by Perrin Briar
Someone gripped Siren’s arm and spun her around.
“This is your fault,” Quinn said, voice whisper-thin and sharp as a razor. “If you hadn’t stolen the account book we wouldn’t have been out there scouting. Meryl wouldn’t have been out there, and we wouldn’t have stumbled upon the Raiders. Her death is on you.”
There was no arguing with Quinn’s logic. It was her fault. But there was one silver lining in all of this.
“Then the Raiders might have stumbled upon the town,” Siren said. “It’s lucky they came across you when they did. The universe works as the universe wills.”
“You accept no responsibility for what happened to Meryl?” Quinn said.
“No,” Siren said. “I accept it. But it could have happened any way. Sometimes there’s no rhyme or reason for the way things work out.”
Quinn gritted his teeth and released Siren, shaking his head like he’d never heard anything so cold. He approached the council building. Rafael stood waiting at the entrance, watching them.
He leaned forward to say something to Quinn, who didn’t respond with words, just a general toss of his hand in Siren’s direction. Rafael turned to look at Siren before heading inside the council building.
Chapter Chapter-Eight
SIREN stood in the only dark clothes she had in her wardrobe—gray slacks and a navy blue sweatshirt. She stood away from the main congregation of wellwishers at Meryl’s funeral. The cemetery was located half a click from town, no doubt in an effort to keep the Grayskins at bay.
Siren raised her eyes to those around her and felt their sorrow. She pushed at it, like a great heavy glass ceiling, as she struggled beneath its great weight. It moved up, and up, and then floated away, into the sky, like a glass balloon. She thought there was a lightening of the spirits of the people around her, but it was probably just her imagination. She just wanted to feel better.
After her encounter with Quinn, Siren had almost run away, but each time she found she was stuck for where to go. She felt guilty with the obvious sadness in the hearts of those around her. If she hadn’t taken the accounting book, Meryl would still be alive.
She kept thinking about what Wyvern would say and do. She wished he was there for her to talk to. He would know what to do.
In an effort to distract herself, Siren continued to read the journal section of the black book.
There were no defining characteristics about the Merchant. He was a man shrouded in black, in darkness, secrecy and mystery. He gave them food, clothes, resources, and provided the care and defenses the citizens of Whitegate so desperately needed. He was their savior, and yet he was a secret, never revealed to anyone save Greer and Peter.
Without the Merchant they wouldn’t have lasted as long as they had. He insisted on remaining a secret. And every week, like clockwork, Greer went out to meet this Merchant and, true to his word and their agreement, always came back with a cartful of food and other supplies.
Siren felt sick and couldn’t read anymore. Something about the whole set up seemed wrong to her. There was no mention of what the service the community was supposed to provide was. It was the obvious question, and yet there was no clue to its answer.
Siren had got dressed for the funeral, and joined the procession outside. Now she stood, looking into the hole where her actions had led to an innocent woman’s death.
Meryl’s demise didn’t sit well with her. Not just because she shouldn’t have died, but because she died for so little—just a book of accounts that told Siren nothing she needed.
And then she realized something. Perhaps there was more between the journal’s lines than she’d thought…
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SIREN didn’t speak to Quinn for several days after Meryl’s funeral, though she wanted to. It would take awhile for him to calm down and want to speak to her, she knew.
But she had a good reason to make him want to speak with her. She could give him something he had wanted for a long time.
For the past two days, every time they saw one another they avoided each other, looking away like they were one another’s kryptonite. But Siren couldn’t wait any longer. She needed answers to some pertinent questions, and she needed his help if she was to get them.
Siren confronted him as he made his way toward the council building the morning after Meryl’s funeral.
“Quinn, can I have a minute, please?” she said.
“No,” Quinn said, not slowing down. “I’m very busy right now.”
He sped up, walking faster.
“It’s about the account book,” Siren said.
Quinn slowed down a little, but did not stop.
“Tell me about it later,” he said.
“And about where your father goes and who he gets the resources from,” Siren said.
Quinn slowed to a stop, but did not turn to look back at her. Then, slowly, he did.
“What?” he said.
“Not what,” Siren said, joining him. “But who.”
“Who?” Quinn said, confused.
“Yes,” Siren said. “Who Greer gets his supplies from. It doesn’t just come out of thin air.”
“Who?” Quinn said.
“I’m not sure exactly,” Siren said.
“Then what do you have to tell me that’s so important?” Quinn said. “You said you knew who was responsible for bringing the resources to our community.”
“Yes,” Siren said. “Someone called the Merchant.”
“The what?” Quinn said.
“The Merchant,” Siren said.
“A merchant?” Quinn said.
“Not ‘a’ merchant,” Siren said. “‘The’ Merchant. With a capital M.”
“Who is he?” Quinn said.
“I don’t know,” Siren said. “I just know he came here a year ago and ever since then he’s been providing food for the inhabitants of Whitegate. You can read all about it in this accounting book if you want.”
Quinn’s eyes widened.
“Don’t show me you have the book, you idiot!” he said. “What if someone sees?”
“Then I’ll tell them what I read in it too,” Siren said.
“You’ll be banished from here faster than you can get out a single word,” Quinn said.
“Fine,” Siren said. “Then I’ll hide it.”
She turned and walked away. She expected to hear Quinn rushing behind her, and though it took longer than she expected, he eventually did. She came to the western facing wall of the community building.
“I’m going to put it here, so you can read it anytime you want,” she said.
Siren moved the brick aside and slipped the leather book inside.
“So what?” Quinn said. “What did you expect me to say after you told me this? We should be grateful for what we get. We should trust in our leaders.”
“That’s it?” Siren said. “That’s all you have to say on the subject?”
“Yes,” Quinn said.
“What happened to you?” Siren said. “Meryl gets killed and you don’t think to do anything to help find the questions you must have?”
“Yes, I have questions,” Quinn said. “But the fact is, we have rules and they’re there to protect us. We might not agree with them all the time, but that is their purpose. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some important business to be getting on with.”
He turned on his heel to head in the opposite direction.
Siren scrabbled her mind for something she might pose to him, something that would be a splinter in his mind and force him to return to her later.
“What could we possibly have that the Merchant would want?” Siren said.
“What?” Quinn said, exasperated.
“The Merchant is giving us food, supplies, everything we need,” Siren said. “Even protecting us. The attacks by the Grayskins and Raiders are way down ever since making contact with the Merchant. But what are we giving in return? What does the Merchant want from us? The book mentions a service. B
ut what service could it be?”
“Maybe the Merchant is a nice guy,” Quinn said.
“In the new world?” Siren said. “I don’t think so. We’re giving him something in exchange for all his support. But what?”
The question hung heavy between them.
“The next time your father goes to make his collection, I’m going to track him,” Siren said.
“You’ll never track him by yourself,” Quinn said. “He always finds me.”
“Better than quitting,” Siren said.
This time she was the one who turned and headed away. She needed answers, and this was the only way she could think to get them.
Chapter Thirty
TWO MORE days passed, and Siren’s feet were beginning to itch. She hadn’t remained in a single location like this for several years. It made her anxious. In the past, she and Wyvern survived by shifting from place to place, like the wind. Grayskins and Raiders never stopped, so why should they?
Siren had been counting her days carefully. Today was the morning of the day Greer would head out and bring back the resources he sourced from the mysterious Merchant figure.
The last time Greer had gone out it was in the afternoon. Siren didn’t know if that was common or unusual, but what she did know was it was the only yardstick by which to gauge when she might reasonably expect Greer to head out again.
Even so, Siren wouldn’t risk trying to slip away when she noticed him heading out. Instead, she would take the whole day off and prepare for when she spotted him leaving.
Siren put jelly under her eyes and stabbed pollen into her pupils. She put on her best sick person impression before heading out to the classroom, where she met Bess. She sneezed and put on an A-class show. Bess bought it hook, line and sinker.
“You should rest,” Bess said. “The last thing we need is for the kids to get sick too.”
Siren nodded.
“If you think that’s best,” she said. “We ought to think of the kids’ well being before our own. With any luck I’ll be up and about again tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Bess said. “I think that’s best. You head on up to your room.”
“I will,” Siren said. “Thank you. I’ll make it up to you one day.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Bess said.
Siren never returned to her room. Instead, she headed toward the road that wound between two buildings that Greer had previously taken to pick up the resources.
She would camp here, waiting for Greer to show his face. She had some food she had taken from the breakfast table that morning. She rationed it out so it would last her the whole day.
The morning came and went, as did the afternoon. Bored to tears, Siren resorted to playing with a pair of short sticks. She was about ready to give up on the whole deal and head back to her room when she heard a twig snap underfoot.
Siren stayed low and edged toward the sound, making sure to keep quiet. She couldn’t give her position away.
It was Greer.
He was leading the horse and empty cart through the wood. Siren had attempted to follow the trail he took on his travels, but he apparently took a different route each time, never taking the same one twice. It would be traceable, but not by Siren. Not with her skill—or lack thereof—in tracking.
She stood up to follow him. And then heard another snap—this time immediately behind her. She spun round. A hand clasped tight round her mouth. She was dragged down to the ground and held there, in strong, confident arms.
She wanted to struggle, to get free, but knew it was futile. Any noise she made would alert Greer to her location. She remained still, held tight to the man, like prey in a snake’s muscular grip.
Greer’s footsteps had stopped too. The tussle that Siren had just experienced hadn’t passed completely unnoticed. There was a pause as Greer no doubt checked over his shoulders. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he began to move away.
Siren waited until Greer had moved far out of earshot before she began to struggle. She was surprised to find she didn’t need to. The figure had released her, letting her get to her feet. She turned to look at who had arrested her so completely.
“What are you doing here?” Siren said.
Quinn had gray bags under his eyes and a haunted, pale expression on his face. He evidently hadn’t slept much for the past few days—not since Siren had delivered her information H-bomb.
“I had to come,” Quinn said. “No matter how much I argued with myself that I shouldn’t. Your question has been keeping me up nights. I, like most of the people here at Whitegate, was so grateful for getting the supplies we needed, and for being safe, that I never questioned what the council were giving in exchange for that safety. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to know. But, thanks to you, I do know now. Or at least, will soon.”
Greer wasn’t within view, and Siren felt a pang of panic.
“Don’t worry,” Quinn said. “I’ll be able to follow his tracks.”
They headed through the foliage in the direction Greer had gone. Siren wouldn’t have known if they were heading in the right direction or not, but Quinn seemed certain about which way to go.
Every so often he checked a snapped twig or sniffed at some overturned soil. They kept heading forward, going straight. The good news was he never hesitated, not even for a second. He always knew they were heading in the right direction.
Greer appeared to be a very cautious fellow and doubled back on himself multiple times, making false trails and generally making life a hassle for anyone who attempted to follow him.
Then he stopped altogether. He took out a box and began to eat. He’d stopped just beyond the bluff of a hill. They had caught up with him, and were now very close. Too close. Quinn and Siren were perched behind a large rock and couldn’t even whisper for fear Greer would overhear them.
Quinn had attempted to follow Greer twice in the past, but each time met with failure. It was as if Greer had a sixth sense, always knowing when someone was following him.
Greer finished eating, put the box away and, instead of heading toward the grazing horse, headed directly for their location.
Quinn stiffened, and Siren could understand why. They had entered a trap. Greer had chosen this spot on purpose. The bluff of hill meant pursuers couldn’t see he had stopped, and give them time to catch up. He knew that if anyone was following him, they would hide behind this rock. They couldn’t attempt an escape, or risk being seen anyway. A perfect checkmate maneuver.
Greer’s footsteps approached their position. Quinn bowed his head, prepared for the lambast he would receive—again. Siren, with nothing to do but hope for the best—did exactly that.
She shut her eyes and whispered to herself, “Don’t see us, don’t see us, please, don’t see us…”
Greer’s heavy footfalls got so close Siren fancied she could smell his aftershave. He leaned over the rock and stared directly at Siren, who was peering back at him. Quinn had his eyes shut tight, preparing himself for the berating he was sure to receive.
Greer’s eyes moved left to right and saw… nothing. He grunted, certain he ought to have seen something, before turning to head back toward where he had come from. Then he picked up the horse’s reins, clucked out the corner of his mouth, and led the cart away.
Siren was panting, out of breath, out of shock at what had just happened. Quinn opened his eyes and peered around at his surroundings, surprised to find Greer wasn’t perched over him, glaring the way he so often did. He peered over the boulder to see the horse’s fleeting back, heading away.
“What happened?” Quinn said. “Why aren’t we dead?”
“He didn’t see us,” Siren said.
“Didn’t see us?” Quinn said. “How could he not see us?”
Siren didn’t know. She didn’t have an answer for that. She only knew that he hadn’t. And yet… She thought she had felt something deep inside her, something that gave her goosebumps she couldn’t fully explain. It hadn’t been t
he first time she’d felt it, but it was the first time in a long time she had noticed it, simply due to the fact it felt so much stronger than it had before. But what was it? Fear? Or something else?
“We need to get moving,” Siren said. “Or we’re going to lose him.”
Chapter Thirty-One
NOW THAT they had apparently passed Greer’s most difficult test, it was smooth sailing. Quinn turned his attention outward, ensuring both Raiders and Grayskins were not on their tail. After overcoming Greer’s tricks, the last thing they wanted was to be jumped on.
Without preamble, Greer came to a stop. He was talking with someone on the other side of the foliage. When Siren and Quinn peered out, they could make out half a dozen Raiders, and a cart laden with food.
“We were beginning to get a little impatient,” a Raider said. “We thought maybe you might not show up this time.”
“I had to make sure I wasn’t followed,” Greer said.
“And were you?” the Raider said.
“I would hardly be here otherwise now, would I?” Greer said.
“You ought to watch your tone,” the Raider said with a growl. “The Merchant wants to know when you’ll deliver on your promise. It’s been a year already and no sign.”
“Tell him it’s only a matter of time,” Greer said. “Someone with the Skill will come.”
“You’ve been saying that for a long time,” the Raider said. “I know if it were me, you wouldn’t be allowed to do this, especially not for this long. You and your community would all be buried six feet under.”
“Then it’s a good job you’re not in charge, isn’t it?” Greer said.
The Raider growled, something that belonged to a wild animal, not the throat of a man.
Something about the Raider’s voice plucked Siren’s memory. She peeked over the side of the log she was hiding behind. Her eyes widened and she lowered back out of sight.
Greer was talking with Hell’s Angel.
Chapter Thirty-Two