by Leahy, R. J.
Children are given permanent ID tattoos on the right forearm at birth. You can’t engage in any transactions, including renting a room, without one. I open the door for her. “Don’t worry.”
Tam is my age but looks older and so thin he could be nothing more than freckled skin pulled tight over a bone frame. His head is long and narrow with sharp angles in odd places that give him a starving, bird-like appearance. Disease or birth trauma, it’s hard to say. Both are common enough in the city.
He nods when he sees me. “Room?”
“Yeah, something on the first floor. Just for a few hours.”
He looks at Pen and grins, revealing a few scattered teeth, broken and discolored. “Pretty girl. Bet she’s your niece or something, huh?”
“The room, Tam.”
“Sure, sure. I can let you have the whole day for twenty.”
“Just a few hours.”
“Still cost you ten.” He reaches under the desk and brings out a small vial, shaking out two yellow pills. “Two for five. That’s a good deal,” he says.
I recognize the pills as Pan, a powerful and illegal aphrodisiac. More interesting, I can see in Pen’s eyes that she knows what they are as well. “We won’t be needing them,” I tell him.
His grin widens. “With her I guess not.”
I lay ten on the desk and we lock eyes. His smile fades. “Just being friendly. I don’t mean nothing by it, you know that.” He slides a key to me.
“Yeah, I know that. Towels?”
“Two in the room.” His smile returns. “Think you’ll need more?”
“Two is fine.”
“Room number three, around back.”
I lead Pen out the door and through the alley to the back. The room is small, dusty and smells like mold, but it has a shower and clean towels.
“Go on, get cleaned up. You’ll feel better.”
She touches her shirt. “I wish I could clean this.”
The rags she’s wearing look like they would fall apart in a washer. “Go on, I’ll take care of it.”
When I hear the water running I stick my head out the door. Gangs of kids are working the trash piles across from the street and I get the attention of one, calling him over. He’s thin and no taller than Pen with arms like sticks and brown eyes sunk deep into their sockets. I pull a bill from my pocket and wave it in front of his face.
“I need clothes. A shirt and pants. Something to fit someone your size. Socks and underwear too, if you can get them, understand?”
He nods, never taking his eyes off the bill.
I tear it in half and give one-half to him. “You get the other half when you return with the clothes. If they’re clean and in good shape, I’ll pay you two.”
He sets off at a run.
I sit down in the one chair and close my eyes, listening to the sound of the water. I don’t think I’ve nodded off, but I might have. It seems only seconds have passed before there’s a knock on the door. The kid is panting. He has a bundle in his hands and is looking around the street nervously.
The clothes aren’t bad. Cold from hanging outside, but clean and in decent shape. I hold up the other half of the bill along with a second. He snatches them both and disappears.
The shower stops and I knock on the door. Pen opens it just enough for me to hand her the clothes. “But where did you…?” she starts, then stops. She knows the answer, so why ask the question? The door closes then opens. A pair of men’s underwear comes flying out at me. The door shuts again.
A few minutes later she comes out, hair wet. “Thanks.”
“Have a seat.”
She sits on the edge of the bed; hands on her legs; avoiding my gaze. Drops from her hair make tiny wet marks on her pants. She’s nervous. Maybe a motel room isn’t the right place for this, but with her sister now a celebrity prisoner, I don’t want to risk her being seen in public.
“Tell me about your sister.”
Her tone is wary. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Let’s start with how she got involved with the resistance.”
She shrugs, glancing at the floor. “The Counselors made a mistake. She isn’t part of anything like that. I mean, she was a math major in college. Maybe she talked to some wrong people once or twice, but that doesn’t prove anything. She’s just a bookkeeper.”
Relationships are weaknesses. Use them to your advantage.
“Uh-huh. Pen, I’m not convinced your sister is still alive, but if she is, then she has a life expectancy you can measure in days, if not hours. Now, if you want to spend that time jacking me around...”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are and it’s going to get her killed. So let’s start over. Your sister isn’t some bookkeeper; she’s the Angel of the City.”
She looks unsure, as if debating what to say. No doubt she’s been warned never to admit this to anyone, probably by her sister. But her sister isn’t here. She lays her head in her hands and for now at least, I don’t push her. I need to know what I’m getting involved in and she’s the only one who can tell me, so I let her set the pace—up to a point.
“Abby always hated that name,” she says, finally, lifting her head.
“Then why use it?”
“It wasn’t her idea; those people gave it to her.”
“The resistance?”
A final moment of hesitation. “Yes. But she isn’t the leader, no matter what people say,” she adds quickly. “They don’t even let her do much, except help redistribute food.”
“That’s still against the law.”
“I know.”
While it’s true that food redistribution is a crime, it’s one of the most ignored laws on the books. If they wanted to, the government could arrest half the population at any given time for the same offense. It seems unlikely they would have made such a show just for that. “And you’re sure that’s all she did?”
She nods, and her eyes don’t flinch from my gaze.
“All right, so how did it start?”
“I don’t know, really. Abby…I mean, she’s always been…”
“Always been what?”
“Critical,” she whispers.
“Of the government?”
She nods. “But she was never involved in any groups or anything. At least, not until they arrested my father.”
“All right. Tell me about that.”
“He is—I mean he was—a professor at the Polytechnic University.”
“Polytechnic? In the Garden District? You and your sister lived in the G.D.?”
“We were born there.”
The Garden District, the walled city-within-the-city that houses the Ministry and Council headquarters is off limits to everyone but those with the highest clearance. Even as a Counselor, I was never inside its walls. Now I know why I couldn’t place the accent.
“Go on.”
She takes a deep breath, fighting back tears. She’s proving tougher then I would have expected from someone her age, especially coming from the Garden. “One day about a year ago, we heard a rumor that his office had been raided by Counselors. We called his office; we called everyone. No one would talk to us. He never came home. The next day our phone was cut off. That night Abby came running into our apartment. She said we had to leave; that there had been a purge in the Ministry and our dad had been arrested along with a bunch of others. They said he had ties to the resistance. We didn’t know who to trust.”
Her voice is wavering and she stops to compose herself. I can’t blame her; I’m shaking a little myself. The Garden District? A purge in the Ministry? Just how deep does this rabbit hole go?
“Was it true? Was your father involved with the resistance?”
She shakes her head vigorously. “No, that’s crazy. My dad was loyal to the government.”
“What about your mother?”
“She died when I was little. I really don’t remember her.”
“I see. And Abby? Just how critical of th
e government was she?”
A pause. “Abby has always been strong-willed. Sometimes she would say things that made my dad angry.”
“Like?”
She shakes her head and knits her brow, becoming irritated. “I don’t know. She just thought things could be better. She thought the Ministry was corrupt and that the Council was too strict; that they were the reason the quarters were always fighting each other.” She lowers her voice. “She said the city would be better off if there weren’t any Counselors.”
“Some people would call that kind of talk treason.”
“But that’s all it was, just talk. She never did anything.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“All right, so how did you two get away after they took your father?”
“Abby had made friends with a Blueshirt. He helped get us out of the Garden District and delivered us to some people in the forty-third precinct.”
“Members of the resistance?”
“I guess. We didn’t stay with them long. They kept us in a basement for a few days, shared what little food they had, then in the middle of the night we were moved to another place. Like most of people we’ve stayed with, they were poor, starving almost. I’d never seen people that poor before.”
“When did they start calling her the Angel?”
“The first time I heard that was a few weeks later. This man with broken legs and crutches came to where we were staying and showed her a flier. Said they were found scattered around the city.”
“What did it say?”
She sighs. “I don’t know. Something about the Angel of the City coming from the Garden District to bring justice to the city. Abby tried to tear it up; said it was all nonsense. But the man in the crutches wouldn’t let her. He said it didn’t matter who was spreading the rumors, it was good propaganda.”
“So he’s the leader?”
A shrug. “I guess so.”
“You don’t know much about your sister’s activities, do you?”
For the most part, Pen’s attitude has been one of resigned acceptance, but now she shows a flash of anger. “Abby didn’t want me to know. She said it was safer that way.”
“I’m not sure I agree with her, but all right. How long after you left the Garden District before you became shades?”
“That first week. Abby’s Blueshirt friend brought us to a dirty room in an alley. There was some old man in a grimy smock with knives and…” She shudders.
“How have you survived?”
“People from the resistance found us a little place. It wasn’t much. In the beginning they even gave us a little money to live on each month, but that stopped. Finally, a friend of Abby’s was able to get her a job; nothing recordable of course. Doing books, I think.”
“For Devon?”
“No, I never even heard of him until they came for Abby. I was out getting water from the precinct fountain. She was gone by the time I got back but everyone was talking about what happened. I thought maybe they’d question her and let her go, but then they handed her over to Counselors. I waited and waited, but after three days and she never came back, Faisal came looking for me. He said he knew someone who could help. That’s when he took me to Devon.”
“Who’s Faisal?”
“Abby’s friend; a Blueshirt stationed in the eighty-ninth precinct.”
“Another Blueshirt? Your sister isn’t wanting for low-level friends, is she?’
“He always seemed nice.”
“They always do.”
I stand and go to the window. Nothing about this feels right. There’s no lack of corruption within the Blueshirts—even Counselors won’t trust them with anything but the lowest security clearance—but finding two who just happen to have contacts with the resistance seems a little fortuitous. Unless this resistance movement is more widespread than anyone knows, a thought that gives me no great comfort.
And then there’s Abby herself. If the resistance thought it was important enough to help spirit her out of the Garden, then why let her rot in a station cell, waiting for execution? Why haven’t they attempted a rescue themselves? No doubt it didn’t take the Council long to figure out she wasn’t the leader. Now they’re simply using her as bait to draw out the real leaders. I’m going to have to take that bait, but it would be helpful to know why the fish aren’t biting.
“Pen, do you know who this Faisal works for?”
She wrinkles her brow. “I don’t understand. I know he’s a Blueshirt, but I thought Faisal worked for Devon.”
I let loose a short laugh that sounds more like a bark. “Yeah. So does Devon.”
The room grows quiet again; the only sounds the squeaking of a mattress in the room above us and the noise of children in the trash piles outside our door.
Pen coughs. The silence has become uncomfortable. “So where are you from? I mean, what quarter?” She asks it in a way that makes it clear she’s just making conversation.
“Here, in the Bonifrei. They may not tell you this in the G.D., but moving out of your birth quarter is highly discouraged.”
She blushes. “I knew that. I just meant… when you were angry. I’ve never heard an accent like that before.”
“Pretty much the way everyone speaks in the Alba district. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been there?”
She shakes her head.
No reason she should. Poorest district in the poorest quarter, few people have reason to cross below forty-third street. In a city of segregated slums, Alba is the lowest of the low, isolated by language and culture. The distinctive dialect means few have a chance to escape their lot. I did, but only because someone else got out before me.
Talking about my past always makes me uncomfortable and I divert the conversation. “Were you in school before the purge?”
A nod. “Senior year. My dad was trying to sign me up for University, but I wasn’t all that interested. I’m not smart like him or Abby. I’m not really good at anything.” There’s a weariness to her that seems out of place for someone so young.
“Nothing?”
A thin smile forces its way up. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m good at being nothing.”
“And what exactly is involved in being nothing?”
This time the smile isn’t forced. “Not much. Parties, mostly. Lots of parties. And boys. You can’t have parties without boys. Oh, and food. So much food.”
A strand of wet hair falls in her face and she pulls it back behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I know that sounds shallow. If you want a deeper conversation, you’ll have to talk to Abby. She’s the serious one. She wants a better world.”
“And what do you want?”
As suddenly as it appeared, the smile evaporates and her face crumbles. “I just want my old life back. I want to go back to the Garden District and school and my friends and my parties. I want clean clothes and my own bed and all the food I can eat. My dad’s dead and Abby’s in prison and that’s all I want. Isn’t that horrible?”
“No, but I think you know that life is gone for good.”
She wipes her eyes. “I know. He really is dead, isn’t he? My dad, I mean.”
Yes, he’s dead. He’s as dead as any man who ever died, maybe more so. If he was removed in a purge, then not only will there never be a body, but when they finish wiping the records, he won’t ever have been born. Then again, neither will you or your sister.
But all I say is, “Yes.”
She nods. I haven’t told her anything she didn’t already know, yet somehow hearing it from me causes something to change in her. Her eyes dry up and her expression becomes stern.
“I’m going to take you to my nest in the one seventeen. It has a bathroom and a shower. There’s enough food for four or five days.”
“You’re going after Abby then?”
“Yes, tonight.”
“What if you’re not back in four or five days?”
“Don’t wait that long. If I’m
not back in two days then I’ll be dead. Abby too. Take the food and anything else you need and try to find this Faisal. He helped your sister once; he may be able to help you.”
“What about Devon?” she asks.
“Stay away from Devon. Nothing he does comes without a price and trust me, the cost is more than you can pay.”
She drops her head, her gaze unfocused. “I’ve never been much use on my own.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’d be surprised what you can do when you have to. You’ll be all right.” But I don’t believe a word of it. If her sister doesn’t make it back, this kid won’t last a month.
Her focus returns and she looks me straight in the eye. “Could you do me a favor? When you leave me at your nest, could you leave me your gun?”
For a moment I just stare at her, uncomprehending. Then something unspoken passes between us and I nod.
We take the long way to the nest, keeping off the main streets. I don’t know if the authorities are circulating her picture, but I don’t want to take a chance on someone recognizing her. It’s past noon when I help her down the trench behind the laundry, though the shadows from the buildings make it seem later. The shops will be closing soon. I change into some old clothes as Pen sits nervously at the table and tries to make small talk.
“Why do you wear it?” she asks, pointing to the coat draped over the chair. “It looks like a Counselor’s coat.”
To remind myself, I want to say. But of course I can’t say anything like that. I shrug. “It keeps people away.”
“You don’t like people much, do you?”
“I like a few.”
She runs her finger absently through the dust on the table. “Have you been a shade for long?”
No reason to go into detail. “For a while.”
“How do you stand it? Always running and hiding; always being scared?”
“No one ever said it was easy, but sometimes there’s no other choice.”
“Did you have a choice?”
How many times have I asked myself that question? Mostly when I’m with Reed or adversely, when Devon calls for me. Could I have made another decision? Could I have found a way to remain a Counselor? “No.”