by wildbow
Betty here was a vague and flowery narrative in a number of senses. She’d told herself stories about how the work she was doing was justified, but there were themes running through all of this. A fantasy in the notes she wrote to herself. ‘Create beauty’. The fact that three out of four doodles were of fairies.
I lifted up the mattress, searching. I reached into spaces between bed and bookshelf, searched under the bed, and then pulled out drawers, checking that nothing was stuck beneath and that there were no secret compartments.
“Sy,” Jessie said. She held up the diary I’d been looking for. Sitting on the bookshelf, within the folds of a larger book sleeve with no book.
If that had been found, it would have raised questions.
We erased the existence of Betty as much as we could. I did a final sweep while Jessie stood at the desk, using Betty’s stationary, pen, and handwriting to pen out a letter.
“Going down to the city, don’t look for me?”
“No,” Jessie said. “A post-boat leaves tonight. She’s hitching a ride.”
“I worry about that,” I said. “There’s a reason we didn’t boat in. There’s security. Oversight.”
“And Betty is determined and well connected. We point the direction, people won’t know where she is, and they’ll have to assume she left by boat.”
I winced.
“You don’t think it’ll work?”
“It might. I just worry about…”
I used my hands to gesture. I tried to sketch out a shape.
“Diamond with a wizard hat?”
“There’s too many edges, too many angles others can come at it from.”
“There aren’t many places for her to go, Sy. The boat timing works. Anything else and they might look for her and realize she isn’t anywhere to be found. It’s not like she’s going to hike the wasteland and black woods.”
“They won’t be able to verify with the boat?”
“No,” Jessie said. “Not quickly enough to matter.”
“Then what’s the motivation?”
“Us. You and me. She doesn’t like what this has become, she’s mad at the professor. She’s questioning the sheer number of rural folk and strangers who’ve been escorted through the black wood and allowed to take refuge at the foot of Hackthorn.”
“It’s going to draw attention to us.”
“We’re close,” Jessie said. “Things are coming together.”
I cracked the window open so the gas could escape. I checked the room one more time, walked over to Betty’s roommate, and checked the girl’s breathing and pulse.
Sleeping.
“You’re in a rush, Jessie,” I said.
“Yeah, Sy. I worry about how much time we have.”
She means to say she worries how much time she has.
Or maybe she really does mean to say how much time we have. As a pair.
“I just don’t want to cut corners and have things fall through at the last moment.”
“Yeah,” she said.
A smile touched my face, and I heard a sound from Jessie, through her mask. A short laugh.
The same thought had hit us both at the same moment. The role reversal. Jessie being reckless, me being the rational one.
We bent down, and we collected the bags that hadn’t already been carried out by the others.
“And Betty’s gone,” I whispered, closing the door.
There was a larger group waiting for us outside. We passed the heavy bags of books and clothes to others.
“Back to our rooms?” the Treasurer asked. Even in the gloom, I could see that he was doing better. He’d been solid, stoic, a reliable member of the team with a good head on his shoulders, especially when it came to his field of specialty, but seeing him now? He’d filled out, he stood taller, and he looked more ready to take on the world.
Davis had perhaps gone in the other direction, but it wasn’t wholly bad. He’d always been a pair with Valentina, and Valentina had moved on, alongside a small handful of others. The showing and the whole situation with Neph and the black wood had done a lot to earn the faith of our people. The change to Davis resembled someone who had gone through hard work and come out of it without an ounce of fat on him, but on a spiritual level.
Mabel had left with the others.
I’d wanted to finish my conversation with her.
“Not back to our rooms, I’m thinking,” Davis said. “Not when everyone’s active and around.”
“No,” I agreed. “There are things to do.”
I let Jessie do the gesture, and I watched as our people moved in response. A dozen of our guys and gals who weren’t already seeded throughout the Academy.
The buildings of Hackthorn were like the fingers of a hand that held the great reclining woman up. In the moonless night, she scintillated, countless labs and chambers with lamps and candles within now glowing orange, the light scattered among leaves and foliage that bristled along her skin.
At the base of that hand, however, the landscape was uneven. The place wanted to be a city, but no two buildings were really seated on the same section of flat earth. Even some buildings were staggered, the foundation split across two to four levels.
It did its darndest to be a proper settlement, but it was an individual, separate beast. It served more as a spot of ugliness to offset the beauty and art of Hackthorn’s buildings and reclining woman than it did any other purpose.
All the roads were winding, stores remained open late, and it seemed like every other building was a place for students to meet for drink or food. Like the smoking students, it was a way for students to breathe and escape the pressure. It wasn’t a thing that a lot of Academies had.
It was presently late enough that half of those buildings had closed or were in the process of closing. We walked past several places where windows were being shuttered and containers rinsed out outside, and we scarcely got a second glance.
The cafe we stopped at was closed. I approached the door and knocked.
Shirley, Pierre, and a bulk of the refugees from the city where Neph had died were gathered within. They sat at benches and tables and formed a cluster, and most of the light within came from the fires burning in the kitchen and at the other end of the building, at the end of the cafe’s dining area.
“You grace us with your presence,” a fat man said, with a fair bit of irony to the use of ‘grace’.
“Few are more graceful than we,” I said, holding Jessie’s hand, holding it up.
“How are we doing on the ground level?” Jessie asked.
Straight to business.
“We’re doing quite well,” Pierre said. With the abundance of focus on the cosmetic, someone had tended to his head, and he looked far better. Still ghoulish, but better.
“Are we seeded?” I asked.
“We’re seeded on the ground,” Pierre said.
I rummaged through the things I still had with me, and I found a small bag.
“Talk to me about distribution,” Jessie said. “Military?”
“They wanted more bodies, what with things on the horizon,” the fat man said. “We weren’t able to get many in, but we got some in. Not going to have a regiment under your control if something goes south, but you could get information, or keys to the right locked door.”
“That might give us the control over weapons we need,” I said. “Given timing and everything else.”
I brought the bag to Shirley, who stood in the threshhold between the dining area of the cafe and the kitchen.
“Politics?” Jessie asked.
“The groundskeeper’s stitched had an unfortunate accident, went to pieces,” the fat man said. “He was forced to hire someone. Pretty young lady who is entirely loyal to us.”
The groundskeeper, because having an actual mayor didn’t make sense, given the local dynamic.
“That’s thin, as seeds go,” I said. Shirley had undone the bag. It was a bit redundant, given that she was running this ca
fe, but I’d included some pastries, a trinket, and a little bottle of non-alcoholic blackberry cider that Jessie had said Shirley adored.
Shirley gave me a kiss on the forehead for that one.
Not that a little gesture like this was anything close to what I owed her.
“It’s thin, but they aren’t happy about all of us moving in and taking up space. They don’t want to give us work. I’m proud of that one,” the fat man said.
He had a tone of belligerence that suggested he was drunk, when he actually wasn’t drunk at all. He was just loud and perhaps a little wanting when it came to inhibitions and delicacy.
“Factories, labor?” Jessie asked.
“We’ve got a lot going on. They were happy to have the extra hands. They stored a lot of lumber in advance of the black wood coming in. Now they’re processing it.”
“Good,” Jessie said. “Then, in case this boils down to a siege, we should talk food.”
“We’ve got tabs on the food,” Pierre said, speaking softly. He clasped his hands in front of him. “We made that a priority.”
“Good man,” I said, voice soft. Pierre shot me a salute.
“If we can control that and not lose it when push comes to shove, we can win in the long run,” Jessie said. “I’d rather not have it come to the long run, but I do like having that security.”
She was so focused on time. It pained me a little.
“Then,” I said. “Let’s talk about food in a different sense. Let’s say there was an event. Let’s say important people came. Festival, celebration, a need to please. If the high cuisine came in, needing to be stored, would we have a stranglehold on that as well?”
“I think we would,” Pierre said.
“Good,” I said. “Then I think we’re moving forward nicely.”
“Are you thinking of the young master’s celebration?” Jessie asked.
“No,” I said. I drummed my fingers on the table for a moment. “No, I’m thinking of bigger fish.”
Previous Next
Dog Eat Dog—18.5
Professor Ferres was a fantastic actress. In some ways we had lucked out in picking her. In other ways, that sword had two edges, and it made for some dangerous handling. We’d hit her where it hurt, and the metaphorical sword was being drawn out now.
She acted like nothing was wrong as her favored students started their work in lab one. Her favored students minus one, of course.
It was a beautiful thing, from a certain perspective. I’d grown up around Helen, and I was strongly suspicious that Ibbot had been inspired by Professor Ferres when he had designed our winsome, woesome Lamb. Long exposure to Helen, years of my own earnest attempts at acting and being up against some of the best around gave me a deep appreciation for Ferres’ act. The face that betrayed nothing, the fact that she could smile and act as though nothing was wrong when she was battered, bruised, and tired?
Even if I hadn’t had an agenda, it might’ve been worth doing this just to see how someone capable approached the problem.
That, and I did have reservations about targeting a youth. Betty was almost our age, but there were groups of mice that might have taken her in, had her circumstances of birth been different. Pressure and the fact that I really didn’t like Betty had helped me cross my personal line in the sand and break my own rules on this.
Ferres didn’t miss a beat as she gave instructions, “The grafts for Itsy Bitsy are in the cold room. Alvin, would you prepare to take Betty’s position in the surgical theater in case she doesn’t turn up? I’ll send someone to check on her the moment I’m free.”
Not one glance toward Jessie or me. It was good, considering that she had to suspect.
Jessie was talking numbers, rattling off equations as the others talked. For all that Betty had complained that I didn’t belong here, there were no loud complaints about Jessie. She hadn’t earned her place in the way that Betty, Alvin, Leland, Wilbert, and the other favored students had. She’d dealt with no grueling tests, she hadn’t had to prove herself, but she was holding up her end now that we were here. Everything she did was strictly by the book. Literally.
Ferres continued to give instructions. I was focusing almost the entirety of my attention on her while she was working to ignore Jessie and I. I was noticing the tics and the tells, the little catches. It had been day after day of being drugged overnight, of paralyzing chemicals, tense muscles, bedsores or tubsores, fatigue, and insufficient food. Pressure, tension, dehumanization and likely a fair amount of fear as well. All while doing an eerily good job of acting as if nothing was wrong.
“Leland, Wilbert, you’ve been mulling over the nightmare for two days now. I’ve tried to be patient, but I need you two to step it up.”
“Yes, Professor, of course.”
“If you haven’t found a working solution by the end of the day, I’ll be taking you off that project and doing it myself, and I won’t be happy about it,” Ferres said.
Jessie started gesturing as she talked, punctuating reams of ratios and ten-syllable compound names with hand movements.
I’d already noticed what Jessie was tipping me off to. Ferres was speaking faster, more aggressively.
It was minor, hard to pin down, but when it came to a formidable character like Ferres’, I was willing to take any cue I could. With a grain of salt.
“We’ve been weighing a few ideas. We could rush it, but you said you’d rather it was done well than fast.”
“I did say that,” Ferres said. She paused, and her demeanor shifted slightly. “What’s troubling you? Carbon chain boundary?”
“I think we’re covered on that front. It’s the fuel injection. Leland thinks if we provide the fuel by way of channels in the shoulder and let it flow back, scar tissue and other buildup will block it. I was suggesting a stronger scapular floor for fiercer contractions, push through the buildup, but Leland worries it would be too spurty.”
“I think you’re both right,” the Professor said. “It wouldn’t do to have our antagonist spray flaming ejaculate all over our juvenile audience, and it could be quite the spurt if we tried to counteract the full buildup.”
“I, uh, yes Professor. We agree.”
“How long would it perform?”
“Ten to fifteen minutes.”
“We’ll need twice that if we’re to hold to the script. Two-line regimen of G.H.I., increase its diet, standing guard in case it becomes hostile. Excise the upper portions of the ventral serratus if you have to to make room.”
“Room for?” Wilbert asked.
“You tell me,” Ferres said. “Go for a walk, find Betty, figure out how she’s doing, and have three good ideas in mind by the time you’re back.”
Wilbert straightened. “The girl’s dormitory? But—”
“If anyone asks, I sent you. Now don’t tarry.”
Wilbert nodded. His departure fell just short of a proper run from the premises. Academy students were sometimes like pigeons. When one student scrammed, others would take off too out of herd mentality. Looking silly for running on a thousand occasions was a fair tradeoff for the one time it meant getting a headstart against an ominous, onrushing cloud of gas or cloud of insects loaded to bear with fun drugs. It was a rule in periods of peace to avoid running wherever possible.
Professor Ferres continued to assign tasks and lay out everything that needed to be done, keeping tabs on the various projects and suggesting adjustments. Jessie gestured again, and I took note of the gesture. Jessie was keeping time, marking the fact that Ferres was much quicker to do this than she had been on previous days and weeks. Ferres was rushing, because she wanted to move on to other things. To me and to her favored student, little miss Betty.
I walked over to the table at the far side of the circular room. There were four exits to the room, with two being staircases on either side, one being access to the cells and storage rooms, and the last one being the access to the operating theater.
The table was closest to the
operating theater, and I could see Alvin laying spider-limbs as long as my arms out on one table. One of the children in the cells would be put under and go under the knife. Lillian stood by the table, and her stare was accusatory.
I looked away from her and turned my attention to the papers on the table. Each set of papers was bundled together into contained booklets, titles inked out on the front pages. Names of the experiments. Bo Peep, Itsy Bitsy, Poll Parrot. There were others I hadn’t recognized right off. The three youngest children that Helen had been snuggling with would be the three blind mice, after their surgeries were done. One young lady would become the unicorn.
The books had terminology, codes, and shorthand throughout, and I could only deduce some of it. Instilled instinct, compulsion, chemical triggers, training. The individual lines, passages and behaviors were ranked by importance, reinforced by various factors.
If it was wholly up to the experiments doing what they were supposed to in order to enact their play, then making them stitched would have been enough. But there were other factors. These weren’t actors meant to play out a series of shows and stories the audience had seen countless times before.
They were toys. The audience would interact, step in, and change the course of events. Ferres was designing the various characters to appeal to a swathe of tastes and age groups. That meant countless bases needed to be covered. If the young master’s cousin found Bo Peep to their liking and wanted to play at tea with the girl, then Bo Peep was to oblige.
“You’ve taken my student, I gather?” Ferres asked.
I paged through Bo Peep’s file, not looking up. Red pen had been used to label and mark out pages. The section was simply titled ‘Story 3b.2: The Wolf Wins’. The notes were scattered in intent, written by Ferres for Ferres, referencing people she had met and what she knew about the young master’s family.
“If you take all of them, then people will wonder. It hurts you more than it hurts me,” the Professor said.
If there was a lull in the night’s entertainment, then the Big Bad Wolf would rouse and stalk its prey. Red Riding Hood would be stalked by the wolf, which would speak and taunt her while staying out of sight. Children in attendance could decide the outcome, by intervening, by cheering for one side. The needed verbal cues, tones, and situational cues were marked out clearly, mapping out how this would come to pass.