by wildbow
“We’re running low on food,” she said.
“I know we’re running low on food,” I said. “Run into town later today.”
A dozen different students perked up at that. Some dropped what they were doing to turn my way and start to approach.
“Before anyone asks, no runs into town until later this week, all seats on today’s carriage are spoken for,” I announced to the room. “We’re keeping a low profile. If you want something, leave the wishlist and the money with Rudy. We’ll see if we can cheat something in the month or week before we move elsewhere.”
In the spring, I thought.
That announcement was enough to forestall the cluster of ex-students who would have tried to bother me.
The building adjunct to the big ‘house had a neat aesthetic. The far wall was all grown wood, and it had grown in rough, like a forest with trees nesting in so close to one another that there were no gaps between them. Skulls from beasts that had been hunted, animals from the slaughterhouse, feral wolves and dogs, and one battle-scarred skull of a warbeast hung along one wall. Furniture, admittedly scarce throughout the town, had been collected from various buildings and gathered here, so there was one room at least that was functional. The second and third floors were only half-floors, with railings overlooking the meeting room and the wall of skulls ranging from fist-sized to the one-hundred-and-fifty-pound warbeast skull.
Jessie was on the second floor, sitting in an armchair by the window and the fire, with a blanket around her.
I set my cup of tea down, adjusted the blanket, posed one cup in her lap, and used my free hand to put her hands around it.
She stirred awake at the warmth. Her eyes went straight to the clock on the wall. It was next to a wall-mounted fish that had suffered badly for the years of neglect since Sedge’s occupants had left and we had arrived. There was none of the false life that a good taxidermist managed. This was a very clearly dead, dessicated fish corpse, once nice and now horrifying, mounted on a plaque and set on the wall.
“Crummy day to go into the city,” I commented. “You and Bubbles have the right idea.”
“The credit goes to Bubbles,” Jessie said, curling up more.
I sat on the arm of the armchair and Jessie leaned against my leg.
Stacking the biscuits on one side of my knee, I freed my hand to open my notebook. “Lab one is underway, they already have their list of things to buy. Lab two will get us the list before noon. We can grab lunch to go and head into the city. Touch base with Pierre and our delinquents there—”
“Interview our doctor. We need a second doctor.”
I scribbled that down.
“Try not to scare this next one away, Sy.”
“I’ll scare him away if I have to,” I said. “The last one was a little too bright eyed and eager when I suggested that there were a number of rebellious fourteen to eighteen year old boys and girls here for him, with emphasis on boys and girls.”
“Maybe he was just eager to teach. Some people just want to disseminate knowledge.”
“He wanted to ‘seminate something,” I said, very pleased with myself. Sitting on the arm of the armchair, I had to crane my neck to see Jessie’s face. She was smiling, but the type of smile… I paused. “We’ve had this conversation before. I’ve made that joke before.”
“Five times,” Jessie said. “I give you the setup because you enjoy it so much.”
I reached over to mess up her hair a little.
“It does get inconvenient, disposing of the ones we reject, after you’ve given them critical details,” Jessie pointed out.
“I handle most disposals, so I don’t know why you’re the one complaining about inconvenience here.”
“You could prevent the problem by assessing them more thoroughly without actually revealing anything critical.”
“I have a very recognizable face, and wanted posters all over the place. Best to be thorough.”
“I think you’re motivated by the need to brag. You want to monologue at people, show off, boast about your rebellion faction.”
“It’s a faction that warrants bragging about. Full of rebellious fourteen to eighteen year olds, some of whom are very attractive.”
“Yes Sy. I’m aware.”
“Did you see what I did there? Because I linked back to what we were saying…” I trailed off as I was rewarded with a very dramatic eye roll from Jessie.
“On the topic of rebellions, we should see what news we can glean about the other rebel factions,” Jessie said. “We haven’t made such a detour from Fray’s plan that she couldn’t find us, we don’t know what Cynthia is doing, Mauer is oddly silent and quiet, and there are some other groups making noise.”
“There’s always going to be new groups making noise. The trick is figuring out which ones are worth listening and paying attention to.”
“Yeah,” Jessie said. She settled in deeper into her nest of blankets, legs tucked in beside her, and took a bite of biscuit, followed by a bit of tea. “For example, there’s this one rebellion leader who has a thing for poison and setting things on fire.”
“Sounds like a swell guy.”
“Skirts, too. Fire, poison, skirts, and repeating the same jokes over and over again. He’s one of those faction leaders that’s best ignored.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for him.”
“He might steal away one of the girls that’s interested in you. Once you get past the fact that he’s only about as tall as a typical girl his age, he’s pretty good looking.”
“Bubbles is on my side. We’ll go and kick his ass. I bet I can take him in a fight.”
“Anyone can, unless he gets the drop on them,” Jessie said.
“Good. He won’t see me coming.”
“I genuinely believe you on that score,” Jessie said.
The interplay of the moment was broken by a movement of the flames and by Mauer crossing the room to stand by the window. He was looking out at my rebel faction. That was his favored activity, ever since he had arrived. Watching over operations.
The only thing I really disliked about the appearance of Mauer and Fray were the ways they interacted with the Lambs. When Mauer showed up, the Lambs went away. I could look for them and spot them in the crowd, but they were never close. The appearances of Lambs was very natural and unassuming, while the arrival of Mauer was often something that made my heart jump a bit with alarm. I‘d’ve rather have had the former than the latter.
The appearances of Fray were rather different. The Lambs liked her. Evette was a common one, but each of the Lambs could be seen with Fray now and then. Every time, it felt ominous and unpleasant. Helen’s eyes were cold and dead, only the monster and not my monster. Gordon looked angry in Fray’s company, with dark looks in his eye, the brute rather than the golden boy. Jamie could so often be seen sitting very still, hugging his book, while Mary and Lillian listened attentively to Fray. Mary paced while she listened, with no grace at all, and Lillian resembled the girl I’d seen with a fresh dose of Wyvern in her.
Rather than dwell too much on Mauer or the thought of Fray, for fear Mauer might stay longer or Fray might come to visit with a Lamb in tow, I turned my attention to the flames in front of Jessie and I.
“I’m envious of your cocoon, little caterpillar,” I said, indicating the blankets Jessie had swaddled herself in as she sat in the armchair.
“It took some doing, but I’m willing to undo it if you want in. A bit of a squeeze.”
“Another time. There’s a lot to do,” I said. “I’m getting underway as soon as the tea and biscuit are done.”
“I’ll come,” Jessie said. “I should get moving, keep exercising. I’m worried about what happens if I sleep to much and move too little. Atrophy is a thing.”
“We have an entire collection of ex-students to use and abuse if you want to work out solutions to atrophy,” I said. “Stay comfortable. Do what you need to do.”
“I need to do what I can on
my own. If and when I go blank-slate again, I don’t want to regret that the last few months were all about me sleeping.”
“Arright,” I said, drawling the word.
Footsteps on the stairs drew my attention.
Jessie pulled away from the blankets to get a better view, while I swiveled in my seat, catching a falling biscuit between two fingers.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Jessie said.
Pierre nodded.
The fact that he didn’t respond right away was telling.
Shirley, and our gang leaders, stationed in the city.
“How bad?” I asked.
The fact that he didn’t respond was telling.
Previous Next
Head over Heels—16.2
The carriage wheels cut through snow with a thick ice crust, a faint steam rolling off of the backs of the stitched horses pulling the vehicle. The steam fogged the exterior of the carriage, and the fog froze into patterns.
There were fields to the left and right of us. Even covered in layers of snow, the different textures of different kinds of field made the individual sections stand out. A patchwork quilt in white, with bits of brown and black where shrubs or other plants poked through. The road was only visible by the faint indentation in the snow where there were ditches on either side, and by the lines of trees and fence that ran on either side.
In the distance, a warbeast passed between two trees.
He was a big fellow, with more sheer mass than our carriage, two sturdy stitched horses, and all six of the carriage’s occupants. Black furred, glowering, his head heavy with a fanged maw that was no doubt capable of biting a horse in two, he limped forward. His mass helped drive clawed feet deep into snow, and when he brought them up, they flung clumps of snow, dirt, and grass into the air.
The movement of his frontmost right claw was weak, disturbing less of the ground beneath him.
It was preoccupied, too. In another circumstance, it might have noticed us as it limped in our general direction. The haze of wet snow or hard rain obscured vision, and the warbeast was focused more on putting one leg in front of the other than on its namesake duty.
I silently gestured for Rudy to stop. Rudy passed the instruction on to the horses.
I had climbed up onto the bench with Rudy not that long ago. I’d wiped it as dry as I could using a towel, then folded and sat on the towel, and the seat of my pants was still getting damp.
Rudy and I waited, sitting very still, as the warbeast loped forward. Its one leg hampered, it moved less in a straight line and more in a gradual curve, entering the east side of the field and gradually turning north.
It took several minutes to make the quarter-circle journey across the field.
It was only when it was walking directly away from us that a flash of color signified what was wrong. At the great black warbeast’s right shoulder, red flowers had already set root and started the slow crawl over its body, no doubt burrowing into the creature’s flesh. The beast wasn’t howling in agony or rampaging, which suggested it had been made to ignore pain.
“Git,” Rudy instructed the stitched horses.
“Wait,” I murmured.
Just as soon as they’d started moving, Rudy brought them to a halt.
Another full minute passed. The wet and snow gathered around us, and the chilled air seemed to grow colder. The trees set ten feet apart from one another by the sides of the road weren’t much help when it came to the wind. The fields hereabouts were broad and flat enough to let the wind pick up a lot of speed before it reached us.
I thought fondly of the fire and Jessie’s armchair and cocoon. Bubbles had it good, sitting there on the wall as the fire dwindled hour by hour, heat leeching out of the fireplace. Then again, Bubbles had had it rough, sitting there for years without any company or creature comforts.
Ten males, probably Stitched with a handler, emerged from the same spot the black warbeast had. We watched from our vantage point as they followed the same course the warbeast had, rifles at the ready.
“They’re going to have a huck of a time mercy killing that’n,” Rudy commented.
“I’m willing to bet they are, Rudy,” I said. “But they can’t have it spreading plague around.”
“It’s not a good sign that there are already soldiers around.”
“Nope,” I said. I hunched over, pulling a blanket tighter against my body so the wind wouldn’t slip between me and it.
“It hurts to breathe,” Rudy said. “You can go inside the carriage if you want.”
“We’re close, I think. I want to watch out for trouble.”
“Yeah?” Rudy asked. “Can I go inside the carriage?”
I shot him a look. I saw how ice was forming at his eyebrows, even with his hat and hood pulled down, and at his eyelashes.
“Go on,” I told him.
He started to budge from his seat, then hesitated.
“We might have to walk back,” he remarked.
“Hm?”
He indicated the stitched horses.
The steam still rose off of them. They were breathing hard, trying to maintain a necessary temperature. Hot, moist breath carried through the air and rolled past me and Rudy.
“Maybe,” I said. “I really hope we don’t.”
Rudy nodded. He still didn’t stand from the seat at the right end of the bench. “Not really earning my pay, am I?”
“You’re fine. Go.”
He handed over the reins. Clusters of ice that had bonded him to the seat crackled as he rose up, and more fell away from his overcoat as he turned to climb down then let himself into the carriage proper.
I had my own slough of ice as I shifted over, centering myself in the seat, and set the horses in motion again. It took some doing before the carriage was rolling enough to start properly rolling through the snow again.
I had to remind myself not to shut off the discomfort and the pain. The cold was seductive and sneaky. Drugs, alcohols, innate abilities, they all lulled one into a false sense of security when it came to bitter weather like this.
“Someone keep me company,” I said.
It took a moment, and for that full moment, I was legitimately spooked at the notion that it might not be a Lamb who took a seat next to me.
Ice crunched as he took his seat.
“Remember when we had the cold spell in Radham, and Nutsy kicked the Gibson family out?”
Gordon. I relaxed.
“They weren’t the Gibson family, were they?”
“No, but I don’t even remember their actual name, and you definitely don’t. It wasn’t Nutsy either, but it was a stupid, stupid name.”
“Sure,” I said, hunching over. “Yeah, I vaguely recall. Nutsy was that slumlord, freakishly tall—”
“Normal tall. Everyone’s freakishly tall when you’re short.”
“—and handsome? All the old women gushed over him,” I commented, trying to ignore the ‘short’ comment. I was conserving heat and energy.
“Women of all ages. Yeah, that’s the one. Remember why we hated the name? Because they’d all coo ‘Nawwwtsyyyy‘ in that saccharine tone, each one trying to outdo the others.”
“The ladies of Radham didn’t have any taste until Lillian and Mary,” I said. “It might actually be just Lillian and Mary. Something in the water, maybe?”
“If you were after looks only, he was alright, I imagine. Had a bit of German to him, square jaw, cleft chin, different enough in fashion to catch the eye. And he kicked a family out in the dead of a pretty awful winter. Because a pair of his friends wanted that apartment. Barely any warning, not giving the Gibsons a chance to get anything else lined up. The Gibsons had kids, the kids knew the mice, the mice knew us…”
“I remember,” I said, as it all fell into place. “You took him apart.”
“Yeah,” Gordon said. He turned his face skyward. He didn’t care about the dense, wet snow that collected on his face. He didn’t blink as it touched his eye
s and eyelids. “I remember standing there while he lay on the floor, whimpering. It seemed like a forever passed while I tried to figure out how to hurt him so badly that they couldn’t make him pretty again without killing him in the process.”
“I gave advice, once I realized why you weren’t doing anything. I remember trying to be careful about it, because it was your show.”
“Why was it my show, again?” Gordon asked.
I had to think for a long moment.
“I was so young, then,” Gordon said. “Really inexperienced. I’d killed before, but he was the first person I killed that I wasn’t ordered to kill. It was—”
“Personal,” I finished.
“The Gibson daughter. But it wasn’t like that. I was at the bakery once with you and Helen, and I was fishing through my pockets for change, and Gwen Gibson slapped some money down. It was a nice gesture, for no reason. That was the first part of it. I might never have paid attention to them otherwise.”
“She wasn’t even sweet on you, I don’t think,” I said. “She thought you were funny and she felt bad because you were an orphan.”
“Yeah. They got kicked out, and they spent three days in the church before the law said they had to move on.”
“Can’t have people becoming dependent on the church.”
“The injustice of it infuriated me,” Gordon said. “That they could be kicked out like that, with that timing, that the Crown wasn’t on their side. Even the mice wouldn’t make space for them because Gwen Gibson and her brother still had their parents.”
“It was personal,” I said again.
“On a cosmic level, if personal vendettas can be cosmic. I found him, you helped. But it was my show, like you said. I used a hammer to do most of it, because I didn’t want to pause to change tools once I got underway. Shattered his teeth, his nose, cheekbones, the orbital ridges. Whack, whack, whack, all steady-like, kept up the same rhythm from start to finish. A part of my brain… I had one brain chosen from one person for one reason, and another part of a brain chosen for another. I think around the time I turned that metronome-steady destruction toward his hands, keeping the time while he flopped them around, moving them as much as he could with his shoulders demolished, I tapped into traces of personalities that I wasn’t supposed to be able to. Edges and trimmings that still remained.”