Twig

by wildbow

  He did allow himself one observation, however. He glanced at the head of neatly-parted red hair that moved up and down as Ashton walked quickly at his side.

  “Good Simon parts his hair, doesn’t he?”

  Ashton nodded. “Good grooming is a very important thing.”

  They were silent as he opened the door to Claret Hall, and silent for the first stretch within.

  Duncan recognized a face, and waved at a doctor, beckoning. One of Ashton’s. He did his best to remember the man’s name.

  “Duncan!” the man greeted him. “Hello Ashton.”

  “Hello doctor,” Ashton said, obediently.

  “You’ve got a bruise around your neck, Duncan.”

  “Almost twenty-threed myself,” Duncan admitted. He saw the man’s expression change. “Well, not really, it was Ashton’s fault.”

  “I disturbed,” Ashton said.

  The man looked like he had questions. Duncan cut him off at the punch.

  “I’d share, but we’re in a bit of a hurry… George?” Duncan asked, making it a question.

  “Yes. That’s alright. Any reason you waved me down in the midst of this hurry?”

  Duncan smiled, drawing the vials out of his pocket. “Make you a bet.”

  “A bet, hm?”

  “Figure out what these do, then figure out how to fix the blue-yellow. I’m busy with my student project. If you can give me the answer, I’ll bring you guys a lab dinner every night for a weekend.”

  “And if we can’t? We bring you dinner for a weekend?”

  “A straight week,” Duncan said.

  “Doesn’t seem fair. A weekend if we win, a week if we fail.”

  “But you’ll do it because you’re curious,” Duncan said. “And you can take turns.”

  “Sure, Duncan. Maybe I’ll make it an internal bet. Even if we succeed, whoever figures it out last has to deliver to you for a weekend, and if none of us do, we deliver for a week?”

  “Perfect. Want a hint?”

  “For myself or for the group?”

  “You decide. Might be a bit of a red herring, though.”

  “Sure.”

  “Ashton likes it. He really likes it.”

  “I really like it,” Ashton echoed.

  That got a quirk of an eyebrow in response.

  “I might know what this is, we might have done something like it,” the man said.

  “Maybe,” Duncan said, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “If so, we’ll compare notes later? I designed it for more rugged field use, and I know I’m giving you a hint there.”

  “Deal, and you look like you’re raring to go to wherever you’re going. Don’t let me keep you.”

  Duncan saluted.

  “You’re a good lad, Duncan,” George told him.

  “And you do good work, George,” Duncan said, by way of parting, setting a hand on Ashton’s shoulder. That got him a smile from the doctor.

  He walked away feeling upbeat, considering the message in his pocket.

  Others felt trepidation in approaching the headmaster’s office. Duncan felt triumphant. He’d achieved a measure of status, a level of access. He was able to approach the secretary and have her recognize him. A thousand people came and went through those doors, and he was a recognizable face.

  “Is the headmaster in?” he asked.

  “He is. He asked for some peace and quiet.”

  “Emergency. Not a big one. Small emergency, if there’s such a thing?”

  “If this winds up being frivolous, then it won’t look good for you. He values his thinking time.”

  Duncan was already shaking his head. “Small emergency. He’ll be happy to hear.”

  The secretary picked up her phone, pressing a button on the side. There was a pause.

  “It’s Duncan and Ashton,” she said, into the device. “Small emergency, he says.”

  Another pause, and then she hung up. She gestured for him to go inside.

  Duncan silently marveled, not just at the technology of the phone, but at the sheer brass tacks of it all. He could understand investing in phone technology to talk to people in other cities faster than mail, birds, or telegraph could, but to do it for someone in the next room?

  The room had been refurbished, but improvements were still ongoing. Nine out of ten pieces of furniture in the room had been replaced with ones that had a personal touch. A tree now stood in the corner by the window, its leaves crimson, reaching over the desk. At the other end of the room were tables and desks enough to seat thirty people. Nobody sat there now.

  “Headmaster Hayle,” Duncan greeted the man at the desk. The man was older, his hair cut short and well styled. He wore his black lab coat with medals on it like someone who had been born to professorhood. It was hard to picture the stern figure as a mere doctor or student.

  “Duncan. Hello, Ashton, I would thank you for staying at the door, please. I haven’t taken pills today, as I didn’t expect you.”

  “Yes sir,” Ashton responded. He hung back as Duncan advanced.

  “Small emergency?” the Headmaster asked.

  Duncan nodded. He fished out the paper from the envelope and handed it over.

  He watched as the headmaster read it over.

  He saw the headmaster lean back in his chair.

  “Years of work down the drain. Project Caterpillar, lost to plague.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hayle made a face, frowning. He started to crumple the paper, then stopped, setting it down on the table. He very firmly dropped a fist down on it, raised it up, and brought it down again, repeating the process almost absently, as if he could use the light hits to beat it down into its proper, uncrumpled form.

  Duncan waited patiently.

  “The problem, when it comes to Sylvester, is that you have to see things from multiple angles. It so quickly becomes a headache. Misdirection, deception, taunts, deflection, and other forms of manipulation. The things that aren’t said.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did the letter arrive?”

  “Delivered, by a pawn of Sylvester,” Duncan said. “Ashton received it and brought it to me. He was instructed to take it to the other Lambs, but I told him we’d come here first.”

  The headmaster didn’t move at that, but he did punch one hand into an open palm, both of his elbows on the table, then leaned forward. “I hope you never experience this feeling, Duncan, that any move you make will be the wrong move, while you have the weight of an entire Academy and Academy city resting on your shoulders.”

  “Yes sir, I hope I’m spared that as well. I’m sorry you have to endure it.”

  “In your opinion, if I sent the other Lambs out, would they come back?”

  Duncan had to muse on that for a moment. Reluctantly, he said, “If I was forced to give an answer, I would say yes.”

  “That is my feeling as well. Sylvester is slippery, and up until now, our best odds at finding him lay in finding a pair of adolescent boys who fit the description and stuck to each other like glue. Now we’re left looking for one alone. One who has changed behavior and approach, apparently.”

  A finger tapped the paper.

  “Yes sir.”

  “I’ve got five new projects in the works, pursuing what I’ve managed to convince the Academy are worthwhile approaches to Academy science, investing in the brain, but they’re nascent enough the risk isn’t worth it. That leaves me with one project that I could use to find Sylvester. Yet I feel as if this is a taunt. He’s claiming to be off balance and mourning, what better a time to capture him, am I right? All I have to do is send the Lambs to track him down.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “It feels too crafted. The Caterpillar project is deceased. Sylvester is ill and grieving. He plans to go out with a dramatic flourish. The threat is implicit. Whatever option I choose, I face a potential issue. Either I play into his hands, or I stand by and do nothing while he… flourishes.”

  Worried about
repeating the ‘yes sir’ too many times, Duncan remained silent.

  “Take this as a lesson, Duncan. Faced with no right answers, kindness is rarely the worst of them. I want you to go to the other Lambs. Tell them to get their things together. You’ll all start tracking down Sylvester immediately. Assuming he left Tynewear recently, there are only so many stops on the line that are open right now.”

  “Yes sir,” Duncan said.

  “Tell them that Jamie has died,” the headmaster instructed, “Let them know that I know they are grieving, I do not truly expect results this time. They should feel him out, test the waters, and focus more on getting a sense of his agenda and his current plan of action than about getting him. I fear the latter would play into his trap.”

  “That, uh, brings two questions to mind, sir.”

  “Do ask.”

  “The other Lambs can be… singular in their focus. Mary is particularly so, and Helen is too, in her own unique way. I don’t think they’d settle for feeling around the edges when the direct route is there.”

  “You’re not wrong. Steer them in the right direction where you can. Knowing Sylvester, he wants the Lambs. I’m willing to make the gamble that I may lose one, two, or three fifths of you, in exchange for clues about what he’s up to, and I’d rather avoid pushing them too hard, out of fear of pushing them away. Reconnaissance. No push. Stress this.”

  Duncan nodded.

  “The second thing?” the headmaster asked.

  “Ah. That. Almost forgot. What Sylvester says… he’s a liar. He could be misleading us.”

  “He could,” the headmaster admitted. “But my gut feeling is he wouldn’t.”

  “He wouldn’t?”

  “I might be falling victim to him being one move ahead, but to convince his friends that their friend and teammate is dead, when he isn’t? That would take a particular sort of self-serving cruelty, wouldn’t it?”

  “Based on what I saw and knew of Sylvester…”

  “It is hard to imagine,” the headmaster contradicted Duncan before he could get the full sentence out. “We won’t rule anything out, but for now, you can tell them.”

  Duncan nodded.

  “A lot of pressure,” the headmaster said.

  Duncan nodded again.

  “How is your student project going?”

  “It’s going quite well. I’m weeks ahead of my class. Viable life, I can set the ratios myself. I’m already making notes on the brain stage. Not having to rent out or wait my turn for lab space helps.”

  “Good to hear. I won’t ask about the mark on your neck.”

  Duncan smiled sheepishly. “Thank you sir.”

  Keep that in mind as you go talk to the Lambs. Helen is with her Professor, and I know that Lillian is in lab 2-A, likely with Mary in her company. Be ready to leave before the day is out.”

  Duncan nodded. He’d have to pack a bag. He wondered if he should bring his most obedient chimeras.

  The headmaster held up a finger, looking down at the paper as he copied it down, then swiveled in his chair to hold it up to the light of his window. He swiveled back around, then tore off the paper he’d transcribed the letter’s contents onto.

  “Secret messages, sir?”

  “None that I’ve seen so far, but I do have to wonder. I’ll give you the copy rather than the original, to be safe,” the headmaster said. “Thank you for coming to me.”

  “Thank you for the opportunities you’ve given me, sir,” Duncan said.

  With a short nod of acknowledgement, he turned and made his way out of the room. He opened the door, holding it for Ashton, and noted a faint hue on the back of his hand as he did.

  He closed the door behind him.

  “Thank you,” he told the secretary, in a low voice, as he passed her.

  “You’re very welcome,” she said. “Just doing my job.”

  The added very was so important to Duncan, as was the short conversation and talk of the contest with Ashton’s supervisor. He buzzed with the thrill of the little victories and successes, that he’d left both people smiling, and that he’d achieved everything he wanted to achieve in the process. Thriving in the Academy was a question of politics as much as it was science. He’d been good at the science side of things from the time he was little. Being able to tell himself he was laying the groundwork for the political side of things thrilled him.

  He exited Claret Hall, Ashton at his side, and they made their way back to the dungeon.

  “Ashton,” he said. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know where Professor Ibott’s lab is? And can you find your way to lab 2-A?”

  “I do, and I can.”

  “Can you get Helen and bring her to Lillian’s lab? I had a bad experience with her professor, and I’d rather steer clear until he forgets my face.”

  “That’s fine. I like Helen, and I like getting to walk with her and talk with her.”

  Maybe the very first ‘like’ that wasn’t rooted in something environmental that Ashton had mentioned since arriving in his lab.

  “I like the hugs, too,” Ashton said. “She hugs me a lot, and my head or my face gets squeezed against her chest, and it’s soft.”

  “I envy you so damn much,” Duncan murmured, under his breath. Helen’s good points were why he’d gotten on Ibott’s bad side. He’d been invited to the irritable professor’s lab, with the idea that Duncan would learn the particulars of Helen’s anatomy in case she needed field care.

  That had involved Helen partially disrobing so she could be opened up. Given that Helen was an experiment that looked like a sixteen year old girl, and given that she was attractive enough to shame ninety-nine out of a hundred of even the augmented girls in the western Crown States, Duncan had reacted like any other adolescent male might. He wasn’t entirely sure, but Helen might have noticed and made the agony of the situation more agonizing by giving him sly looks, small smiles, and choosing certain postures.

  Bad luck, that Ibott had noticed that Duncan was as stiff as a cold stitched while midway through the process of opening up the experiment’s ribcage. The man had taken Duncan to be a peculiar sort of pervert, when it had simply been a particularly stubborn stiffness from earlier.

  The small man’s words still rang in his ears, and his face burned at the memory of the situation. A man he’d admired and hoped to impress had condemned him and threatened to alter parts of him beyond recognition.

  Best to steer clear of that particular lab for the time being. That was one instance that hadn’t been good politics.

  “You envy me,” Ashton said, as if processing the idea, searching for a conclusion or way to parse it.

  “Hm?” Duncan asked, pulled out of reminiscing and back to reality. Then he remembered. “Hmm. Yeah.”

  After a few moments thought, he added, “And don’t mention that envy to anyone.”

  Ashton nodded.

  He clapped a hand on Ashton’s shoulder.

  They made their way down to the labs and split up. He approached Lillian’s lab, 2-A, a floor below his own lab, which was actually a considerable distance, and he stopped at the door.

  Why did he feel trepidation? In virtually every other situation, he felt so capable, like he was ahead of the pack. But here…

  No ‘do not disturb’ sign. No notices or warnings.

  He knocked.

  He heard the reply, almost impossible to make out through the thick door. A ‘come in’.

  It was an expansive lab. More expansive than his own. Clay models of bodies, arms, legs, and bodies were set up along one side, some with bone skeletons modeled in white to contrast the flesh-tone clay. There were vats of flesh and tables with disembodied parts strewn out. Various drafts of Lillian’s exo-suit, all taking up three-quarters of the lab. Lillian wore only a camisole and a doctor’s apron, her lab coat around her waist with the arms tied. A hairband kept the hair out of her eyes as she worked.

  In the other on
e-quarter of the lab, Mary had arranged something. Pillars and targets, all suspended at various points.

  As Duncan watched, Mary threw a knife. It moved in mid air, turning a relatively sharp left, before slicing along the length of a target that sat with its edge facing Mary. It clattered along the ground.

  Mary’s expression didn’t change as she flicked her hand and arm. The knife reversed course, moving around a pillar, then, with another movement, skidding across the floor to her, where she stopped it with one foot.

  She used her hands to carefully catch the length of razor wire that was bound to the knife, centered herself, and then threw again. He caught the follow-up motion this time.

  Throwing and manipulating the wire so it would catch at the pillar and force a change of direction for the knife. The knife sank into the very edge of the target. Mary froze, watching, waiting, until the knife came loose of its own accord. With grim determination on her face, she reeled it in again.

  She was teaching herself to throw knives around corners. Or the wire could slit one throat while the knife flew into another person’s face.

  “Come to spy on my work?” Lillian asked. The tone was light, not accusatory.

  “If I was going to spy on someone or sabotage someone, which I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t pick you. You’re liable to find your way to the top of the class, sabotage or not.”

  “Of course,” Lillian said. “How’s your project coming.”

  “Almost got twenty-threed,” he said.

  “You didn’t,” she said.

  “Ashton’s fault.”

  “Your fault,” Lillian said, eyes on her work. Her hands made wet, squelching sounds. “There are always more precautions you can take.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it.

  The knife slashed the target but didn’t sink in. Mary reeled it in.

  “She’s been at that for hours,” Lillian observed.

  “It’s fun, learning something new,” Mary said.

  “To your peculiar mind,” Lillian said. “I haven’t seen a smile cross your face since you started.”

  “I’ll smile when I can land five out of five. I’ll do it before the end of the day.”

  “I believe you,” Lillian said. She even sounded sincere. She returned her attention to Duncan, “We’ve been talking about going shopping. In the interest of team-building, would you like to come along?”