle of the day. The harder you work, the larger the meal. The hope is that you eventually prove yourself worthy of a permanent job and reliable food. If you hate your job and are at least fifteen, the best chance you have is in the army. Three full meals a day, guaranteed.
Some kids, like Nevah, end up staying in the orphanage for good. They don’t mean to stay on, it’s just … there’s always that one kid at the end, sitting on the floor by themselves. The one who never grows into their features properly. The first day of work is always a misery no matter how old you are but some suffer more than the rest. People who look like Nevah have no doubt been spoken about more often than they’ve been spoken to. ‘Send me someone else,’ would be the phrase most commonly used. ‘Someone who won’t scare away the customers when they look at her.’ Half of our new recruits are the male version of Nevah, ugly as sin and desperate to be seen as anything other than a cautionary tale about demons cursing you for stealing.
“Raike?” called Nevah, pulling my attention back to Día’s mat. She had unknotted the girl’s rolled up pillow. The only thing in there was a leather necklace with a polished stone cut through the middle. It was a mix of green and brown, not worth much beyond sentimental value.
“Any ideas about what happened to her?” I asked.
“Someone grabbed her?”
“Someone she knew or a stranger?”
“I don’t know.”
“No one heard a scream, no one saw it happen?”
Nevah shook her head. Luring someone off the street and into an open door isn’t all that difficult. It just depends if they wanted Día in particular or if any kid would do. If she took the same route home every day then at least a dozen people knew her routine.
“Did anyone talk about being followed?” I asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“Who found the note?”
“One of the boy’s. Caen. He works at the dye house nearby. He said they sometimes walk home together.”
“He doesn’t walk with anyone else from the dye house?”
“Sometimes. I guess Día was used to staying back late at Relund’s.”
“And the note was just lying on the ground?”
“On a wall. Caen said the wall rose up straight, angled inwards slightly, then went up straight again. The note was held under a broken bit of a roof tile.”
“And this just happened to catch his attention?”
“He looked into Relund’s. Día wasn’t there so he came back here. When he couldn’t find her he went to see where she was. He found the note just after it got dark.” She squirmed as she looked over Día’s necklace, desperate to ask something she probably didn’t want to know the answer to. “What’s going to happen if you find who did this?”
“It depends how quickly they tell me what happened and why.”
“Are you going to kill them?”
The sesta seemed like a decent person, hopeful that there was virtue in everyone, no matter how hidden it seemed. Perhaps she believed that if we all had enough food and money then there would never be any need for crime or inflicted misery. Maybe I’m somewhat cynical but I hadn’t just risked the last nineteen years of service with the Governor’s Hand to catch Día’s kidnapper only to give him a slap on the wrist. If it’s the same asshole who took Kiera as well then his death would be remembered for centuries.
“Despite what you may think of me, I don’t kill people,” I said. Nevah wasn’t stupid, but she did need some hope for her to cling on to. “We might scare them from time to time but that’s it. And the only way to stop this from happening again is to bring those responsible to the city watch and let them deal out the punishment.”
She nodded, albeit briefly. “If you find her and it’s too late, will you tell us?”
I wanted this trip to be my last time in the orphanage. And if the Captain ever found out where I was it certainly would be.
“Sesta Silvia hasn’t forgotten about Kiera,” said Nevah. “Whenever we’re missing someone at lock-up she checks all the doors, the windows, and wherever the child sleeps. She does so throughout the night. I think the children have learned it’s better to stay out until dawn. By then, Sesta Silvia is no longer on patrol. The shouting you hear if she catches you …”
“I remember.”
“So do I,” said Nevah. “I was eight when Kiera disappeared. I remember your name from then as well.”
As I thought. She probably came back from one job after another crying, every day, then moved onto the next tradesman who was looking for someone to scrub pots and pans until her hands were too brittle to move. I imagine her meals got smaller and smaller with every new job, not because of her lack of enthusiasm but because she went to cheaper and cheaper tradesmen who could rarely feed their own families. She would’ve battled the nerves like a cage of rats scrambling to break out of the trap, would’ve spent all morning practicing her smile and igniting the tiniest spark of confidence within her that this first day would be different, better than all the others, only for the tradesman to take one look at her and immediately ask for someone else. Eventually, the only place she had left to turn to was her own orphanage.
Like an idiot, I was standing by the window. Two people were on the street below. One of them was pointing in my direction. A passerby, nothing more. But the guy he was helping was there for my ass. Lieutenant.
Not ‘the lieutenant’ or even ‘a lieutenant’. Much like my name is Raike, formerly Brayen, his is Lieutenant, formerly something else. The Captain might know who Lieutenant used to be. It doesn’t matter anymore because Lieutenant is about as close to his former self as I am to a fifteen year old runaway. Brayen and I might harbor the same memories but I remember being terrified of twenty year olds back then, bewildered by anyone who was thirty, and unable to fathom the life of a sixty year old. No more.
Nevah rose from Día’s mat and caught sight of the man in the street as well. The way he smiled at the passerby, thanking him for his efforts as though the gentleman had carried Lieutenant across a river of fire-ants, sacrificing his feet, ankles, and knees to help a complete stranger … I don’t use ‘swoon’ all that often, but Nevah blushed and sank by the window. She caught me staring at her, probably with a, ‘are you serious?’ look on my face as she dreamed of a life in the arms of Mr. Fabulous down there.
She turned just as quickly to redirect her attention. “They didn’t take anything of Día’s.”
“No,” I said. “They didn’t take anything of Kiera’s, either.” My attention halted at the corridor.
We were being watched. Someone hiding from the sestas. Someone as tall as my shoulders with short, lice-ridden hair. He pulled back from the far doorway, retreating into the shadows.
Nev
ah didn’t notice.
Downstairs, Sesta Silvia hurried to the front door at the rhythmic knocking of a man in a charge. She was disappointed at having another mercenary arrive on her doorstep instead of someone from the city watch.
“What does Día look like?” I asked.
“Nothing unusual. Brown hair. Freckles. She had a nice smile. And a good singing voice, but I don’t know how useful that is to you.”
“Is she starting to shape out?”
“Not yet.”
No surprise there. The high-borns became men and women earlier than the poverty stricken ones. Still, it’s more of a rule of thumb than hard fact.
Lieutenant strode in. Nevah damn near fainted.
I’ve often wondered if that’s the power Lieutenant has spent his life focusing on. I would’ve been convinced about it were it not for his silent entrance. Perhaps he targeted Nevah from the corridor. If he did, it would’ve been a waste of a lot of magic.
His eyes crossed over mine. Friendly, polite, ‘you’re not supposed to be here’, and a glint of caution around the stranger to my side.
“Lieutenant,” I said, confirming it was safe enough to use our actual names and not some disguise.
“Raike.” He smiled at the sesta by my side. I readied myself to catch her. “Nevah, I’m sorry to interrupt like this but could I have a word with my friend here?”
“Of course.” She smiled gleefully at Lieutenant, breathing in whatever fragrance he had lightly doused himself with that morning. My bet was she would hang around the front door in a bid to see him again.
Every company needs a swift talker. He’s ours. The pretty one who instils confidence in our services, unlike the rest of us who look and sound like criminals, thugs, and murderers. He and the Captain secured the deal while convincing the poor sap that he made the right choice.
I’m who they met if they didn’t pay on time.
He was a tall son of a bitch. Square jawed. Straight teeth. Recently washed hair that hung down the side of his face like he had never lost a strand in his life. Clean shaven as of last night. He should’ve been a senator. He had the voice for it as well, a hint of a graveled inflection, making him sound older and more experienced than he actually was.