Bannerless

by Carrie Vaughn

  Enid had been letting things slide. She hadn’t thought anyone noticed. But no, everyone had noticed. Tomas was the next person to stop her.

  He was a lead investigator now; the brown uniform was a little less scary than it had been when he first started training, but it was still the brown uniform, transforming him into something larger and distant, and even after years she was still getting used to it. He was wearing it now, which meant he was on the way out to a case. He didn’t seem too grim about it, but then again he wouldn’t.

  “You okay, Enid?” he asked, as she was hanging laundry to dry, fast as she could. Dak was down in the square giving music lessons to kids. They were going to have dinner together later. But if she could get free a little early . . .

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, not looking up. “Where you off to?”

  “North this time, to Hel. Shouldn’t take long.”

  “Can you talk about the case?”

  “I’d rather not yet.” He lingered, watching her. Studying her.

  “What is it?” she said, pausing to look at him.

  “You’ve made a friend,” Tomas said.

  Enid blushed so hard, her face hurt. Went back to hanging shirts and towels, quickly, with intense focus.

  “As long as you’re having fun. Just be careful. He’s not likely to stick around.”

  “I know that,” she said, indignant. Tomas was in a lecturing mood. But still, a brief panic rattled her. When would Dak leave? How long did she have? Would it be unreasonable to spend every moment with him until then? Chores could wait.

  “You know he probably has lovers in every town up and down the Coast Road.”

  Now Tomas was just pestering her.

  “So? That’s his business,” she said, trying to sound mature and worldly, but her tone was petulant. Defensive. She realized she didn’t know anything about Dak except that he could sing better than anyone and she loved every bit of him, down to every last pore. Because she was finished with the laundry, and because she wasn’t willing to wait to see how else Tomas could tease her, she stormed off, empty laundry basket propped against her hip.

  Dak planned to leave the next morning, it turned out. He was properly apologetic, properly attentive. They had a picnic dinner in the orchard, the heady scent of ripening apples and hot summer air lingering. Someone had given him a bottle of mead for his singing, and they sipped at it. He lounged against a tree and held her tight against him, stroking her hair, making her feel as loved as she could wish. And at least he told her he was leaving. He could have just left without a word while she raced all over Haven looking for him, and people would regard her with pity.

  “Are you sure you can’t stay? Plenty has room, I know we do. You . . . you could stay.” And she imagined the dozens, the hundreds of other lovers up and down the Coast Road, all telling him the same thing.

  “I’m not really the settling-down type, Enid. You know that. Folk up the road will be looking for me.”

  She’d only known him for a week, and yes she knew that about him. “Doesn’t hurt to ask. Where you from, anyway? You have a household to go back to, to winter over, maybe?”

  He shrugged, pursed his lips. Glanced away like he did when he was trying to remember the next song or story. “Oh, it’s just a little place. A little bit south and a little bit east. Or maybe a lot south and a lot east. Been a while since I’ve been back there.” His gaze returned to her and his smile went back to charming.

  “Any family?”

  He shrugged again. “As much as anyone, I suppose.”

  And that was that, he wasn’t going to tell her, or he didn’t want to. Maybe something terrible had happened. It seemed sad, not having a household of one’s own.

  She said, “I just want to make sure you have someplace to go to. If you need it. You can’t wander forever.”

  “You’d be surprised.” He kissed her gently. “I’ll be back this way. I promise.”

  That was enough for her. But then it would have to be, wouldn’t it? So they made passionate, satisfying love under the trees. It was still new, and she wanted more. She could see how practicing would make it even better. Dak sent her back to Plenty in the foggy late hours of night. In the morning he was gone. She didn’t go looking for him.

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////

  But he did come back.

  Autumn market this time, just a month or so later. Once again, Enid heard his voice in the town square before she saw him, and her heart nearly stopped. She approached cautiously, getting it into her head that he wouldn’t remember her, that he would ignore her if he did. That he wouldn’t care, and he wouldn’t want to carry on with her. All she wanted was to kiss him; she was aching for it.

  He was sitting on the same stool in the clearing outside the market, playing the same black-lacquered guitar. A new song this time, one she hadn’t heard last time—and how many songs did he know? She leaned up by the same tree, crossed her arms, and waited.

  When he looked across his audience, he saw her. And he smiled. Might even have hitched a note in the song he was playing. Finished the song, slung his guitar over his shoulder, and rushed up to her. Touched her cheek and kissed her till her hands clenched into the fabric of his shirt.

  “Enid, how are you?” he said, but only when he pulled back for air. She just grinned.

  They picked up together as if he’d never left. Let anyone give her a hard time about Dak now; she’d face them down. This time, he planned to stay several days longer than usual.

  Enid might have expected another lecture from Tomas—or maybe an apology—but he’d been away on a case. His return in the middle of a market day ended up being something of an event.

  Out in the square, Dak was between sets. Enid had brought him a sandwich and sat with him while he ate, watching the people at the market stalls. He’d lean to her ear and make up stories about this or that person, and she’d laugh; if she knew the person, she’d lean to his ear and tell him if he was right or wrong. They sat hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, and she was happy.

  There was a commotion, and the crowd parted as a solar car came up in front of the clinic. Tomas was driving. He parked, climbed out, and helped out the others who were with him: a young woman, a man a couple of years older than her, and a middle-aged woman. The young one was maybe a year or so older than Enid, wearing a skirt and tunic, her hair braided up around her head, and she was crying. Tomas’s hand rested gently on her shoulder as he guided her up the porch to the clinic door, followed by the other two. Folk of her household, maybe?

  Dak caught her staring and caught the implications of an investigator shepherding a group of people who were all clearly unhappy.

  “What’s going on there?” Dak asked.

  “That’s Tomas—he’s in my household. I can ask him when he comes back out.”

  “An investigator in your household? What’s that like?” He wrinkled his nose, as if the thought bothered him.

  “He’s just Tomas. He gets serious when he’s wearing brown, that’s all.”

  “You’d never even think about saying the wrong thing at home, I bet, with one of them around.”

  She glanced at him. “It’s not like that. Not really.” She didn’t think about it most of the time—most of the time, he wasn’t in uniform. “It’s not about saying the wrong thing. It’s about not hurting people. Really, I’d be worried about disappointing Tomas even if he wasn’t an investigator.”

  That evening, she broke away from Dak long enough to go home for a bit. Dak was performing in the square, and she planned to join him later. This was her chance to corner Tomas in private.

  “That looked rough,” she said. “At the clinic today, with that woman.”

  “Bannerless pregnancy,” he said.

  Her stomach dropped. Could be a million reasons why such a thing happened, but it reflected badly on everyone: the woman, the father, their households, a whole town sometimes. It had never happened in Haven
in her lifetime, but there were stories. “Oh no. How bad is it?”

  “Not too bad,” he said. “Looks like an implant failure. No one’s fault at all. The clinic’s checking it out. Once they confirm, we’ll all have to decide what to do next.”

  If the implant had failed, the woman’s household would likely be awarded a banner retroactively—if they could feed an extra mouth, if they didn’t have too many mouths already. If they couldn’t support a new mouth, the woman might be asked to transfer to a household that could, that would maybe welcome a baby. If the woman wanted the banner and the baby, ways could be found to make it work. If she didn’t want the baby, there’d be a termination. No banner at all.

  Enid tried to think of what she would want in that situation, and she couldn’t imagine it. Mostly, it made her fervently hope that her implant never failed so she’d never be in that situation. Dak had suddenly made her implant relevant.

  “I see your boy came back.” Tomas turned the interrogation back on her.

  And still, she blushed. She thought she’d be over that by now. “Yes. He said he would.”

  Tomas hid a smile, indicating what, Enid couldn’t guess.

  She waited for him to chastise her or offer her some token of unwanted advice. “Well?” she demanded finally. “Aren’t you going to tell me to be careful, to watch out, to not trust him?”

  “No,” he said. “You already seem to know whatever I could tell you.”

  She stormed out, and she thought she’d be over that by now as well.

  Back at the square, where a late-market party had sprung up, she and Dak sat by themselves, eating pot pies and talking. She passed on what Tomas had said about the young woman at the clinic, about the bannerless pregnancy.

  “It sounds like it’ll all turn out okay,” Enid said. “Not like those terrible cases.” She didn’t have to explain—the ones where people cut out their implants, hid their pregnancies, hoping no one would ever know. Whole households colluded sometimes, keeping pregnancies and babies hidden. But people always found out; people always seemed to know. No one ever wanted to be in that situation, a whole town or a whole region rejecting you, cutting you out because you couldn’t be bothered to play by the rules. Shamed and shunned. And the poor children who never asked to be bannerless—but people always knew. Because if you had too many babies, if they couldn’t be fed, if there was another epidemic or famine, they couldn’t take care of everyone, and the Fall would happen all over again.

  Dak ran his hand up her arm, fingering that raised bit under the skin behind her bicep. “Would you ever do it? Sabotage your implant to have a baby? Skip the whole banner?”

  “Oh no,” she said, horrified. What a terrible thing to do to your household—they might all be held accountable, if she tried to go behind their backs like that. If she wanted a baby, she’d work for one. “I’m not sure I even want a banner at all. Plenty of other people to worry about that sort of thing. I like things the way they are.”

  “Me, too.” He put his arm around her shoulders and nestled her close, kissing the top of her head. As warm a gesture of agreement as she could ask for. He didn’t need a household—of course, he wouldn’t think of banners. He might earn enough for himself, but how could anyone feed another mouth traveling the way he did?

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////

  The market ended, Dak stopped playing for audiences, and Enid felt the timing as a gnawing in her gut. She leaked tears for no apparent reason. Dak would leave. He said he traveled south during the winter months, to the fishing villages on the coast. He had places he could stay if storms came up. He’d traveled like this for a couple of years now; he wasn’t worried.

  She hated it but wouldn’t say anything because her voice would come out whining and terrible—and then he’d never come back, would he? She would tell him she’d miss him. Kiss him and try to remember him, in case he didn’t come back.

  Enid went to find him in town—he’d been sleeping on the clinic porch, since the weather stayed warm—and saw Tomas talking to him. She held back, trying to stay out of sight while watching, to suss out what was happening. Tomas wasn’t wearing the brown uniform, but his stance was pure investigator, pure intimidation. Dak had his arms crossed, smiling a flippant smile and looking anywhere but directly at Tomas.

  Enid wanted to kill Tomas. This was none of his business. He had no right to interfere. Furious, she decided that rather than kill him, she’d avoid him. Avoid him forever.

  Except before she could march off, he spotted her, because that was the kind of thing he was good at. He finished talking to Dak, who made a half bow at him before going to fetch his guitar where he’d leaned it against a bench, and Tomas left the square—walking straight toward her.

  “Really?” she spat, to get in the first word, so she wouldn’t have to find out what righteous declaration he’d make to her. “Was that really necessary?”

  “What do you think I said to him?” Tomas said.

  She had to shrug, because there were so many things he might have said. “Probably something along the lines of ‘Hurt her and you’ll regret it.’ ”

  “Exactly right,” Tomas said, grinning. “You should be an investigator.”

  “Just leave me alone, will you!”

  And so he did, continuing on toward home, smiling a little. Not even Dak taking her hand and kissing her forehead could make her smile after that.

  “Ignore him,” she said, fuming. “Whatever he said, just . . . he’s just making a pest out of himself.”

  “He’s only worried about you.”

  Yes, she knew that. She ought to be grateful that she had people looking out for her. But they didn’t know Dak. They didn’t know her.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said, after she’d settled down a bit. “You like your household, yeah? You’re close to it?”

  “Lived there my whole life,” she said.

  “But you’re not looking for a banner or anything. You don’t have a real job yet, right?” A vocation that would root her in place and draw her forward through her life. No, she didn’t. She still got by helping anyone who needed it, and that seemed all right.

  “I can’t seem to decide,” she said.

  “That’s all right, you know. Not deciding.”

  “I know that.”

  He took both her hands and turned to face her. “I wondered if maybe you’d like to travel with me for a bit? It’s a good chance to see some of the world. That’s always a good thing, I’ve thought. If you don’t like it, you can come back, easy as that. But . . . you seem like you might want to travel.” He smiled that bright, sunny smile that could light up the night.

  She matched his grin. This . . . this was what she’d wanted all along, but it hadn’t even occurred to her to ask. And she didn’t have to because he just knew.

  “That sounds amazing,” she said, and suddenly she could see into her own future. She would get away. Make her way as best she could, like Dak did.

  She would travel the Coast Road.

  CHAPTER FIVE • PASADAN

  ///////////////////////////////////////

  Blood on the Wall

  Enid showed the smear of blood on the wall to Tomas.

  “I suppose, on the one hand, this just got interesting,” Enid said.

  “I think I could have done without interesting this time.” Tomas leaned in close, studying the shape of the mark, the shadow of whoever had left it.

  Enid had read about investigations from before the Fall, which appeared to be highly organized and detail-oriented. There was a science to it—forensics—that had complex tools and procedures. There’d been machines to show the insides of a body, which would have shown exactly what had happened to Sero’s skull. They’d been able to record images in order to study the victim and the scene over and over again, as much as they needed to after flies and rot set in. Test blood for poison, or even identify individuals from a drop of blood or strand of hair. Back the
n, they’d have had the ability to peel the images of fingerprints from that smear of blood on the outside of the shed. She could compare those prints to everyone in town and find out exactly who had run away after Sero died. Who’d been there long enough to get fresh blood on their hands. Who might have seen Sero fall.

  So much hadn’t been important during and after the Fall, so it hadn’t been saved. If one of the old investigators had been at Haven from the start, maybe the knowledge, the tools, the abilities would have been passed on, and not just the vague knowledge that those things had once existed. On the other hand, Haven had desperately needed the doctors and biologists who had founded the place. They had saved vaccines and been able to reconstruct antiseptics and basic antibiotics. Without them, nothing at all might have survived.

  The whole idea of forensics seemed a bit magical to Enid, and she wasn’t sure the world really missed it. Wasn’t sure they needed it—until they did. Maybe she could try to bring some of that knowledge back. Someday.

  In the meantime, this suspicious death had turned into a real investigation.

  A rangy calico sidled up around the outside of the shed, meowing. Tomas reached down to offer to pet it, and the cat considered his outstretched hand a moment before stalking off, tail up, clinging to the wall. The beast might have belonged to Sero or might have been a general mouser, haunting barns around town.

  “I wonder if it saw anything,” Enid joked, then spent a moment really truly wishing cats could talk. Just to tell her what had happened here.

  “Could still be an accident,” Tomas said. Reminding her not to make snap judgments. “That mark could have been left by whoever found the body. Someone who didn’t want to be seen, didn’t want to talk about it, and went into hiding. The person they think found the body may not be the one who really found the body.”

  “One way or another, that’s our prime witness. Whoever it is,” she said. She didn’t relish interviewing every single person in town to suss out a witness who didn’t want to talk, but if she had to, she would. “Well, let’s deliver the news.”