“Exactly,” Tale replied.
“Huh?”
She turned her chair around to face him. “Exactly, Denver, I'm working, and your incessant whistling and pottering about isn't helping.”
Denver didn't seem to get the hint as he grabbed a chair and settled himself down.
“What's this one?” he asked.
Tale sighed. “Another theory, although this one's a little better thought through than the others. Rather than just ignoring it because it doesn't fit their idea, they've actually addressed the question of why the girl boy birth ratio is perfectly normal in the slums, but totally out of balance in the rest of Falside.”
“How's that?”
“What's one of the major things that slums don't have that we do?”
Denver shrugged.
“A shared water supply,” Tale said. “In the slums they largely use rainwater, or some people filter river water. But up here, one water supply controlled by the administration. So if they found a way, chemically, to restrict the production of sperm carrying the X chromosome, and administered it through our drinking water, the slums would be unaffected.”
“Do you think they have the knowledge and the technology to create something like that?”
“Who knows? I've never heard of anything like that, but no one knows what goes on up in The Eye. They could be doing all sorts.”
“But this? It's a bit science fiction, isn't it?”
“Once upon a time the car was science fiction, or the computer. Remember, as a population, we've regressed. We've abandoned technology and chosen to move backwards.”
“Because the administration spied on us twenty four seven.”
“Exactly.” Tale leaned back in her chair. “Maybe that was their plan all along. We've forgotten just how far, technologically, humans had come, and how fast we were developing. I mean, look at this.” She pulled back her wrist to reveal her ID stamp, embedded deep into her skin. “A century ago, this was science fiction. We've forgotten just how much humans are capable of.”
Denver frowned, processing his thoughts. “Still, it could just be another crazy theory.”
“Absolutely.”
“Besides, why would any leadership want to vigorously control the weaker half of the population?”
Tale grinned and stood up. She patted Denver on the shoulder as she made her way to the kettle for a caffeine refill.
“My poor dumb boy, because women aren't the weaker sex. We create life, and that makes us both all-powerful, and completely terrifying. We can do something men couldn't even physically survive. If you control women, you control the birth rate. And if you control that, you control the whole population.”
Tale waited for the kettle to boil, drumming her fingers against the worktop.
“And you find my whistling annoying,” Denver said.
“This is caffeine-induced, yours is just your annoying personality.” Tale grinned over her shoulder at him, but she was only half joking.
“Let's see what other crazy batshit came in the post today then.” Denver grabbed the pile of post and looked through it, shuffling the envelopes like a deck of cards. Discarding the letters back to the desk, he turned the parcel over in his hands.
Tale watched him with increasing infuriation. Thankfully the kettle clicked, and her mug was filled with a drug-induced cheery mood. Well, as cheery as her mood ever got.
She turned back to Denver who appeared to be sniffing the package. She strode over, and snatched it from his hands.
“God only knows where that's been. Go and wash your damn face. Besides, this is my post.”
“It feels like a book,” Denver said, as if that gave him some kind of ownership over it.
“Oh, that's why you've got all excited and sweaty.” She dropped it onto the desk. “Maybe I'll open it later.” She enjoyed watching him, quite literally, squirm in his seat. She sipped at her coffee, blowing the steam from the top of it.
“Does it really pain you that much?” she asked.
“It's a book, a book. How can it not pain you?”
Tale grinned and put down her mug. She picked up the packet and turned it over. There was nothing written on the back, and only Asteria written on the front. It had been hurriedly written; the word fading into no more than a squiggle. She shook it.
“It's a book,” Denver cried.
“Alright, alright.” Tale slipped her thumb under the flap and pulled the glue apart. She slid it out into her hand. It was a hard-back notebook, dark blue. She looked into the envelope and pulled out a note. “You have what you wanted. Never come to my house again,” she read.
“Is it that woman's diary?” Denver asked. “The one that was meant to meet Kerise.”
Tale flipped the book open and scanned a few pages. “Looks like it.”
“What does it say?” Denver rose from his chair, trying to peer at it.
Tale twisted away from him and flipped further through. “This is going to take a while to decipher. The woman wasn't kidding, it really is just snippets and random thoughts. Oh, here's Maeve's name. And her uncle. Yeah, this is going to be a long job.”
“Do you need some help?”
The last thing Tale wanted was to spend the rest of the day with Denver sat next to her. He oozed happiness, it radiated from him like heat waves. But she was behind schedule with the current issue, and this diary was a distraction she didn't need.
“Alright,” she conceded. “But you should find Kerise, she's going to want to see this.”
45
Lino Calderon had buried his wife less than a year ago. She died of tuberculosis, leaving him to raise their four year old daughter alone.
His daughter was the absolute image of his late wife, and she grew more like her every day. Lino worshipped her, keeping his wife's memory alive in her innocent and curious eyes.
Still grieving his loss, Lino was an over-protective and cautious parent, forever telling his daughter what she couldn't do, couldn't touch, couldn't put in her mouth. He was a regular at the doctor's surgery, always worried about something with his daughter. A rash, tiredness, tantrums, grazed knees. But the doctor was sympathetic, and always took the time to reassure him, rather than simply sending him away.
That morning, Lino's daughter woke with a cough. Terrified that it was tuberculosis, Lino hurried her to the doctor.
It so happened that the doctor's eldest daughter was getting married. It was something they never imagined would happen. She was a plain girl, with little personality and no hobbies or interests, and all of her younger sisters had been married several years already.
He had taken a rare day off work for the joyous family occasion.
Lino was offered a different doctor. This doctor was far younger, and an argument with his wife this morning had left him feeling on edge, and impatient. He swiftly sent Lino away with a severe reprimand for having wasted his time.
Desperate with worry, Lino had stopped by the apothecary shop and purchased a particularly expensive bottle of medicine. The apothecary had assured him that he would get no better cure for tuberculosis.
When Lino arrived home with his daughter, he put her straight to bed, and gave her a generous dose of medicine. He then cleaned and tidied the kitchen; a habit that always calmed his nerves, as it had his mother before him.
Over the clattering of pots and pans, and the chinking of crockery, he didn't hear his daughter suffocating.
When he checked on her an hour later, she was as cold and dead as winter.
April Terrell hadn't meant to get pregnant. She hadn't even meant to fall in love, particularly with her married boss. But he was older, sophisticated, and knew all the right things to say. In fact, he had said all the right things to his previous six secretaries.
April had spent her youth with her nose in books. Her mother had always told her that no good would ever come of all that reading, but she devoured stories like they were the only things keeping her alive. She loved the way eve
ryone lived happily ever after, and came to believe that she would live happily ever after herself. How could she not? Everyone did.
Sadly, her mother had been right. April had grown into a naïve woman who was too quick to trust. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and she fell in love hard and fast. Despite many heartbreaks over the years, she had failed to develop any sense of cynicism or cautiousness.
That, in itself, should be a beautiful thing and, in a perfect world, we should all live like that. But this was not a perfect world, and there were always people willing to take advantage of people like April.
When April had informed her boss of her situation, he had gone through a series of emotions. At first he denied it, accusing her of cheating, of sleeping around. Then he grew fearful, followed by anger, but when the bruise he left on her cheekbone began to darken, he moved into guilt and regret.
Fearful that his wife would find out about yet another misdemeanour, he explained that he would have to ask April to quit. He promised her a sizeable severance packet, and hush money, on the understanding that she sign a non-disclosure agreement absolving him of any parental duty.
Certain that this was brought on by fear, April signed it, and took the money, convinced that they would tear it up when he finally got over the shock, saw sense, and left his wife for her.
Seven months on, she still hadn't heard from him, and she was beginning to think he might not see sense after all.
She was already an attentive and loving mother, following strict health, exercise, and dietary regimes to assure the very best start for her unborn child. She talked to it, sang to it, and that baby was her entire world. She couldn't wait to meet it.
Throughout the pregnancy, April had suffered from worsening heartburn, and had added so many extra pillows to her bed that she was almost sleeping upright. The only thing to soothe it was milk, but this wasn't cheap in the slums. Falside's rocky terrain made it difficult to graze cows, and most of the city's milk supply was imported.
April's severance pay was beginning to run out, and she could no longer afford to buy the generous milk supply she needed. After four days of sleepless nights, she sought the help of an apothecary, who sold her medicine to relieve her heartburn.
Sleep deprived and exhausted, April fell into a deep sleep with her stomach full of medicine. She never woke up.
She was found two days later by her neighbour who popped in now and again to check on her. The neighbour didn't know her well enough to say for sure if she had any family that needed to be informed. She put a notice in the local paper, but it went unanswered.
46
Harris had been stood outside the abbot's door for almost half an hour trying to pluck up the courage to knock on it.
He had run the conversation through his head a hundred times, all with different outcomes, ranging from joyous hugs and congratulations, to either himself or the abbot ending up dead.
Harris raised his hand again, and drew Maeve's face into his mind. This time, his hand made contact with the wood, albeit lightly. He waited, hoping the abbot hadn't heard him knock.
“Come,” bellowed a voice from within.
The abbot was one of the oldest men Harris had ever seen. His face was like a used, dried teabag, topped with just a dusting of hair, but finished off with a long and wiry beard. The beard almost entirely obscured the man's mouth, and curled up around his nose as if it hoped to, one day, join with his impressive eyebrows.
“Father Harris,” the abbot said, not rising from his seat.
Harris wondered how many years he'd been stuck in that chair.
“Abbot.” Harris bowed his head. “I come to you with a distressing confession that I can no longer keep to myself.”
The abbot gestured to the chair, and Harris sat.
“I need to confess to you of a sin I committed seventeen years ago, when I was just a novice here.”
The abbot leaned forward. Something creaked, but Harris wasn't sure if it was the chair, or the old man's spine.
“Abbot, I have a daughter.”
The abbot coughed. The cough got worse, until the old man was convulsing with it. Harris picked up a glass of water from the desk, but the abbot shooed it away.
When he stopped coughing, Harris caught sight of his teeth amongst the overgrown beard, and wondered if the man had, in fact, been laughing.
“Congratulations,” he said. “At least you managed to produce a girl.”
“I'm not in trouble?” Harris asked.
The abbot shook his head. “Most of the monks have a child running around somewhere, more than one in most cases. I myself am the father of an impressive hoard of bastards. But—” The abbot pushed his forefinger against the top of the desk. “—I must be seen to do something. Keep up appearances.”
“I understand.”
“I think some time of silent prayer and reflection will be suitable. And some charitable work, perhaps a children's charity. Be seen. Be remorseful. Let people know that you are keen to repay your debt.”
“Can I bring my daughter to The Hope?”
The abbot nodded slowly. “Be discreet. I don't require you to lie about her paternity, but don't shout about it. Keep her out of church business, and offer her no perks. That should do fine.”
“Thank you, Abbot.” Harris bowed his head.
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
The abbot gestured towards the door.
Harris stood and smoothed down his habit. He bowed again and crossed to the door. As he pulled it open, the abbot spoke again.
“Perhaps one day you'll confess to me about the dead hooker you buried in the garden. Or why you dug her back up again.”
Harris walked into the apothecary, headed for the hall without even glancing at Lou.
“Back again?” Lou said. “And not even a hello this time?”
Harris stopped, and turned to him. “I am trying to build a relationship with my daughter.”
“So, is this going to be a weekly thing now? Just so that I know. I could roll out the red carpet next time.”
“Shut up, Louis.” Harris moved for the door, but stopped when Lou spoke again.
“I don't think she'll want to see you.”
Harris turned back to him, and folded his arms across his chest. “And what do you know about what she wants?”
“Because I had to listen to her bloody crying all night after the last time you were here. It was a very short lunch, Harris.”
“Watch out, you almost sound like you care.”
Lou grinned. “What's all this self-righteousness? Turned over a new leaf, have we? Rediscovered God?”
“I'm trying to put things right with my daughter.”
“You mean the daughter you dumped with me seventeen years ago and didn't bother about until the other week? That daughter? Selene's blood is on your hands too, don't you forget that.”
Harris lowered his arms, slipping his hands behind his back. “I've not forgotten.”
Lou huffed. “Is that man still outside?”
“What man?”
“Shouting nonsense about me being a murderer or something. Just some crazy arse. Bad for business though.”
Harris smiled. “He's there. And he's picked up a few new disciples too.”
As Lou rushed to the window, Harris continued through to the hall and up the stairs.
He tapped on Maeve's door. “I have a big apology to make, don't I?”
There was movement inside the room, the creak of the bed. “I wouldn't bother,” came Maeve's voice from the other side of the door.
“I thought we could go and buy a bolt for your door. There's a nice little hardware shop up on The Hope.”
“Did you honestly think it would be that easy?”
“I told the abbot about you.”
“Excuse me if I don't applaud.”
“I want to take you to the monastery and introduce you to everyone. I want to show off my beautiful daughter.”
The door opened a crack. “It's my forgiveness you're meant to be seeking, not the abbot's.”
“That's what I'm trying to do.”
“Too late.”
“Then tell me what I need to do.”
“I shouldn't have to.”
Harris rolled his eyes. “We'll do whatever you want on The Hope. Get coffee, eat chocolate, have a meal. I'll show you the monastery gardens. Most people don't get to see them.”
The door opened a little further. “You're bribing me with sweets? I'm not six anymore.”
Harris placed his hand on the door and gently pushed it open further. “I know you're not. But I owe you a whole lifetime's worth.”
Harris poked his head into the room. Maeve had moved to the far wall.
“I screwed up. Big time. Again. I'm a crap father, and I always have been. But if you'll let me try to make it up to you, I'd like the chance to do that.”
Maeve turned away, and looked out of the window.
“What else would you be doing today?”
Maeve shrugged, and turned back to him. “You're on probation.”
“Of course, of course.” He held his hand out to her. After a moment, she crossed the room, and let him help her over the bed. As she climbed back down, he caught sight of dark bruises up her legs. She saw him looking.
“Courtesy of my uncle.”
“Let's get you out of here.”
47
Maeve felt a lot safer now that she had a bolt on her door. Uncle Lou had stopped opening the shop. There hadn't been any custom for several days, and the hoard of angry people outside was growing steadily. They shouted and screamed all day, accusing Lou of being a murderer, using hemlock to poison innocent people. She could hear Lou pacing around the house, she could feel his frustration growing. He couldn't risk facing the mob outside.
Maeve crossed to the window and looked down. There were even more of them today, and some of them had brought improvised weapons; wooden batons, chair legs, bricks. One of them threw something at the door, the thud shaking up through the building. Maeve looked down and saw red paint splattered everywhere.
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