“What about zero caught? Isn’t that best of all?” Giselle said.
“What is best of all is often not physically possible. I will be fine.”
“There’s no good reason for you to play sacrificial lamb,” said Ainy. “What are you playing at?”
“I’m playing the odds—which state that most mornings two guards stand on either side of Quarry to catch last-minute sneak-ins.”
“But what about missing headcount?” asked Giselle.
“I will suffer the consequences.”
“Aster . . .” said Ainy.
“It is done. Go.”
Aster smashed the temperature gauge and the alert bell rang. Moments later, guards ran toward her, but she stood firm, hands resting atop her head in surrender. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for them to do whatever they wished to do. “Grab her,” one said.
They barked orders at each other she couldn’t make out and pushed her along the passageway. She landed against a wall, palms out, wrist twisting upon impact. Her fingers spread out before her like five rivers on a map, ending abruptly, leading nowhere. There was no stopping it, this violent requisitioning of her person, and she let them drag her up several decks to the interrogation room. She opened her eyes and colored dots appeared in her vision. In her periphery, she swore she saw Death curtsy. Guards rarely got so violent that women died, but it seemed they were experts at toeing that line, making you think, This is it.
“Sit down,” said one of the guards, throwing her into a metal-walled room. Aster sat on the provided stool. “Hands out.” She complied. He cuffed her hands to a bar on the table and told her to wait before leaving her in the room alone. After several minutes the hatch opened again and two men entered, one in a maroon uniform, the other wearing a long white coat: the Surgeon. Aster focused on the rhythmic inhale and exhale of oxygen, felt her lungs fill then subsequently empty.
“Good morning,” Theo said. He and the uniformed guard took a seat across from her. He looked at her for four seconds—Aster counted—perhaps trying to tell her something with his eyes. His expression revealed nothing, or if it did, Aster did not know what.
“Do you want to tell us why you were out after curfew, found vandalizing Matildan property, with forged passes in your pocket?” the uniformed guard asked.
“No.”
He slammed her wrists harder onto the table and tightened the cuffs. Aster closed her eyes but didn’t call out as she felt the hairline fracture on the outward bulge of her radius.
“Did that hurt, poppet? I bet you’d like me to loosen those,” said the guard. Aster opened her eyes and watched him. His placard read, Officer Ivsik.
“Poppet?” she said. Sweetie, sweet, sweets, sweetling, dear, dearie, dearest, pumpkin, dumpling, biscuit, griddlecake, cornbread, munchkin, love, duck, flower, rose, blossom, petal, and poppet. “Is that a variety of flower? A miniature poppy?” She thought herself quite versed in florae, but poppet—that was new.
The Surgeon, not Ivsik, was the one to answer her. “Poppet is a bastardization of the word puppet—historically used as a term of endearment for young children, because of their doll-like stature—but has expanded in scope.”
“I am not a puppet,” said Aster.
Theo nodded. “It’s not the term I would’ve chosen for you.” He cast a glance toward Ivsik. “Officer, I will speak with our detainee alone. Dismissed.”
Ivsik nodded curtly and saluted. “Yes, General,” he said as he exited.
“I can remove those for you,” said the Surgeon, gesturing to the cuffs then reaching into a pocket of his white coat.
“General?” Aster said.
“I know Surgeon is a morbid moniker, but in reality it’s simply shorthand for Surgeon General. That is its main usage, anyway.” His hands hesitated near hers for several seconds before he slipped a key into the lock of her cuffs and released her.
“I didn’t realize you were a member of the Sovereignty’s Guard, let alone in such a high position.” Aster rubbed her wrists, which were red where the shackles had been.
“We didn’t meet under circumstances that allowed for small talk. There’s a lot you don’t realize about me, and our association has been brief enough that I haven’t had an opportunity to prove your assumptions about me false.” He sat with his hands crossed in front of him on the table, fingers arranged evenly, purposefully.
Aster reached into her pocket and removed a bottle of aloe, rubbed the juice over her wrists.
“I didn’t plan this, Aster. When I received word that someone of your description had been seized, I understood what happened and came to you to help. I can only do that if you trust me, however.”
Aint Melusine trusted him. He had performed his duty remarkably well only an hour ago. Had he intended harm, he could’ve done so under much less convoluted means. “I . . . I am willing to place my trust in you at this moment.”
“Then please answer all of these questions very carefully.” He removed a pad from the breast pocket of his white coat. “Are you a rebel against the Sovereignty?”
“No,” said Aster.
“Then why did you damage the ship?”
“Because—”
“I said answer carefully.”
Aster searched for the right answer, the careful answer, but like so often with people, she had no idea what he was after.
“Isn’t it true that you didn’t damage the gauge at all? You saw someone else commit the act, but didn’t get a good look at their face, having arrived at the scene late?”
She tapped her fingers against the table and stared at Theo. “That is . . . not true.”
“Do you know what a lie is?” he asked.
She paused in case this was a trick question. “Yes.” It was like her games with Giselle. House. But those lies she had time to rehearse, and still she often messed up.
“Now is the time to lie, Aster. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” She did, but that didn’t mean she’d be able to perform. She would disappoint him.
“Come, now, we must get this: You didn’t smash the gauge. You were going to the head. The one in Quarry Wing is flooded. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s right.” It was.
“That’s when you saw someone commit the vandalism. When you understood what was going on, you tried to apprehend the delinquent, but you heard the guard coming and were afraid. Under no circumstance were you returning from a clandestine and illegal procedure in Mist Wing, and you haven’t seen me before.”
Aster took a breath and repeated the story for practice, like learning her lines: “I tried to apprehend the delinquent, but I heard watchmen coming and got afraid. Under no circumstance was I returning from a clandestine and illegal procedure in Mist Wing, and I’ve never seen the Surgeon before . . . Was that all right?”
She could tell that it was not by the way he bit his lower lip.
“Not quite. Don’t say that last bit. When you are saying your lie, you must remember to not reveal your true actions. That’s all I meant.”
She expected a reprimand but his criticism was far gentler than Giselle’s ever was. She tried not to give him too much credit for it. People were so often mean that when they weren’t, there was a tendency to bestow sainthood upon them. Aster did not reward common decency with her affection.
“Do you think you’ve got it?” asked Theo.
“Yes. I didn’t break the glass. Someone else did. I was just out of my cabin looking for a toilet.”
“That’s what I assumed. Come.” The Surgeon stood up and gestured for Aster to follow. “I have to restrain you again.”
She placed her hands in front of her, and he slid the cuffs on loosely. When his fingertips brushed against her, they were nearly as cold as the metal that encircled her wrists.
Outside the hatch, in another small room, waited another guard, this one high in rank judging by the silver medals pinned to his wool maroon jacket. Captain Lieutenant Smith. He shook
the Surgeon’s hand warmly. “Did you find out anything useful, lad?”
Theo pulled away from the handshake. “I believe this young woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Young woman,” Captain Lieutenant Smith repeated. “That’s a generous title.”
The man appraised her. Aster looked at him right on, didn’t let her eyes wander aimlessly away like she wanted them to do.
“Yet you were still out past curfew, weren’t you?” he asked.
“I was.”
“Address me properly.”
“I was, sir,” Aster said. “Captain Lieutenant Smith.”
“You may refer to me as Lieutenant.”
“I was, Lieutenant, sir.” She couldn’t remember which question she was meant to be answering.
“And do you know what Lieutenant means, pigeon?”
“It means—I do not know. It is a rank in the Guard. You are Captain Lieutenant?”
He smiled, as she’d given the answer he wanted. This was always the case when people asked if you knew what something meant. They didn’t want you to know it. They wanted to be able to explain it themselves, to prove themselves bearers of esoteric knowledge. Of course, Aster knew that lieu meant place, as in, in lieu of, in place of, and tenant meant holds, as in, a tenant of Crow Wing, or, one who holds a lease for quarters on C deck. Lieutenant, then, meant placeholder. Usually referring to a leader. He held the place of the captain when the captain was incapacitated. Second in command. Next in line.
“It means second only to God Himself,” said Lieutenant. “It’s the name my father gave me, and his father gave him. We remember that God is above us, and on the earthly plains we are to do His bidding.”
Aster didn’t nod, because she felt his definition took some liberties.
“Do you understand what I’m getting at?” asked Lieutenant.
She didn’t.
“You’re out past curfew, which is against the law, and Matilda’s laws are the Heavens’ laws. When I don’t enforce Matilda’s laws,” he said, “I’m not enforcing God’s laws, and that is a great sin.”
Aster turned her gaze but a few millimeters to the right, so she could watch for a sign from the Surgeon about what she should say, how she should respond. He gave none. He seemed more frightened of the man than she was. She noticed how far away he stood.
“I was visiting the Su—a doctor. My stomach was aching and I needed to use the bathroom,” she said, her stories getting jumbled because she was a terrible liar, and why hadn’t the Surgeon just been the one to explain?
“Your place is in your cabin. Headcount assures we keep accurate records of work shifts.”
“She apologized profusely to me for breaking with order,” said the Surgeon.
“She’ll still have to be punished. Five days in the brigbox, no food, but I will allow you eight ounces of water per twelve hours. Fair?”
It took her seven seconds to say, “Yes.”
“Then it’s settled. You won’t be tempted to dally again, will you?”
What she wanted to say was, I will kill you in your sleep. Would that be considered dallying? But it was a threat she knew very well she couldn’t follow up on, and saying it aloud would only get her beaten, regardless of the fleeting thrill it might bring.
“Answer me,” he said.
She nodded her head fiercely. “I will not be tempted to dally again, no sir.”
“You should be honored. Punishment is a gift from the Heavens. A chance for us to right our wrongs and narrow the Gulf of Sin.”
He switched from Middle to High as he spoke through his radio device, contacting someone to come escort her to her cell. Theo gave her a look—which she couldn’t read, exactly, but she knew it meant that she shouldn’t reveal that she spoke High.
“I would like to propose alternative punishment,” said the Surgeon.
“Yes?” Lieutenant brushed a fleck of lint off the collar of his white shirt, straightened a pin that had twisted on the lapel of his uniform jacket.
“Since Worstan’s retirement, I’ve found myself in need of a servant with some medical background, someone to complete the less glamorous tasks associated with my work. Scrubbing down operating rooms, handling bodies, filing, et cetera.”
Lieutenant clipped his radio back to his belt. “You don’t think that’s too lenient?”
“I thought as much, which is why I didn’t suggest it until now. But I’m reconsidering,” said Theo.
“Explain.”
“Though it’s not as exacting a consequence as the brigbox, if she were to work under me over a long period of time, she might develop a stronger sense of respect for duty. I, of course, would dole out corporal punishment as I see fit. Frequent exposure to my methods will ensure greater adherence to the laws so necessary to keep Matilda functioning as smoothly as it does.”
Lieutenant paused to consider the Surgeon’s words, head leaned back. “I will allow it if you can promise me constant vigilance against your inner softness. You are the hands of God. You do His work. But I am His head. It’s your nature as a doctor to coddle, but I must be the disciplinarian. In other words, I am the husband, you are the wife.” He laughed, and Aster shivered. She couldn’t imagine what he found worthy of laughter.
Lieutenant stared at her for a long while, then bid his adieu, but it was not the last time she’d be seeing him. He would oversee every day she spent in that brig. He would read her verses and give her sermons. For years after, he watched her, and though he never laid a physical hand on her, he stood by and ordered others to do just that.
For now, though, at the moment, he was nothing more than a curious, cruel man, no crueler than any other she’d met.
* * *
Aster had skimmed each article until she found his name. The newspapers, which Ainy kept to insulate and fill blankets, dated back decades, and it took hours of sifting to find anything worthwhile.
The Matilda Morning Herald
A Boy with Heart
by Graeme R. Porter
C and D deck are abuzz with rumors of “the boy genius,” as he is called among the Matildan medical elite. Yesterday evening, at 21:03 hours, Theo Smith successfully performed cardial replacement surgery on Sovereign Nicolaeus, using an artificial heart of his own design. The human body produces enough heat energy to power the mechanical heart, which is fashioned from repurposed tyranium alloy and medical-grade plastic.
The expected shelf life of the tin heart is six harvest years. Previous models lasted a maximum of seven hundred days.
Smith is thirteen years old and the child of former Sovereign Sedvar Smith. He made headlines one year ago when he single-handedly ended the W deck polio epidemic, creating a vaccine out of the virus itself, putting himself in harm’s way and becoming ill in the process.
“He saved the Sovereign, and for that I’m grateful,” says George Cate, Chief Overseer of Matilda’s Field Decks and food distribution. “I fear that his would-be successors might be too heathenistic in their governance of this great ship.”
The political ramifications have caused a halt to the emergency appointments that were set to take place in five days.
Minister of Medicine and soon-to-be Surgeon General James Fitz is less optimistic. “That we even allowed the honored Sovereign into the hands of a child of such questionable background is unthinkable. I am grateful that things have turned out fine for now, but I question what this means for the future. Young Theo said visions from the Heavens guided his invention. Can we trust that?”
The answer to that question is a resounding yes. Upperdeckers polled agreed that the Heavens chose Theo Smith to be their hands in the earthly plains. The Society for Traditional Values—which spearheaded last growing season’s campaign to decrease food rations to the lowerdecks—has already begun to call Smith “the Surgeon,” a reference to the scriptural verse that alludes to one of Almighty God’s epithets.
When Sovereign Nicolaeus gave a speech over the intercom th
is morning, even skeptics changed their tune. Regardless of the controversy surrounding him, Theo Smith has made himself a place in upperdeck society.
* * *
Giselle said, “Unfair,” when Aster opened the envelope. Inside were a pass and a handwritten note.
Aster,
I don’t intend to beat you or harm you physically in any way. Keeping up appearances. I spoke with Ms. Melusine. She shared with me your interest in medicine. If it’s what you wish, I may be of some help to you, though I know you already must have many great teachers in Quarry Wing and beyond.
However, if you’re up to it, please be in my office at 20:00 in two days, after your day shift is complete and you’ve had supper. You should have read two hundred pages of the first book on the list I’ve attached, which you can obtain in the N deck Archives. So we can have something to discuss. Your pass will allow you access. I expect to see you. If not, well wishes.
The Surgeon
“What’s it say?” asked Giselle.
“Nothing really.”
Giselle grabbed the letter and the pass. “Tell me, or I’ll burn the pass.”
“He will just issue me another one,” said Aster, and slipped her feet into her boots.
“Where you going?”
“To the Archives, and then to my botanarium, to read.”
“How dismal,” said Giselle, setting a sock doll she’d been playing with to the side. “Sneak with me to the kitchens and we can play Queen and King and have a great feast to celebrate our union or something and clean it all up before Ainy even knows we’ve messed with her stash of butter. And don’t worry, I’ll do all the actual work. You can do kingly things like boss me around while I fry up some crescent pies.”
“I’d prefer to use my free time before curfew to read,” Aster responded.
“We could do school, then. You can be the teacher and I’ll be the student, and I’ll let you write as much as you want, and everything you tell me to do I’ll do.”
Aster tied the laces of her shoes.
“I am too old to play school, when I could be attending school for real. I’m leaving now. Dream of us playing Queen and King if you must, as long as in your dream world you still do all the work. Dream Aster is as averse to cooking as Awake Aster.”
An Unkindness of Ghosts Page 18