"What have I been summoned for, Glorious One?”
Vincent seated himself on the swiveling chair behind his modest, disorderly desk. "Straight to the point, hm?” He straightened a few papers and put a pen in his pen cup. “I have a temporary position for you out west if you want it.”
"What is the expected duration of this assignment?”
He shrugged, scooping green powder—matcha—from his tin into a small gold-streaked bowl. “However long it takes. I anticipate up to two years. No more. Care for some? I have another chawan in the cabinet.” He took up a steel teapot to his right and filled the bowl with hot water.
"No. What does the position entail?”
Whisking at the liquid, he said, "Twenty years ago, they permitted mongrel births. Hundreds of them. We went in with an aggressive purging, and it didn’t go over well with neighboring gates. Shook them. Too many ‘children’ involved.” He stopped whisking to look at his drink, then continued. “Which is understandable. It’s unsavory. I don’t enjoy having them purged for their parents’ wrongs, but we can’t have mixed nations and cultures.”
Finally finished with whisking, Vincent brought the frothy green liquid to his mouth and drank most of it in seconds. “You know how they sent me to the far east to study for my position years ago. I was given this chawan.” He looked it over, tipping it to see the bottom. “My tutor said that it was once cracked, then repaired with gold—Kintsugi, he called it—he thought it would be a good reminder to me of how damaged things, like myself, could be repaired. Scars remain, but with Kintsugi, they are honored and make the vessel more beautiful and just as useful.”
Time to get to the point. Cole preferred to be home, kissing the Unified woman in his room. He scratched the back of his neck, antsy, then crossed his ankle over his knee. "What are you suggesting, Glorious One?”
Hands clasped on his desk, Vincent said, "I want to practice a metaphorical Kintsugi. I like you, but as it is, your relationship with destiny is broken. You’re directed toward an early grave. I believe we can fix this before it’s too late. Since you had such wild success blending in with the Gentles, so much so that you convinced them to give you a bride . . .” He paused.
So calm. So smug.
"I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
It was stupid to deny it. Obviously, he knew what he knew.
Vincent’s faced scrunched with an amused, disappointed frown. A long, loud snort of laughing disdain rattled through his nose and throat. "Please, Cole. You think we’re not aware that you knew Hesper before this?”
Cole took a few breaths to calm down, staring at the gold streaks of Vincent’s chawan. He lifted his chin. He may have been busted, but he sure wasn’t ashamed.
"You’re to slip into an area rumored to harbor and allow the birth of mongrels. Get involved with them and earn their trust. Learn who the mongrels and their parents are. Take care of it secretly.”
Vincent didn’t play pranks, but this had to be one.
"You know I don’t participate in purgings.”
"You’ve rejected purging assignments in the past. That’s true. This, however, is for you alone. It’s different. More calculated and careful.” Vincent downed the dregs of his matcha, then set the chawan on the desk and pushed it away from himself. “Perhaps this won’t be so offensive to your sensibilities.” He wiggled his fingers in the air, smiling. "Cole, we are the strongest nation in the world, but the mixing of religions and bloodlines resulted in the downfall of the nation centuries ago. Godlessness was only a part of it. We cannot permit it to happen again.
“Our strength teeters on the edge while Gentles are among us. Their areligious ideas and rebellious attitudes must be weeded out. Allowing us to grow together again would return us to a time of brutal civil war, and we will be a divided, fallen people who no longer honor God.
“We allow marriage and sexual relations because men will do it with or without permission. Now, it’s at least an organized, profitable endeavor. Though, I’m certain you see the dangers of permitting mongrelism.”
No. He didn’t and raised his eyebrows to say so. If Vincent was honest, he would admit that he didn’t either. Everything he said sat on his countenance like a mask. He’d learned to shut his feelings off like Cole had, learned to play the game, to distance his mind from his conscience and get the job done. But if Cole ever said that, Vincent would laugh in his face.
Or cry.
Sometimes he wanted to say it and see what the result would really be.
“I’m giving you a chance to reaffirm your loyalty, or we will have to dismiss you from service to the Kyrios.”
The Kyrios couldn’t dismiss anyone from an honored or successor position. Those who served the Kyrios in that capacity either lived serving the Kyrios or, quite simply, died. Young.
"You can’t fight my bloodline, Glorious One—with all due respect.”
Surprised, Vincent threw his hands in the air, shaking his head. "Don’t look at me! The Kyrios made this decision. Personally, I think it would be a shame to dismiss you when you’ve just begun a family. Your first wife and already out of work?” He clutched his chest. "You might have to give her to someone else who can take care of her. I mean, I won’t judge you for your decision—whatever it may be.
“If you choose dismissal, rest assured, I will gladly care for her. She’s quite handsome, bright, nice teeth, trusting on the surface and responds well to conversational hypnosis.”
"I don’t have a medallion of justice.”
"With your education and experience, you’ve been long qualified for one. You are an expert in the law, a sensible man, and a capable warrior. You will be an asset to Theocracia meting out justice, rather than defending it. Which makes us wonder why you’ve never broached the topic.”
Cole wouldn’t answer that question. Vincent knew. What did he need a medallion of justice for if he had no interest in killing mongrels or Unified?
Was killing Vincent worth dying for?
"Given that I’ve never heard of secret purgings on this scale, I have a few questions.” Cole kept eye contact with Vincent. "Will the law enforcement wardens be aware of my mission there?”
Vincent leaned on the table, steepling his fingers, tapping them against his lips. "Local authorities won’t be aware, but you have the right to make yourself known to them. Use your head.”
"Is my wife permitted to come with me?”
"As long as she is not privy to the nature of the assignment.” His lips pulled back, displaying a false smile full of pearly white caps.
"How much time do I have to decide?”
"About five minutes.”
He wanted a snap decision. of course. What choice did he have? Death or assignment. "I’ll take it.”
"Good.” Vincent busied himself with drawers and papers. "I’ll have arrangements made for a few months from now at the beginning of winter. When all is ready, we will send you, medallion in hand.” He stuffed the papers into a large envelope. "Have you seen your sister recently?”
"She married Hesper and me yesterday.”
"Her sickness is worsening. Thought you should know. We’re going to visit her. You might want to consider it, too.”
* * *
When Cole returned home, a ragtime tango poured out of the parlor. David had taken to the ivories again. He hadn’t done that in at least a month. Music had always been a healthy, private form of therapy for David, preferred over drinking and smoking. His return to the art meant he was probably trying to pick himself up. Good.
Twenty-Five | Post-Conquest: 232
Forced retirement from his mission among the Unified gave Cole the freedom to travel and do more of his out-of-forest work, teaching in the universities and speaking at in-depth Law Enforcement training seminars through the summer. Odd jobs popped up for him and his expertise along the way. All told, nothing exciting, except that Hesper came with him.
Watching Hesper experience so many new things made for
an interesting newlywed phase. She commanded respect, even from senior officers and wardens. They didn’t treat her with the subtle disdain offered to Gentles. Most men didn’t take their Gentle wives on business trips, though. Perhaps that indicated special status to the people who met her.
While alone, they read together, and sometimes Hesper prayed with him. Unlikely as it was, Cole cherished the hope that she would someday believe as he did. Who could blame her for not being able to? Her experience had been poor, thus far. Beyond poor: Revolting.
But if he knew her at all, she would overcome her experience and emotions to choose what made the most sense.
Summer passed, and harvest came and went as the leaves fell from the trees. Temperatures dropped and the northern sections of Theocracia expected snow any day. The Kyrios were likely to send for him to discuss the new assignment details soon, so he held his weakness up to God and sought strength more often. He couldn’t do what they asked of him, but he couldn’t refuse, either. His tenuous position required priority over comfort.
His tenuous life . . .
Blood guaranteed his position of favor and privilege, but David had been correct when he advised Cole to protect his physical blood. Too worked up to acknowledge its veracity at the time, he considered David’s advice cowardly. Cole didn’t have any room to wiggle in rebellion without risking Hesper.
This morning, he swung his legs out of bed and shuffled over to his window to kneel. Hesper lay in their cozy nest, a rosy glow warming her precious cream-vellum face and her thick black braid crossing the wrinkles and rises of ivory sheets. Her pale hand rested palm up on the bear fur. A wrinkled, furry, lovely mess at peace, sleeping comfortably.
He could shut his conscience off. If it came down to it, he could obey. But Hesper? She would never understand. He would seek solace in God for doing his best in an impossible situation, but Hesper had no such relief for her conscience. Especially when someone else’s actions caused her guilt.
He could try to hide his assignment, but . . . what if he couldn’t?
Covering his face with his hands, he uttered a prayer. "Maker of all, the Book of Light came from you. We are not meant to be kept from your light any more than we are meant to be dominated by it. As it is, we are both; they keep us from it and use that separation to dominate us.
"Show me the Book of Light in my heart and mind. I have a path to walk that is riddled with potholes made by those who keep the light.”
Cole’s simple, sage-like father was not regarded as a great man. With no university education and his missing finger barring him from military prestige, he grew up a farmer and vintner. But he knew how to plant seeds and bottle ideas that aged well.
One thing he planted in Cole was the last phrase of any prayer he prayed. Cole used it now. "Be merciful to me, one small piece of Your artwork.”
A small arm curled around his lower back, and Hesper’s body leaned against his side. Uncovering his face, he put his arm around her and rested his head atop hers. Years ago, Hesper answered his prayer for experiences that would open him to God. God would listen again. Why wouldn’t It?
The door rattled with a mighty knock, startling them both.
"If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a law enforcement warden.” Cole laughed. "They always knock that way. Come in!”
Trinity’s heels clacked across the floor. "Cole, where are you?”
Her illness had progressed over the summer, but that woman was hard to knock down. She clung to life with a grip of iron.
He waved so she could see him on the floor beyond his sofa. "Here!”
"Why in blazes are you on the floor?”
"What do you need, Trinity?”
Bones and parchment skin, Trinity approached Cole with a piece of paper and a medallion. Her eyes, carrying indigo bags wherever they went, wouldn’t look at him. "Your flight will be tomorrow at four in the morning. Pack as much as you want, you’re the only passengers. That paper has all the information you’ll need. If you have any questions, try to figure it out yourself.” With a faltered step at the first, she clicked her way out of the room, her ankles shaking in her heels.
"Huh. I didn’t expect that so suddenly.” Cole stood. "I’d better wash up and pack.”
Hesper promptly trotted off to the bathroom ahead of him. She laid a towel over a stool beside their copper tub and turned on the water.
Cole slipped the moccasins from his feet. "Trinity doesn’t look well, does she?”
"No, she does not.”
He set the envelope from Trinity onto the stool with the towel and undressed to climb into the tub. "Hesper, give me the envelope, please.”
She picked it up, gave it a sniff, and handed it over. He opened it and read to himself:
Assignment: Section 26, Pomo Gate
Flight: 4 A.M. November 12th, Escort arrival: 3:45 A.M.
Furnishing Budget: 350 ᵯ
Monthly Salary: 300 ᵯ
Honored Senior Officer Chandler:
We have secured employment for you as a secretary in the law firm of Attorney Alan Bandello, a former military officer of good reputation and wisdom. Honorably discharged for personal reasons. Housing has been arranged.
Your time frame, as previously discussed, is a maximum of 2 years. By this time, your assignment must be complete. We require a monthly progress report.
Due to the confidential nature of your assignment, Mr. Bandello has been told that you and your wife have been granted a leave of absence and require a change of scenery. Your wealthy grandfather, looking out for your best interests, called ahead to make arrangements for you.
Your moderate celebrity, particularly among those of Mr. Bandello’s profession, and the distinction of your name and family, require an alias. Mr. Bandello expects Brock Cartwright. Do not wear your insignia.
You have our confidence,
Vincent Phaiah
Vincent never took the time to write his own letters, so his signatures were rarely the same twice. The alias had to be Vincent’s idea, though. A kid named Brock had been Cole’s rival growing up. He hated the name.
Vincent always had been and always would be a passive-aggressive bully.
Cole folded the letter and placed it on the ground. Resting his head back on the tub’s edge, ready to unwind, he recalled Hesper’s presence and opened his eyes. She still stood beside the tub, frowning at him. He raised his eyebrows in a question.
"Cole, why can’t you tell me?”
"Read the letter.”
She read it and looked at him. "That tells me nothing.”
"That was their intention.”
"I refuse to go to Pomo Gate if you refuse to tell me.”
She wouldn’t say that if she didn’t mean it or at least intend to put up a hefty fight.
"I understand why you might be troubled by this. Consider that if you don’t go now, they’re not going to send you later. That will be two years, Hesper. Two years.”
"I mean what I say.”
"Be reasonable. You’re coming with me whether I tell you or not.”
"Who will make me, Brock? Do you think I am unable to keep silence?”
"What? Oh, come on! I trust you. It’s better for you if you don’t know. I understand your aversion to secrecy. However, there’s no escape from that when you work with the Kyrios. You’re a brave woman for taking this—”
"Stop trying to manipulate me. I did not understand it when I came here, but I understand now. You people use certain words and tones to make others think what you want them to think and to create a false sense of calm.”
Cole spluttered. How could she think that of him? "I don’t do that to you, Hesper. If I ever have, it has been with your consent or to help you settle down. Never to manipulate you. I’m frustrated and taking pains to keep my voice level,” he explained. "Between you and me, our feelings, thoughts, and personal lives—we have no secrets. Work is different.”
Hesper took the towel from the stool and seated he
rself in its place, laying it across her lap. She wore a deadly frown and a definite sulk. "Is it bad?”
"What they want me to do? Yes, it’s bad.”
"Are you going to do it?”
"No. I’m going to find a way around it. I’ll mince words with them the way I did when reporting about the Unified. Nothing bad will happen. You have to believe me.”
"Do I?”
Point taken. If only he could explain that his life was on the line if he didn’t do this. He couldn’t. The less she knew, the better. "I suppose so, Hesper. Please, pack. We have to go together. I won’t leave you here for two years with David in this state. He’s doing much better, but it’s a volatile situation, and I’m convinced he has feelings for you that he won’t admit to.”
"So?”
"So? Do I have to hypnotize you?”
Her face darkened with a clear lack of appreciation for his attempt at humor. She laid the towel over the stool and left the room. Drawers opened, zippers unzipped. She was preparing for the trip.
Satisfied, Cole closed his eyes and sank deeper into the tub.
Twenty-Six | Post-Conquest: 230
Sacred Gate’s military university acted as a well-educated sugar daddy for downtown bars and dance clubs. These types of busy university gates made excellent hiding places for Jesurun. At twenty, he wouldn’t stand out too much, and his build and psychological effect made him an easy choice for some of the low-end bars in need of security.
Jes stood at the door, watching people mingle, drinks in hand. To his left, an annoying persistent little crap-of-a-man tried to pick up a blonde woman and was having a hard time of it. Ahead, a gaggle of girls giggling-drunk on margaritas.
Bored, bored, bored. This scene, pretty typical, bored him to death. Still, he preferred boredom to wandering hungry. But it sure wasn’t fun. He did have to plan for the night, though.
If he couldn’t arrange a pleasant evening, he’d find the homeless shelter and hope they had room, other times he’d steal or break something to get arrested and have a night or two in jail until his boss bailed him out. His boss had five daughters and three wives, so he preferred to bail Jes out of jail over having him in his home. He didn’t need a handsome bouncer twice his size in the house, but he did need him in his bar.
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