by Bryan Davis
Every word burned a hole in my conscience, especially when repeated by a new Reaper who looked up to me as a perfect model. I kept reminding myself that my running afoul of the pledge was actually good for Crandyke in the long run, but I wasn’t very convincing.
When Noah finished, I shook off the pangs of guilt, picked up the now-completed cloak from Valerie, and laid it over his shoulders. “Have you chosen a city name?”
He nodded. “Cairo. The one in Africa burned, but the one here in Illinois is still alive. That’s where my family is from. It’s pronounced different, but I don’t care.”
“Very well.” I plugged the clasp into his valve. “Cairo, you are now an official Reaper. You are free to collect souls as long as you adhere to the pledge.”
Cairo lifted his hood over his head. “Thank you, Phoenix. It’s a great honor that you came.”
“My pleasure.”
Judas held the tablet in front of Cairo. “Press your thumb in the box. I’m creating a secure Reaper file for you.”
Cairo set his thumb in a square at the corner of the screen. The tablet clicked, and an image of Cairo appeared above the box.
“That’ll do.” Judas swept the tablet away and began tapping on the screen.
“Has he been assigned somewhere yet?” I asked.
“No, but when he is, you’ll never find out where. It’ll be far away and secret, as usual.” Judas shook the tablet. “It’s not transmitting. I’ll have to take it to the office and plug it in manually.”
I bent to the side, trying to see the screen but to no avail. “When will he find out?”
“Probably about a week. One of our head clerks died recently, so the paperwork’s backed up.”
I nodded. Crandyke. So he was a head clerk. He probably did know a lot about the system.
Judas tucked the tablet under his arm and offered a shallow bow. “I have to be going.” He strode from the room without another word.
Georgia hugged Cairo. “I’m so proud of you!” She brushed away tears. “I know you have to go away, but you’ll be like an angel from heaven, carrying souls across the great divide. Those thoughts will keep me company.”
“In the meantime,” Harold said as he picked up a wide-brimmed hat from a coffee table, “we have a week to raise half the money for his weapons and belt.” A few dollars and several coins sat in the bottom of the hat, not nearly enough to pay their share. As was true for other Reapers, once Cairo proved himself and made quota the first time, the Council would pay for everything thereafter, but the family had to contribute at the beginning.
I unfastened Mex’s belt. “Well, Georgia, it seems that your prayers have been answered in more ways than one.” I wrapped the belt around Cairo’s waist. “I’m sure the former owner would be pleased to see this put to good use.”
Georgia clapped her hands. “Will you look at that? We’re gonna do some celebrating tonight!”
I fastened the belt and whispered to Cairo, “Wear it well, my friend.”
Cairo pulled a dagger partway from its harness, then slid it back in place. “I will, Phoenix. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“Just be kind to the people in your district. That’s all I ask.”
After we said good-bye, Sing and I hurried through the neighborhood. We soon crossed a railroad track and entered a retail area within view of the Chicago River. A black man with a five-day beard sat against a liquor store wall, his hand strangling the throat of a bottle partially wrapped in a brown paper bag. I knew this man quite well—Murphy, a regular patron at the liquor store whenever he could panhandle enough quarters to get a cheap bottle of wine.
As we walked by, Murphy stared at us with bloodshot eyes. “What’re you… you doing here, pretty boy? Come to take… my soul to heaven?” He belched, then laughed. “Funny thought, ain’t it? Someone like me going to… to heaven? I’d be a sight standing next to those… those preachers with their poofy hair and slick suits.”
Sing halted and crouched in front of him. “We take everyone to the same place. Where they go from there isn’t up to us, but I don’t think fancy suits will get anyone to heaven.” She took his bottle, set it down, and slid her hand into his. “My name is Sing, what’s yours?”
“Mur… Murphy.” His eyes watered as he stammered on. “But… but you can call me Murph. All… all my friends do.”
Sing shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Murph.”
“First girl Reaper… I ever met.” He sniffed and ran a finger under his nose, smearing mucous. “When I die, I hope you’re the one to… to collect my soul.”
“You’re not in my district, but it could happen. Sometimes we Reapers transfer souls, so Phoenix might let me take you for a ride.”
I stooped next to Sing and whispered, “Murph and I have talked several times. He won’t remember this conversation tomorrow.”
“That’s all right.” Sing released Murph’s hand. “Nice meeting you.”
He picked up his bottle. “Any day I get… get to talk to a pretty girl is a good day.” He nodded in the direction we had been heading. “The other ladies won’t… won’t give me the time of day.”
“Dancers,” I whispered. “A couple of doors down. And they don’t dance to classical music.”
I took Sing’s arm and helped her rise. We walked past a window emblazoned with bold letters—EZ Cash—and stopped at a door—a combination of a rotting wood panel and a broken window.
“Your friend lives here?” Sing asked.
“Yeah. He doesn’t have anything to steal, so no one bothers him.”
“Ain’t nothing in there,” Murph called. “No… no pickins at all.”
“Like I said.” I opened the door and guided Sing into a waiting room. Four mangled chairs and a desk with a cracked top littered the floor, and at a rear corner, an interior door stood ajar. I walked to the door and called through the gap. “Kwame? Are you home?”
“Phoenix?” The call came from somewhere inside.
“Yeah.”
“What took you so long?”
“I got sidetracked.” I smirked at Sing. “He’s not exactly the easiest guy to get along with.”
Sing grinned. “Don’t worry. I know a lot of people like that.”
We walked into the back office, a spacious chamber with most of the walls stripped to the studs, allowing a view throughout. I ducked under a dangling ceiling panel and pushed up a cluster of wires to allow both of us to pass.
In a side room, Kwame sat in an easy chair, his feet resting on a green ottoman with orange stains. Springs and stuffing protruded from the chair’s arms, but Kwame seemed comfortable all the same. “Now that you’re finally here…” Muscles rippled on his forearms, as dark as the chair’s chocolate-brown upholstery. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“Sure. I’ve got some news, too.” I slid a folding metal chair in front of Kwame and motioned for Sing to sit.
“I… uh…” She gave the rickety chair a sideways glance. “I’m okay, thanks.” She coughed quietly into her sleeve.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” She licked her lips. “Seriously. It’s just a cold.”
“She looks as nervous as a mouse at an owl convention,” Kwame said.
I laughed. “Believe it or not, that’s a relevant quip.”
“All my quips are relevant.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I nodded at Sing. “Kwame, this is Singapore.”
Kwame ran a hand through his short hair, salted by his sixty years. “Well, Singapore, I am pleased to finally meet Chicago’s third female Reaper. I assume it must be hard walking in the shadow of your illustrious mother.”
“It’s an honor to be in her shadow, sir.” Sing’s eyes didn’t quite focus on Kwame. For some reason, she seemed scared to death of this man. “And it’s an honor to meet you as well.”
“And she’s polite!” Kwame grinned. “Well, I must say that Phoenix’s prospects are looking
up. I’ve been telling him for a year to find a girlfriend, but he’s more concerned about hearing the death alarms than about soothing his lonely heart.”
I waved a hand. “Kwame, I never said I was lone—”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your eyes. You need a sweet young lady to kiss away the shadows of death.” Kwame folded his hands in his lap. “Now tell me your news, and then I’ll tell you mine.”
For the next few minutes, I related our story—from the time I heard Molly’s alarm to our return from the Gateway, including the Fitzpatricks’ sentencing to the camp, Alex’s proposal for me to help with a reaping, Mex’s death, and our idea to infiltrate the corrections camp to rescue the family. At times Sing gave me a nudge, warning me not to provide some of the details, but she didn’t know Kwame like I did. He wouldn’t be on Alex’s side.
When I finished, Kwame pressed his fingers together. “So you need Sing to be in two places at once—at the camp with you and in her district responding to death alarms. That is a difficult obstacle.”
“Difficult?” I laughed under my breath. “Get real, Kwame. It’s impossible. We’ll have to come up with—”
“Oh, it’s not impossible.” He nodded toward my shoulder. “You have Mex’s cloak. All you need is a courageous young person who is willing to masquerade as Singapore. That person can let herself be seen in Sing’s district, and she can rely on the gossip network rather than death alarms. When she learns of an impending death, she can contact the real Sing to handle the reaping.”
“Or contact a roamer if I’m busy,” Sing said. “They’re always glad to pick up a soul.”
Kwame pointed at her. “An excellent addition to my brilliant plan.”
I let the idea roll around in my mind. It had merit, but a problem remained. Who would play the role of Sing? Cairo came to mind, but being bald and male disqualified him. “Does your brilliant plan include a candidate for masquerading as Sing?”
Kwame snorted. “Do you expect me to solve all your problems? I’m a penniless hermit. I don’t know anyone around here besides you.”
“Don’t con me. You have all sorts of contacts in the Council’s bureaucracy.”
“Ah, yes! The Council. This is true. And now I should tell you my news.” Kwame leaned back in his chair. “We’ve all heard about the crackdown on smuggling, but that’s merely a smoke screen to throw as many people as possible into the corrections camps. The reaping you have been called to participate in is a new experiment, though it is an echo from the past. The Council hopes to flood the Gateway with souls, and Chicago will be the swollen river. Within a few months, this city will become the next Phoenix, the next Singapore, the next Mexico City. In a word, it will burn.”
I shook my head. “Why would they do that? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense if you suspect the Gateway of being something other than what they claim it to be.”
I rolled my eyes. “Here we go again.”
“Maybe it’s time you listened for a change.” He waved as if dismissing me. “Go ahead. Live in your Reaper dream world. You play goody two-shoes by running around trading boots for balms and pants for pills, but at the end of the day you go home to the apartment and food the Council provides, the very same Council that condemns the people of your district to their impoverished conditions. While you sleep, parents sit at bedsides trying to comfort children who cry out because of fever-induced nightmares.”
Kwame gestured toward the street as he continued. “They all have to live in those nightmares every day. You simply visit them, provide the means to prolong their suffering, and then go home. You don’t clean up their vomit. You don’t lie awake at night worrying that their halting breaths might halt for good. You just go home.”
I clutched a section of Mex’s cloak and strangled the fibers. “Are you saying I shouldn’t give them medicine?”
“Not at all. You should try to help. But what you’re doing isn’t enough. You’re watering a lily in the desert. You help it survive, but for what purpose? To suffer more?” He waved an arm as if clearing chess pieces from a board. “You have to wipe away the sand, till new soil, and make Chicago an oasis in the midst of the surrounding wilderness.” Clenching a fist, he infused his voice with passion. “You have to cut the head off the serpent who encourages these people to breed only to arrange for them to die so he can inhale their souls and become fattened by their life energy.”
I glanced at Sing. She shifted from foot to foot, her eyes darting.
“Look,” I said, focusing again on Kwame, “I’d love to do all that, and I admit a lot of things don’t add up, but without proof that the Gateway is phony—”
“Proof? You say you want proof?” He clapped his hands. “I was waiting for that. You’ve been demanding proof for months, and now I can finally hang it on a banner and bop you on the head with it.”
Sing covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.
“Is that so?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay. Let’s hear this head-bopping evidence.”
He shook a finger at me. “Not so fast, my eager friend. This is evidence that must be discovered at a slower pace.” He leaned forward. “Of course you know that a Reaper is able to partially merge into the realm of ghosts.”
I nodded. “Right. I’ve done that.”
“Of course you have. Now hush a minute.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I recently learned that if a Reaper allows himself to completely blend into the realm of ghosts, he can travel into the Gateway and see for himself what happens beyond. As long as he can stay in control of his mind, he can explore the beyond and return with whatever information he needs to expose the Gatekeeper. In fact, I have heard that one Reaper has already crossed the barrier and returned.”
He stared at me for a moment as if milking his own dramatic pause.
“Okay,” I said. “Go on.”
He spread out his hands. “There isn’t any more.”
I stared at him. “That’s it? That’s your evidence?”
“Seeing is believing, isn’t it?”
“Well, yeah, but I’d have to believe it first before I’d risk doing something so dangerous just to see your stupid evidence.”
“Don’t call it stupid just because you’re a coward.” He nodded at Sing. “Maybe she’s brave enough to go.”
“Don’t play the competition angle on me.” I pointed toward the train station. “The only way to know if your story’s true is for me to go through the Gateway and come back. If a Reaper’s done it, why would you need me to do it?”
“Because the Reaper who did it is the son of a Council member. He’s a pampered Cardinal who isn’t about to expose the Gateway for the cruel hoax that it is.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “And exactly how do you know this?”
“I go places most people don’t. I keep my eyes and ears open. The snobby folks who run the show tend to be free with their words when an old derelict like me is around. Their noses are turned so high they can’t even see me.”
“That part I can believe.” I leaned closer. “Do you have a name for this Cardinal?”
Kwame shook his head. “Only that the Cardinal is male and that his mother is a Council member.”
“Okay, that’s something to go on, but it’ll have to wait.” I pulled the cloak from my shoulder and let it hang from my hand. “For now, I have to find someone to masquerade as Sing.”
“Surely you know someone who is bold, brave, and loves a challenge.” Kwame nodded at Sing again. “Someone like Singapore, also known as Akua.”
“Akua?” I looked at Sing. “Is that your real name?”
She slid a step back, her eyes wide. “How could he know?”
“I told you I get around.” Kwame laughed. “It wasn’t that hard to guess your name. Even though your mother kept her maiden surname when she married, it’s a simple matter to search records to learn about her husband. Since your own status as a Reaper allows for your b
irth date to be known, I learned where your parents were when you were born. From that combination of data, I simply deduced your name. Perhaps you will explain my most excellent guess to Phoenix.”
Sing’s lips tightened. Clearly she didn’t want to respond.
“Okay, you’ve proven your point. You get around.” I let out a sigh. “We still need to find a fake Sing, but what girl her size would be safe roaming the streets in her district, especially one who isn’t trained in self-defense?”
“Who says it has to be a girl?” Kwame said. “With a hood raised, a boy could pass for Sing.”
Sing set her fists on her hips, her elbows pushing back her cloak. “Well, thanks a lot!”
“I meant with the cloak closed in front.” Kwame laughed again. “Don’t worry. Standing there like that, no one would ever mistake you for a boy.”
Sing whipped her cloak to the front, a sheepish smile on her lips. “Okay. I should’ve seen that coming.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Sing, raise your hood.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Why?”
“Just humor me.”
As Sing slowly pulled her hood over her head, I studied her profile. Kwame was right. With the hood up and the cloak covering her curves, she could pass for a boy. “Cairo’s about your height, and his voice hasn’t deepened yet. He’s itching to get started as a Reaper.”
Sing touched her cheek. “But he’s darker than I am.”
“Only a shade. With the hood up, no one will notice the difference.”
“He’s freshly shaven.” Sing teased her curls with her fingers. “He would need a wig.”
“His mother has a wig she sometimes wears. The hood will keep it shadowed.”
“You forgot one thing,” Kwame said. “Incentive. What’s in it for him? We’re talking danger here. The Jungle’s a tough place for a rookie.”
“Good point.” I painted a mental picture of Noah’s home. I had gone there to reap his sister Tanya who died of pneumonia on a bitterly cold day in January. It was snowing so hard I nearly got lost in the whiteout, but Georgia’s grief enhanced the death alarm and guided me through the blizzard. With her gratitude for keeping Tanya’s soul from wandering in the storm, and the promise of a private apartment for Noah, we might have enough incentive. “I think I know a way to persuade him.”