by Kate Ormand
“This is … ?” Essa ventured, although she had guessed the answer already.
“This is where you live if you are Commander of the Pacifiers. It’s cool and it’s spacious and it has a view.”
Grollat went to the window in the far wall and slid open one of its three sections, allowing damp air to rush in. Essa joined him. The view was of the reservoir, from the highest point in the cavern. This window was a narrow slit cut through the rock … she could see the cells opposite her and the path that led up to them, and the metal cage hanging from the smooth ceiling, high above everything except this one window.
The cage was what Grollat was looking at.
He said flatly, “You’re nearly full grown. For what you did today, you would sit in that cage for some days, and then, when a suitable audience was gathered, my men would lower you into the water. They would lower you many feet below the surface. The assembled dignitaries would not see you drown, of course. They would merely sit and wait for some thirty minutes until the cage was raised. It is a great honor to die in this fashion, in the precious substance. The water is purifying and would cleanse you of your crime.”
“Yes, I see … ,” Essa said faintly.
“If you look hard, you’ll see the block-and-tackle system. Clever. The cage can go straight down, or it can be drawn in toward the Self-Examination Cells—if you were wondering how anyone gets into it.”
“I wasn’t.”
Grollat’s voice stayed low and level. “Your mother and father were placed in that cage, not long after you were born. They would have hung there in, well, suspense, shall we say, until the day the cage descended into the water and stayed deep beneath the surface for thirty minutes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“At that time I was not senior enough to be admitted to the spectacle. There were two others in the cage as well. Since then I have witnessed the cleansing of several wrongdoers. It can be a noisy business if they start to scream. I’ve often thought the entire population should be allowed to watch these occasions. It would have an effect that might make my job easier.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand you. What do you mean about my mother and father?”
“They died. Bonix and Marran are not your parents.”
In her mind Essa said, It’s just a lie. He wants to hurt me. Why? She said aloud, “It’s not true.”
He was looking at her, reading her pain, smiling slightly. Their eyes met. And she knew. Just knew. It is true. Why else would he say it?
A sick-making feeling of love and guilt and loss swept over her. Oh no. She loved Bonix and Marran, but she hadn’t been loving enough, and now they were taken from her. She swallowed and controlled her breathing and managed to say, “So who were they? My real mother and father? What had they done?”
He evidently approved of the effort she had made. “You’re very calm about it. Your father was a brilliant manufacturer of paints, and your mother was a musician. You need know no more than that. They were a much-envied couple and loved by their friends.”
“Were they your friends?”
“No. I hardly knew them. You might say their crime was to care too much. They were clever people and impatient with the ways of Arcone. They questioned the order of things. They spoke to many, telling them that it was unjust that knowledge should be kept from the common people. They organized secret meetings and discussed the forcing through of new laws, to make information available to all. They were betrayed to my predecessor and were cleansed. You—innocent of any crime against the city—were placed with a childless couple. Bonix and Marran.”
The foundations of her life were exploded. It had taken only seconds. Her true parents had been criminals. No—good people, with good intentions. Now she herself was a wrongdoer, and with what fate in store?
“All right, Commander. I believe you. Now what am I doing here?”
The bold words did not disguise her fear, and Grollat smiled. “You think that I want something of you?”
“I just don’t know why I’m here.”
She glanced around the room, noticing again the disorder. He read her expression of distaste and said, “I have a wife, Essa, but she is not well. She spends most of her time in the infirmary, where they try to persuade her that it is not good for her to consume mind-altering substances. She seeks tranquility through chemical means. We, too, have known difficult times.”
Later she regretted not taking him up on that last piece of information. She might have learned more about what motivated him. For now all she said was, “I don’t like being here with you, Commander.”
He took her by the arm, turning her so that she had to face him, squeezing into her flesh, his voice becoming harsh. “You’re not meant to like it! And I have no interest in whether you like me, either. I’m not likeable—I don’t expect people to like me.” He added savagely, “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if people liked me—would I?”
“No,” she said quietly, not wanting to enrage him further.
“I brought you hear to look and listen. Your parents were not obedient Arconians and neither are you. Maybe it’s inherited. There are people I keep my eye on, and you are one of them. I have watched you and told my men to watch you—roaming where you have no right. But I have no interest in punishing the young. If I don’t have to, I won’t. I choose not to punish you.”
“Not at all?”
He let go of her. “All I want of you is that you learn your lesson. It is not possible to defy Arcone.” He stared at her, willing the thought deep into her mind, and then went back to the window overlooking the reservoir and closed the panel. The damp draught was shut out. He turned back to her. “You must understand that I have put myself in a difficult situation here. I should not have told you what I have. Please remember: if you confront your foster parents with your knowledge, it can only lead to trouble for all of us. Perhaps especially for them. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I shouldn’t speak of it.”
“And you won’t speak of it?”
It was so hard. How could she not? She still loved them—couldn’t help it. And that was what settled the matter, in a defining instant. She must not do anything that could damage them. Ever.
“I won’t speak of it.”
“Good. I will have to tell Bonix that you have been seen straying from your work duties on occasion. You will receive a single demerit. It should not be a hindrance to your future, if you wish to rise in society.”
Essa was confused and relieved at the same time. “Should I thank you?”
He shrugged. “It won’t make any difference to anything.”
She had to anyway, even if she did not understand his motives in this. “Thank you, Commander.”
She meant it, and he must have heard the sincerity in her voice. All he said was, “All right—you’ve said it. Now let’s go.”
As they went out of the apartment, Grollat commented, “I’m not here much. Too busy. Needs cleaning, I know.”
The remark was so commonplace, it was as though the strange interview had been officially closed and now they were back in normalcy, where there was no opportunity to ask more about herself, or her parents, or the difficulty the Commander had known in his own life.
He led her in silence by the walkways, back up through the levels, past the festivities in the Measureless Chamber, bringing her at last to her own apartment.
“Wait in there. Your parents will come to you when the games are over.”
For a moment, she felt he hesitated, and she could have reopened their conversation, or at least thanked him again, but then he turned away from her: a dangerous, lonely man whom she did not understand.
She herself was lonelier than she had ever been.
EIGHT
With regular intake of sweet petal concentrate, Wailing Joe made good progress back to health, and although he was still very underweight, Hawkerman did not attempt to dissuade him when he announced he was ready to becom
e an active team member again. There was a lot that needed to be done: the polishing up and selling of some of the goods, and a careful overhaul of the tent.
They had seen Snakebite once after his team limped into the Lakes. The Cruiser had gone straight to see Dagman, and it seemed he had got the message, for he had simply ignored Hawkerman’s team when he walked past their tent with a couple of his followers. He was wearing the belt. Hawkerman said, “He’ll have his ideas—be sure of that. I don’t want any one going near him.”
Hawkerman was fretful. His brother had not yet returned. The team went out to make inquiries and pooled their knowledge before an evening meal, talking quietly as they sat under the big tree in the dying light from the sun.
Kean had been paired with one of the mute twins, Wil, who nodded affirmation as he made his report.
“I asked around the blacksmiths. Fireface placed an order for some small fast trailers. The blacksmiths haven’t delivered because they haven’t been paid. There’s a rumor he’s dead, but no one knows who started it. And if he’s got a big team here, all I can say is they’re keeping themselves very quiet.”
Wailing Joe agreed. “There’s not one person who’ll admit they held allegiance to him.”
Barb chipped in. “He was supposed to come back two weeks ago—that’s what I hear. You ask me, when he didn’t, it just all kind of evaporated. They’re disbanded.”
Hawkerman said, “I think it’s worse than that.”
“How so?” Cara asked.
“There’s Cancher—weapons expert. Cancher was a supporter from way back. Now he says he was only working for goods, like some of the others. He’s lying. So my guess is someone’s been leaning on them hard. Breaking them up.”
“Dagman?” Ax queried.
“Someone who can put fear in you. Dagman, Frumitch … any one of the Cruiser teams.”
Kean said thoughtfully, “I guess if Fireface did attack the Pyramid and it went wrong, the Bleachers would retaliate. Hit the Lakes.”
“You got it, Kean,” Hawkerman concurred, “Most here don’t want to shake things up—they got it good enough and that’s how they want to keep it.”
“So we’ll never know.”
“I don’t care about my brother’s crazy notions. I do care about him. I need to know if he’s alive.”
Wailing Joe observed, “The Season’s well late. There’s still not much sign of it coming yet awhile. He could make it back even now.”
“And if he doesn’t? Then I wouldn’t know anything about him till the Season’s over. And if he was dead when the storms hit, he could be buried under the topsoil somewhere, and then I’d never know what happened.”
Cara looked anxious. “We can’t go back out now. It’s too late.”
“And if we did,” Barb said, “you can bet Snakebite would come right after us.”
Hawkerman got up. “Sorry to disturb you, but come night we’re moving out.”
“What,” Kean said, “into the flatlands?”
The rest of the team had been shocked into silence. Hawkerman said, “Not the flatlands. The Rocks. If Snakebite follows, we can dig in there. We’re going to see Skyfly.”
The only man in the valley with any form of aerial transport. The human vulture, who used that transport to search for the dead and take their belongings before anyone else came upon them.
Essa had waited a long time for Bonix and Marran to return to the apartment. Apprehension had consumed her less than the awful depression she felt.
They are not my parents, she had thought over and over, and it hurt every time. She would welcome their anger about her misdemeanors, as reported to them, because nothing—nothing—would change her deep affection for them. They had taken her in and done their best by her. With a twinge of shame, she allowed herself to wonder if Marran would have been more demonstrative with a child of her own flesh. Bonix’s deep affection was far more obvious; he liked to see Essa as an extension of himself, and his reaction was the one she dreaded.
With good cause. When it had come, it had been a father’s reaction, no doubt about it. You would have thought she had murdered the entire Council in their beds. Within moments of his arrival in the apartment, she had not been able to stop feelings of resentment vaulting to the fore as the scene played out, feelings so strong they made her disregard how far she had been in the wrong. How could he reprimand her like this if all she had done was walk around a little where she wasn’t supposed to?
Bonix’s dignity had been hit hard, and he found a great many words with which to express the thought that she had let him down badly.
“Ungrateful … unruly … untrustworthy …
“Shameful … irresponsible … unworthy …
“Reckless disregard … willful disobedience …
“I don’t recognize you as my child!”
Essa had become so angry she wanted to shout, I’m not, though, am I?
He had not given her time, charging onward in a choked voice. “The Commander was generous in the extreme. I put it down to his respect for me and your mother. A single demerit? Well, I’ll tell you, my girl—”
I’m not your girl.
“—I’ll tell you, it’s not enough. In my capacity as your superior, I am going to recommend a period of Low Toil. Then we’ll see if you still want to go your willful way!”
“That’s not fair! You don’t get Low Toil unless you’ve been given at least a double demerit!”
“Which you should have been!”
“But I wasn’t!”
“I have to say,” Marran had interjected anxiously, “there seems no need to make it so plain to everyone that Elessa has misbehaved. Surely the Commander was thinking of just that when he acted so compassionately.”
“It’s not a question of what the Commander thinks. It’s a question of what I believe to be right and wrong. I want it clearly seen that I do not countenance antisocial behavior, even from my own family—especially from my own family.”
“Well, thank you!” Essa had said, tight-lipped. “Now we know all you’re interested in is how it makes you look.”
“Go to your room!”
She went. So in the end, it had been a real family argument. How weird.
And here she was now, lying waiting in her darkened room. Waiting because she knew her mother would come to her.
And of course Marran came, to be understanding, to soothe. She told Essa not to be too upset about Bonix and said, “He loves you—he worries for you.”
“He worries for himself.”
“It’s hard being a parent sometimes. He’s only trying to do the right thing. For you, as well as the city. You must believe that.”
Essa turned to face the wall.
“The work won’t be too hard,” her mother reassured her. “It will soon all be forgotten. We will be as we were.”
No. Never again.
Marran listened to the stubborn silence for a minute or two and then left the room.
Essa turned onto her back and looked up to where the ceiling would be if she could see it. What a day. That defining moment in Grollat’s quarters … everything had altered in a fraction of a second. This horrible fight she’d had with her parents who were not her parents …
And there was no one in the world she could talk to about any of it.
She did not belong here in the pyramid city of Arcone. She was an outsider whose parents had been killed by an unjust society. What she could do about that plain fact, she did not know, but in order to be in a position to do anything, she was going to have to go further with her duplicity.
Yes. Pretend more than ever that she was a good little Arconian. Take tips from poor Veramus, always so anxious to please. Show no dissent, take no more chances, do nothing; be ready.
For what?
Be ready.
Under the pain of her circumstances, a pulse of excitement began to beat.
An hour before dawn, they slipped out from the Lakes. The darkness was no gua
rantee they would not be seen, for unless his character had undergone a complete change, Snakebite would have spies noting their every movement. Hawkerman wanted to make the bulk of the journey in daylight in order to be able to watch behind them.
Making their getaway, they traveled at a heavy trot for as long as possible, slogging on in the growing heat underneath the wispy cirrus clouds that floated above, as insubstantial as breath. Here, where the valley narrowed at its end, the rocky hills that enclosed it were only two days’ journey away, and with that in mind, they had determined to travel almost continuously. It would be harder for Snakebite to mount an attack up in the Rocks.
The destitute made this journey, those who had lost the trading game and had nothing. The Rocks offered meat, in the form of porcupines and burrowing animals, and shelter in caves. They also offered dangers aplenty: landslides; every known reptile; and the caves were home to the big cats, dusty-gray and ferocious, attacking anything that moved. Many of them were enraged with pain, their pitted skins scarred by battle and by the rock splinters that exploded like shrapnel at night, when the bitter cold contracted stone which had warmed and expanded during the day.
By the time the broken boulders were well in sight, every member of the team was leg-weary and gasping. Wailing Joe had no hauling duties; for the others, the trailer weighed more with each step. Kean felt the pace less than anyone else, and Hawkerman urged him to go on ahead.
“Get in among the rocks. Use your eyes. I want a site we can defend.”
It was quiet. His feet slipped loudly on the shifting shale and pebbles. The pebbles became rocks, and the rocks became bigger and steeper. He clambered upward and arrived at an outcrop halfway up the valley walls. The ground fell away here into a deep hollow. He slithered down into it until he was standing on what might make a decent campsite. By standing on tiptoe, he could look down at the team below. Kean gauged that if they dismantled the trailer, they could get the gear up this far, where no one could travel fast or silently. They would be just about hidden, and there would be no chance of a surprise attack.