For the first time I concentrate on noticing their details. This one, the man, has higher cheekbones and a pointier nose than his woman. She has soft shoulders and a narrow chin. Their two children, one boy and the girl that spoke out, are absolutely identical as far as I can tell, and they look more like their mother than their father. I swivel to my right and look at another family. This man has a broader nose, fuller lips. He even seems to be of a less pale white than the other man. More of an eggshell white than cloud white. His neck has more bulk, and his head is more round on top. His woman—wife, I should say—is all angles and points, from her slightly coned head to the slender, pokey fingers that clasp tight to the tabletop before her.
I look up at Tom again, and suddenly he looks completely different from what I think I remember. His jaw is chiseled like Baddock's, and he's got a thicker frame than the others, sinewy muscles. He looks down at me from where he stands, and I want to say something to him. I want to tell him something, but I have no idea what.
Something in his eyes, in the barely perceptible smirk on his tight lips, makes me believe he already knows what I want to say, and that he is happy to have heard it.
"Aaahh! You are here already, I see." The unmistakable boom of Fobrasse's voice echoes around the chamber, and every head turns to look upon its source. "I am a terrible host, to have kept you waiting."
On reflex, I stand. Freda straightens but otherwise sits still, watching Fobrasse like the Subterrans around us. Lupay tenses and seems undecided, glancing at Freda before settling herself back onto her stool. Her knees bounce up and down as her restless feet jiggle under the table. Of everyone in the room, only Tom, Fobrasse, and I are standing. As if I wasn't already conspicuous enough. Now I'm standing like Fobrasse's personal guard, servant to the mayor. I can't tell anything from the Subterrans sitting around us, but it sure feels like I've done exactly the wrong thing. Again.
Fobrasse has swooped into the room from a side hall I hadn't noticed, his dark amethyst-colored robes billowing behind him. He pauses in mid-step, rising on one foot as if he's cresting a hill, surveying his kingdom. The pause allows his robes to flutter to his sides, then puff back up like an eagle's wings as he sweeps down upon us between the tables.
He seems to move with speed because his robes flow and flutter out behind him, but it's several seconds before he reaches the table. From the edge of my vision, I see Tom tense and let out a tiny sigh that sounds like exasperation. How many times has he seen this act? Does Fobrasse enter his dining hall in this clownish, overly dramatic way every time?
Southshaw decorum dictates that I stand and wait for Fobrasse in my place, then extend my hand in greeting when he nears. This I do, but as I lift my hand, he sings, "Sit, my friend, sit!" and flutters one full circle around the central table before alighting on the stool opposite me. After preening himself into a satisfactory position, he tosses some smiles and half-waves to people at the other tables, with mumbled acknowledgement.
As I sit, I try to catch Tom's eye, but he looks with determination out over the room. There's no glint in his eye, and no mirth in his clenched jaw and pursed lips. If Baddock's lessons apply equally to Subterrans and Southshawans, I'd say Tom thinks Fobrasse is a buffoon. I'm getting to like Tom more and more.
I use this moment to observe the people around us. They are all impressed. The children gape in awed silence, and the adults seem cowed by being in the presence of Fobrasse. It seems clear that if Fobrasse ever dines with his common people, he has rarely, if ever, sat with this lot. Not a single bite has been taken since we arrived, and the one baby in the room is absently sucking on his mother's finger.
Fobrasse finishes his performance and turns full to us, leaning in on the table in a conspiratorial manner. His amethyst robe is thin and airy, highlighted with glittering golden threads woven masterfully into the fabric. A collar and cuffs made of pale brown coyote fur have silver threads braided among the hairs. I have to admit that the whole outfit coupled with his dark blue tunic and stark white head make a dramatic splash of glittery, festive color in this otherwise gray and white room.
Through a snake's smile and gritted teeth, he whispers at me. "There is no need to stand in my presence, my honored guest. Next time, you may remain seated, as all others in the room do." He leans back and looks at Freda and Lupay in turn. As he does, I glance at Tom to see the barest twitch in his jaw and narrowing of his eyes.
Fobrasse may be a buffoon, but he's a calculating, scheming buffoon. I refuse to think that he says anything by accident. He wants us to think him no more than a chicken—brightly colored and frantic in manner, but stupid as a pile of corn. His last words were clear enough. Honored guest or not, no one rises when Fobrasse enters. He wants me to act like one of the regular people, no better than the awestruck peasants of his realm. His hissing is meant to say that I am not his equal. But at least, I suppose, I am higher in esteem than the servant Tom, whom Fobrasse dismisses as not even among "all others in the room."
Lupay has stopped fidgeting, but she's so tense that a thrown knife would bounce right off her, maybe even dent the blade. I'm sure she's already counted exits, identified potential weapons, calculated odds. Freda, however, is consumed with studying Fobrasse's robe. I can see her fingers twitch as she holds herself back from grabbing and feeling it, examining the way the metal threads are worked into the weave.
Fobrasse takes all this in, then turns his attention to me. "I understand you are lucky even to be alive, young man."
As this is not the introduction I expected, I simply raise an eyebrow and wait, stifling any other reaction.
"I've learned things over the past few hours. While you've all slept. A well deserved rest, I might add. The most important thing I learned is that you told me the truth last night, and for that, I thank you." He keeps looking at me, but I hold my expression steady. We both know it was Freda who chose not to lie. Freda continues to look at the fabric, but her attention is on Fobrasse's words. If she cares that he doesn't acknowledge her, she doesn't let on.
"I've also learned that your mother, Dane, is safe inside her house."
"You spoke with her?"
"Of course not. I don't go outside." He says this as if it's beneath his position, that he's much too important for that kind of errand. "No, one of our operatives saw her through a window. We believe she is kept inside by a guard, however."
Freda gasps. "The First Wife a prisoner in her own house?"
Fobrasse nods, but he's cut short by the arrival of two red-clad Subterran women carrying trays. Without warning, hunger burns inside me, and my stomach gurgles. The vision of fresh venison and rabbit leaps before me, but when the tray is slipped onto the table, the meal makes my mouth sweat and my stomach turn over. Instead of meat and vegetables and bread, the dish holds three compartments of mush in revolting colors. Here, an algae-colored ooze that smells of salt and sulfur. Next to it, a white mass that looks like it might be mashed potatoes but which smells more like wet sheep. Last, an indistinct, pinkish blob like an oversized cube of pig fat that has been left out in the sun all day. At least it has no odor at all. Finally, the two women set down a tray of what looks like a flat, dark brown bread. From that, a sweet fragrance wafts with a hint of lavender and honey.
"Ah! Fruits of the cellars," Fobrasse exclaims. "You must be starving. Please, eat."
I look for a fork or spoon, but the Subterran women have already disappeared. Baddock did this to me once, and already I'm resenting Fobrasse for it. Baddock took me out into the woods. We made camp, and he cooked a stew of a rabbit I'd snared. I was only ten years old, and I had forgotten to bring my own bowl and spoon. Baddock just smiled with his nasty grin, and I went hungry. I never forgot my bowl and spoon again.
Freda, without hesitation, grabs one of the pieces of flat bread. Good idea. That, at least, looks like a food to be handled. I grab one after her, and it's soft and warm, dense and fragrant. I'm about to lift it to my mouth and take a bite, but Freda tears a smal
l hunk off hers and swipes it through the green ooze before popping it in her mouth. Lupay has been watching us both, and Fobrasse appears to be busy adjusting his fur collar.
I'm not a total fool, so I follow Freda's lead. Lupay looks around the room and then grabs her own hunk of bread and attacks the pink blob first.
Fobrasse, finally, retrieves his own piece of bread, daintily tears off a bit the size of a redwood cone, and runs it through the green goop, just like Freda. Green goop it is, then.
It's denser than I expected, almost as thick as honey, and the bread falls from my hand at my first attempt. Fobrasse pretends not to notice, but Lupay grins a bit. The green ooze dissolves almost instantly in my mouth, but the bread sticks in my teeth as I chew. It's not the worst thing I've ever eaten—Baddock set the high water mark on that count several times in my training—but it's not pleasant. It's a strange combination of flavors: mushroom, salt, bitter lettuce, even more bitter spinach, beet, and mint. But it's mild enough to choke down without much discomfort.
Lupay does not appear to have the same experience with the pink blob. She's definitely having trouble choking that down.
Fobrasse waves his hand over the table. "All this is grown in our underground farms. When the first Subterrans escaped the surface after the War thirteen generations ago, they brought with them a dazzling mix of genetically engineered foods, cloning technology, and underground farming techniques. Sadly, we have lost much of that knowledge and capacity over the years, but we've developed other techniques the ancients never could have imagined."
I feel a need to show Lupay I can handle the pink blob, even if she can't. I squeeze a hunk off my blob in my bread and place it on my tongue. It's awful. Not even Baddock could top this for disgusting food. Although it has no odor on the table, when it hits my tongue it tastes like a rancid pork steeped in sour milk, with the texture of uncooked animal fat. My eyes meet Lupay's, and it's clear that neither of us takes any pleasure in the other's suffering.
"Ah, the delicacy that is our clonepork," Fobrasse beams. "It's a treat that we serve only on special occasions, and on Saturdays." With a flourish, he grabs a mouthful and savors it. I force myself to swallow before I throw up onto the table.
The white glop, mercifully, is almost like normal food. It tastes vaguely like sweetened turnip. Fobrasse points to it. "Rice and honey, infused with nutrition supplements. Not terribly pleasant, but very healthy." He skips over it and takes another big mouthful of the clonepork.
"But I have other news," he says after he swallows. "Unfortunate news, I'm afraid."
I sit up straight, but Fobrasse waves me back. "No no, please, continue eating. I will tell you all while you eat."
Despite how my stomach turns with nearly every bite, I'm grateful for the food and feel renewed strength crawling through my body.
"As you already know, Dane, your uncle is gathering an attack on the people of Tawtrukk. There are only a few that have not joined him in this, and they've moved already to Emerald Bay." He smiles suddenly at Lupay. "Where, I believe, you first met Tom."
Emerald Bay? I wonder how the Subterrans came to name it that when it's likely that only Tom and a handful of others have even seen the place.
Fobrasse continues. "A small group of armed men stay in the main village. It appears they are acting as a sort of police force. They have killed a few Southshaw residents who resisted them, I'm afraid." His frown is grave as he says this, but there's no sorrow or pain in his voice. Faces roll through my mind as I think of the friends who might have resisted Darius and be among those few Southshawans killed. The tall man, my father's friend. Him? Perhaps Walt and Ecco—they've always hated Darius but have never understood how ruthless he is.
Freda's hand pauses for a moment before popping another bite into her mouth. She must worry about her father, who has openly opposed Darius in the past and who was a good friend of my father's. But good girl—she hides it quickly, and Fobrasse seems not to notice.
"They have also imprisoned several others. Including your mother, Dane."
Freda puts her hands flat on the table. "Fobrasse, I heard you say that your people cherish peace."
"Yes, that's exactly right."
"Then you must help us return to Southshaw and stop this."
"I have given it some thought," he says slowly, "but I cannot do that."
"But why not?" Freda's voice cuts with an urgency I haven't heard from her before.
"Precisely because we are people of peace," Fobrasse says as if he's speaking to a child. His voice has turned gentle and soft in the edges, soothing and warm.
Lupay leans in and speaks low. "If you cherish peace, then you'll do something to stop the murder of my neighbors and my friends. My family."
Fobrasse smiles with sadness in his eyes. "My friends, consider yourselves fortunate. You no longer have to fight. You are safe. Here, with us." He opens his arms as if he would embrace the three of us and the table, all at once. "We welcome you into our family. We know you will find happiness and serenity here."
My blood runs cold. Until these words fell from his mouth, I hadn't allowed myself to consider this possibility. I'd assumed he doesn't want us here anymore than we want to be here. "Fobrasse. If you won't help us, you must at least let us go to pursue our own course."
"Dane, I appreciate your concern," he says as he places his hand on my shoulder. His touch is light and warm, and his white flesh looks like the skeleton fingers of Death. "But I cannot be responsible for putting more violence and death into the world. There is a war outside, and I'm glad to know it before we became entangled. Those people fighting... they know nothing of Subterra. We have lived apart for over two hundred years. We can live here comfortably, in secret, for another thirteen generations if need dictates."
He pauses and looks at us each in turn for several seconds.
"I can't possibly let you leave. You might tell someone about us."
CHAPTER 19
"Better get some rest," says Tom as he shuts us inside the little apartment once more.
The door clicks shut. Lupay immediately tests it and declares it locked. She throws in some words I've only heard once before, when she turned her ankle in the ancient well. They sound like curses in some other language.
Freda asks, "Now what do you think he meant by that?"
"By what?"
"He knows we just spent hours and hours resting. Was that some kind of warning?"
Lupay stomps between us, bumping me with her shoulder. "I'll give him a warning. I tell you one thing. I won't be a prisoner here long." There's such determination in her voice, I almost believe her.
She slumps hard onto the lower bunk and rolls toward the wall.
Freda huffs a strong sigh. "Well, you won't escape by brooding on a bed. Come on, we have to plan."
"You plan. Frick planning. I'm just going to kill him the next time he shows his face." Lupay's voice is muffled. This time there's no "almost" to my belief. She means it.
"Lupay, I don't think that's such a good—"
I put my hand on Freda's arm to hush her. "Let her be for a bit."
"Why? I want to get out of here as much as she does. I just think that it's not going to happen just by wanting it and attacking someone. Besides," Freda taunts, "fighting them got you SO far the first two tries, didn't it?"
"Freda, really, let her be. She's been through a lot—"
"Oh what, and I haven't?" Her hands snap to her hips and her eyes flash, her face a ghoulish blue-purple in the dim glow of the moss.
"Well, no—I mean, yes. You've been through a lot. And... and so have I." I don't mean it to sound whiny and childish, but when her lips soften ever so slightly I decide to play it up. "I mean, it's been a hard couple of days for me, too, you know? My father was murdered. By my uncle! And then my mother marries him!" I try to bring forth some tears because it seems to be working, but tears aren't coming.
Instead I push ahead. "And I got knocked out by the Radiation and alm
ost killed by Baddock." Her hands slip to her sides, and her shoulders relax. "And then I had to go through all those interviews and the Wifing and the wedding—"
"What was so hard about that part?" Her hand snap back to her hips, and from the corner of my eye I see Lupay roll over to look at us. I swear she's laughing silently.
"Well, nothing was wrong with that part—"
"Oh really? Then why bring it up as part of your difficult couple of days?"
"Well, that part was—"
"You seemed pretty happy with the whole thing at the time."
"Well, yeah, but—"
"But what?"
Lupay's laughing is no longer silent.
"Come on, Freda. All I'm saying is we've all had it hard. Lupay just needs some time right now."
"Oh, you're taking her side?" The moss is glowing bright blue now, and Freda looks half demon, half angel in her rage.
"No! I mean—"
"Maybe you wish you could have married her?"
"Maybe I wish I could have married no one!"
Freda's eyes go wide, but not with the anger I expected. Her whole face goes slack and her body slumps. She turns away from me to face the door. Lupay's laughing has stopped. The room is silent.
No one moves for several seconds, and I watch Freda's back as she silently tries to stifle her sobbing. Lupay hisses at me, "Go tell her you're sorry, you jerk."
I stumble to Freda and touch her shoulder, but she steps away from me. Should I follow and try again? Does she want me to make the extra effort, or does she want me to leave her alone? I don't know what she wants. I don't understand. My feet are like stone. An invisible noose chokes me.
Without warning, she turns and ducks past me, avoiding contact. She mumbles, "I'm going to wash up," and slips into the water room before I can react. The sound of water splashing on stone floods the apartment but does not entirely drown out the sound of quiet sobbing from behind the curtain.
Lupay sits up and glares at me. "Why didn't you apologize, cabron? Are all boys this stupid, even in Southshaw?"
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