Compulsion

by Perrin Briar

  Siren sensed the waves of annoyance coming off Quinn. She knew that by asking the right question at the right time she could get a good response. Her instinct told her now was the right time.

  “You want to go with him?” Siren said.

  Quinn started. He was miles away.

  “I’m sorry?” he said.

  “You look like a boy whose friend went to the fairground without taking him,” Siren said.

  Quinn hesitated before speaking.

  “If we knew where he scouted, we could do it for him,” he said. “Every month he goes out somewhere and always comes back with a cartload of supplies.”

  “Always?” Siren said.

  “Always,” Quinn said. “But he refuses to let us go with him. Imagine what we could bring back if he just let us load up.”

  “Why don’t you try following him?” Siren said.

  “I did,” Quinn said. “Twice. I followed him, using all my tracking skills, but no matter how careful I was, he always found me. Sometimes I think he let me follow him for a short time so I could feel like I was actually achieving something. And then he would peer over a rock, and come face to face with me.

  “He told me to go back, and warned me that if I didn’t go, they would both head back together and return empty handed, and it would be up to me to explain to the others why we had to go hungry.”

  Siren nodded, but wasn’t sure how to proceed.

  “Greer’s your father,” she said.

  But as she said it, it didn’t sound right to her ears.

  “Stepfather,” Quinn said.

  Quinn’s tongue was loosened by anger, and the need to get the venom out. There was clearly a big difference to him between what was a father and a stepfather. He caught himself.

  “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t be concerning yourself with this,” Quinn said. “It’s a stupid argument, that’s all.”

  Then Quinn’s ears perked up. He heard something coming from the road behind Siren. He got to his feet.

  Siren turned to look too. Greer led a horse and cart fully laden with food and other survival items. He looked exhausted, tired, like he could hardly take another step without falling flat on his face.

  Some of the other locals approached Greer and took the reins from him. They led the cart and horse away. Another propped Greer’s body up, and led him toward the council building.

  Quinn got to his feet.

  “Do yourself a favor,” he said to Siren. “Forget it. Forget everything I said. You don’t need to concern yourself with this.”

  He left.

  But it was too late. Siren’s curiosity was aroused. If something was a secret, it was a secret for a reason, and the reason was never good for those who weren’t in on it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  SIREN had always found that the easiest way to get the answer to something was to simply ask the right person. With the right question posed at the right time it was possible to get the answer to anything.

  She chose her mark carefully, the time too. She decided to approach the chef. His name was Emile. He was well-liked by the community, and was closely involved with the preparation of food as well as in close communication with every inhabitant of Whitegate. She chose a time when Emile was busy preparing breakfast.

  Why? Because a mind focused on other things was more prone to drop the most salient information. People often knew more than they thought. They just didn’t know they knew it. But someone with the right questions could dig up that information. That’s all Siren was doing really—mining.

  When Siren first approached Emile, it was safe to say she felt a little intimidated. It seemed the head chef had a limited vocabulary and needed to shout every other word in order for himself to be understood.

  “Hello,” Siren said.

  Emile eyed Siren apprehensively, then, once he seemed to notice how beautiful she was, eyed her with appreciation. Siren suspected he leered at every young woman like this who meet his requirements. It didn’t matter to Siren. It was all the easier for her to exploit him.

  “Hello there,” Emile said.

  “You’re Emile, the head chef?” Siren said.

  “I am indeed,” Emile said, his chest puffing out with undisguised pride.

  “You’re a wonderful cook,” Siren said, dazzling him with a winning grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything so delicious before.”

  “You flatter me,” Emile said, but he beamed, loving every word of it. “Only a master chef can work with the ingredients I am restricted to.”

  “Oh yes,” Siren said, nodding emphatically. “I thought the same thing.”

  “How can I help you…?” Emile said, awaiting delivery of her name.

  “Siren.”

  “Siren,” Emile said. “A beautiful name. A mystical name.”

  “Thank you,” Siren said.

  “Now, what can the great Emile do for beautiful Siren?” Emile said. “If it is within my power, it shall be granted immediately, with all due haste.”

  Siren sensed she could ask Emile anything she wanted and he would respond, but she decided to play it soft and safe.

  “I’m new here,” Siren said. “And I’ve always been interested in cooking. I can’t say I’m great at it, but I would like to try, and if you have space on your team, I’d like to try it out.”

  Siren had no such interest, of course. There was only one area she was interested in, and that was in scouting, not that she was completely sold on the community yet already. She wouldn’t feel completely at ease there until she had enough of her questions answered.

  “Certainly,” Emile said, his enthusiasm couldn’t have been any clearer to a deaf person. “I can start you out in any area you like. Chopping, dicing, washing, preparing… We have need of passionate cooks in every part of our kitchen.”

  “That’s great news,” Siren said. “Do you mind if I ask a few questions about your process now? I realize I will learn everything later, but it’s always useful to know as much as I can as soon as possible.”

  “Fire away,” Emile said, leaning with his elbow on the counter.

  “Where do the ingredients come from?” Siren said.

  “Why, we grow them right here!” Emile said. “Emile demands only the finest, freshest ingredients.”

  “I mean the food Greer brings every week,” Siren said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Emile said. “From here, from there. What does it matter? So long as the master has his tools, it is of no consequence.”

  It was unbelievable to Siren that Emile wouldn’t question something so obvious.

  “If I were to ask someone, who would know the answer?” Siren said.

  “Greer, of course,” Emile said.

  Siren wouldn’t even consider approaching him. A direct question only ever got a direct answer, and people tended to remember them. Perhaps if she dressed it up enough…

  “Though it ought to be written in the accounts too,” Emile said.

  “The accounts?” Siren said.

  “Sure,” Emile said. “You can’t run a community like this without them. It would be chaos. Every item has to be accounted for, calculated, collated and rationed.”

  “And where would I find these accounts?” Siren said. “Who is responsible for them?”

  “A fellow called Peter,” Emile said. “You might have seen him. He’s hard to miss. Tall, thin, angular and without mirth.”

  “Yes,” Siren said. “I think I know who you mean.”

  The description fit perfectly the man Siren had seen when she had first arrived at Whitegate and was ushered into Greer’s office. If it was the same man, he had been scribbling in a black book in an office next to Greer’s. The black book. Could it be the account book Emile had mentioned? Siren was getting a tingling sensation in her stomach.

  “Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Emile said. “If you want, we can get started right now, and you can help me with preparing some
dishes. We can see what you can do and where we might put you.”

  “Huh?” Siren said. “Oh yeah, right. Not right now. I’d like to check out other areas too, and then make my final decision.”

  “Sure,” Emile said, unable to hide his obvious disappointment. He wanted Siren all to himself. “Come see me anytime. I’m always available to talk about food.”

  Chapter Twenty

  WAS Siren stupid for trying to understand what was going on? Did it even matter where the food came from? So long as their bellies were full and they were safe? No one else seemed to have the same reservations.

  In fact, every person she spoke to looked at her in a sideways manner, as if the question of where Greer’s cartload of food had come from had never occurred to them before. Greer told them he found it in nearby areas, that only one man could reach it, and it was inefficient for more than one man to go.

  Siren was doubting herself and what she was felt was necessary to do. She couldn’t live somewhere when there was a burning, nagging question in the back of her mind. She couldn’t understand how anyone could live like that.

  She thought about her brother Wyvern, who always told her to be curious, to always question and query everything. If something was unclear or a secret, then you must figure it out, discover why it was that way, especially in the modern world, where the answer to that could well be your salvation and save your life one day.

  The rest of the day passed like a mist. There was little about it Siren could recall. The kids played, screamed, and teased one another. Occasionally, they learnt something of use. Siren saw the glint in their eyes when they learnt something, as Bess had described.

  It was a massive anticlimax for Siren. It was a passive thing, something that happened with or without Siren’s involvement, and so she knew she was never cut out to be a teacher. Her strengths lay elsewhere.

  That night after dinner Siren snuck out of her room. She wore black so it would be more difficult for others to see her in the darkness of night. She waited until the rest of the town was asleep and then pushed her window open. She climbed out and eased herself down with windowframe handholds.

  The crickets were singing as her shoes touched down and made a crunch noise beneath her. No other lights were on. She knew the scouts would be keeping a lookout, watching for something that might be cause to ring the alarm. They would be looking inside the compound as well outside of it. There was no reason to assume they wouldn’t see Siren if she wasn’t careful.

  She knew the location of the watch posts and was careful to ensure she was out of sight as often as possible. She did this with ease, and only had to put her life in the hands of fate when she had to make a mad dash across the wide open space that led to the council building.

  She couldn’t see the watch posts from where she stood, but she would be visible for a few seconds as she made the run across it. She was clothed in black and it would help mask her movement.

  As she suspected, the door was unlocked. She pushed the door open and closed it gently behind herself. She moved away and into the nearest room, an office used by someone or other, and waited there a moment.

  If someone had spotted her, a shout would have rung out. In that case, she would pretend she was there for purely innocent reasons—by saying she was hungry or that she had forgotten about the curfew. It wasn’t a perfect excuse, but it was the best she could come up with—far better than the truth—that she had come to steal the black book Peter had been working on.

  Greer, workaholic that he was, would sleep at work. Siren had long suspected it, but that wasn’t good enough for her. She liked to know where everyone was and what they were likely to do. She had quizzed Bess, who was a fountain of knowledge, having been residing at Whitegate since near its conception. She knew the skinny on everyone.

  No shout had rung out, and she hadn’t met anyone upon entering the council building. She was, so far, doing okay. She calmed herself and her senses and prepared to head through the building. But first, she took the time to listen to the house, what it was telling her. She sensed there were a dozen people or so in the building. They were all sleeping, so far as she could tell with what little information she had to rely on.

  She took a deep breath and began to climb the stairs. They squeaked and groaned under her weight. She imagined everyone in the building could hear them, but realized that in the greater scheme of things that was unlikely.

  She got to the top floor and edged toward Peter the accountant’s office. The door was closed, and for a moment she worried it would be locked but, fortunately, it wasn’t. It gave way easily beneath her hand.

  This room was small, barely enough room for the door to open enough for Siren to squeeze inside. The door made contact with the desk. It was piled with papers, messy to her eyes. At the same time there was an order to it that suggested an anal personality type resided and worked here.

  Siren moved behind the desk and cast an eye over the piles of paper. It was clear they were individual sheafs. There was no sign of a book, with compacted paper the likes of which she had seen Peter working on before. She reached for the drawers and began pulling them open, checking their contents. Pens and pencils, perfectly sharpened points. Anal indeed.

  One of the drawers was locked. It did not take a genius to figure out where the leather book probably resided. Siren pulled a pin from her hair and got to work, utilizing the skills she had learned while on the road with Wyvern. It took a few minutes, but then the lock clicked and gave way. She pulled the drawer open.

  Books. But not the one she was looking for. She turned and looked at the room, but there was nowhere else the book could have been stored. Perhaps Peter took the book with himself every day after he was done with it?

  But no. Siren sensed Peter wasn’t the type to take work home with him. He would leave it here, in his office, where worked belonged. Then it had to be in the drawer Siren had just unpicked. She had to double check. She lifted the books and checked each one, removing them so there wasn’t a chance she could miss it.

  But it wasn’t there.

  These were empty notebooks, to be used after the first had been completed. It simply wasn’t there. Then she noticed something. The book she was looking for certainly wasn’t present, but there was something odd with the drawer. It was shallower than the others on either side of it. The reason dawned on her.

  There’s a secret compartment. There had to be. It was the only thing that made sense.

  She took all the books out and piled them on the table. She fiddled with the base of the drawer, but there was nothing complicated about the drawer. Then how do I-? Siren thought, before her hand pressed down on the back of the drawer, tilting it back and lifting it up.

  And there it was. The black book.

  But it wasn’t alone. It was joined with a gun. Loaded.

  Siren felt the reliability and safety only a gun could conjure begin to swell inside her… And then let it go. She didn’t need it. Not in the modern world, not without a silencer. The Grayskins would be on her before she managed to get a second shot off.

  She put the gun back and took the black book out. She flicked through it, checking to make sure it was indeed the right book she was looking for. It was. There were tables and amounts and details written in the margins in a difficult-to-understand handwriting style.

  Siren turned. Her arm brushed the pile of books, knocking the top notebook off. She reached down to catch it before it hit the floor, but she was too slow.

  Thud.

  Not loud, but loud enough. Siren held her breath and listened. She let out a relieved breath of air before she heard—sensed?—movement from the next room.

  It was Greer. He was up and he had heard her. Siren ran for the door.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE DOOR flew open and smacked against the wall. If she had imagined the noise in the next room, then she was certain to be out of luck this time. There was no chance someone in the building hadn’t heard th
is noise.

  But Siren didn’t stop. There was little use for silence now. She had to keep going. She ran for the stairs, flying down them, her feet a blur as she took the stairs dangerously fast. She was not quiet and knew the whole building would be awake. Soon they would be on her tail and she would be in the race of her life, perhaps even for her life. She didn’t like to think about that. She doubled down and focused on going as fast as her feet could carry her.

  Someone burst from his room upstairs. Siren heard the heavy thud of his boots on the stairs behind her. He wasn’t as fast as she was, but she would be damned if she let him catch her.

  Doors opened up behind her, the locals waking up, their lights coming on. Siren would have to be quick if she wanted to get back to her room. She flew down the last flight of stairs and out the main doors.

  She ran for the hiding place she had already prepared: a loose brick in the western-facing wall of her accommodation building, and slipped the book inside, covering the hole with a brick.

  She couldn’t creep up the stairs inside the accommodation building. The town would be awake long before she got back to her room, and someone would hear the noises. She might as well have an arrow on her door.

  She climbed up to her room again. She didn’t have time to turn back to see if anyone had seen her. The moment she was in her room, she closed the window behind her and shut the curtains. Time was of the essence.

  She caught her breath and climbed out of her black clothes, taking the time to fold them up and hang them on their hangers. She paused and thought through everything she had done. Was there anything within her control that she could do now?

  No. She was satisfied she had done everything she could. All she could do now was wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  SIREN lay in bed, listening, trying to make herself look groggy. She was expecting them to come looking for the stolen book, to check everyone’s room… But so far that hadn’t happened. She couldn’t fathom why.