Black Locust Letters

by Nicolette Jinks

  And then she saw a crow fly from the east.

  Not knowing why, Betty stuck an arm out the window, as she wasn't able to get anything else out, and then watched as the crow came nearer.

  When it settled on the window ledge, Betty motioned for it to come inside. It did. Once it hit the floor, it transformed instantly into a man, naked but for a few feathers hidden in his hair, and soon he was shivering.

  “Tom?”

  Chapter 26

  Betty searched in vain for a blanket, and settled for taking off her sweater and handing it to him, which he tied about his waist like a positively ridiculous looking apron. He assumed her seat on the filing cabinet, and looked marginally less ridiculous.

  Betty didn't notice. She was staring at him as though she had seen a ghost. Had he always been thin enough to count ribs, or was that a new thing? And what of his hair, did it always have streaks of grey? He was smaller, she was certain, and his cheeks had turned gaunt.

  “You're alive?”

  “Takes more than a beating to kill me,” he said with a shrug.

  “What are you doing here? And why now?”

  “I had to lay low, then it was out to scouting around.” He would say nothing more on the topic, Betty could tell by the way he set his jaw but she tried anyway.

  “And why?”

  “Shh.”

  Then the door opened, and Betty was glad to see that Tom had shifted back into a crow, apparently hiding beneath her sweater. It took a few seconds for Betty to place the visitor. A woman. Tall, lean. Brunette and beautiful with perfect teeth.

  Clarkin's partner.

  Olivia.

  She hadn't come to explain Betty's lock up, that was for certain, and it was doubtful that Olivia even knew, or that she'd been given permission for the visit besides.

  “What are you doing here?” Betty demanded.

  Olivia looked as though she were examining something rather unpleasant while staring into the sun. “I came to give you this.”

  In her hand was an envelope tied with red baling twine and addressed to Her Sweet Song. Betty refused to take it.

  “Why do you have it?”

  “It's from Hannah.” She laid it down on the tallest filing cabinet, one that Betty would have to stretch to reach to the top of. “He asked me to give it to you.”

  Betty didn't know what to say. The revelation of who was behind the letters was not as surprising as who he had chosen to deliver the message.

  Olivia turned to leave and paused with the door open. “I guess you must have found out, if you're working with them.”

  “Found out what?” Betty didn't feel like correcting her, not if the slightest thing that displeased Olivia brought her a bit of pleasure.

  “That the Ladybird sent him to seduce you.”

  Betty didn't reply.

  Olivia left.

  Betty nearly sat down on Tom before feeling him squirm and standing abruptly again, pacing to the window.

  “You might have asked her for a blanket, you know,” Tom said. “I get that the two of you are pissing at one another, but really, it is cold in here.”

  “Tom.”

  He went quiet, and his voice was surprised. “You don't believe what she said, do you?”

  “Is there a reason I shouldn't?”

  “Because he's lost his pinfeathers for you.”

  Betty checked to see if Tom was serious.

  “Not in the literal sense. It's a saying, that's all.”

  “Maybe if I see him again, I'll cut them off myself,” Betty said with a vehemence stemming from worry rather than seriousness.

  Tom held the letter out to her. “This isn't over. That strike isn't enough. The Russians have a Rift.”

  “So?”

  Tom sighed. “So they plan on blowing it up.”

  “Alright.”

  “No, it's not alright. If they blow it up, there will be a chain reaction and it will spread through all the Rifts. And the States has the most bases of all countries situated on top of the Rift. Can't you see what will happen? The war will be over. Gone. All the armaments, all the vehicles, the bombs, troops. Everything. If the Rift goes, so will all the missile silos, and those will detonate and think of the disasters. Just think, Betty. Everything meant to be used for our defense will blow up in our own house.”

  Betty sniffed. For a minute, she took in a deep breath and considered what he was saying. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  Tom hurried to draw in the dust and explained as quick as he could everything he had in mind. Of course he didn't know all the details, so when Betty filled him in on some things, he amended himself and told her the basic idea of what needed to happen to prevent the Russians from detonating their Rift opening.

  Pretty much it boiled down to destroying the train tracks and roads. It seemed like a temporary solution at best, but Tom was convinced that they would give up on the plan if they met resistance, and rebuilding the tracks in that extreme climate would be very costly. Well, it seemed like a better idea than the way the people were shouting outside, unable to make up their minds and doubtless drawing even more tumbleweed scribbles on the map. For an instant Betty wondered if Sanctuary might have the most useless military minds in the world. Then she decided that there surely must be someone worse. Like the people who kept trying to invade Russia time and again, or perhaps the people at this infamous Area 51 she kept hearing about.

  A rustle of wings came to the window, and they both went silent, watching as a mockingbird paused on the window, flicked a tail, and jumped to the floor. For an instant, Betty hoped it was Clarkin by whatever method he'd used to get here, but in another second it was his sister who stood there with long hair draping down her body.

  Tom turned his back in haste, and Ladybird rolled her eyes. From her hair she untied a walnut. She opened it up and inside was a tight wad of gossamer fabric which she shook out to be a thin cloak.

  “That's incredible,” Betty said.

  “It is standard issue for Never Were avians,” Ladybird said indifferently, but she ran an admiring finger over the edge. Then she glared at Tom. “And if you'd remembered to bring yours, I would not now be subjected to a view of your bare backside. Turn around at once. You aren't a Roman statue, decapitaria.”

  Tom obeyed her, any discomfort he may have felt carefully kept from his face. In another instant, concern crossed his brow. “My lady, what is it that brings you here?”

  Ladybird stood in the moonlight, her dark hair turned to shimmering ringlets in the silvery light and her eyes a luminescent amber which matched her cloak, and her faint smile disappeared under the question. “I have discovered the meaning of the mark on Betty's door. It is a court summons for a murder.”

  “What?” Betty's face went blank then was filled with worry lines. “But Clarkin said it was made from the wrong material to be Never Were.”

  “Changing times.” Ladybird did not look wholly convinced of this herself, but she grabbed Betty's wrist. “What is important is that it is for today. For right now. We must get you away, quickly, before they arrive and proceedings begin.”

  Betty pulled out of her grip. “I can't go. I'm wave talking. They need me.”

  “You were wave talking,” corrected Tom. “But they stopped you. It is best if you go and live for another time when you'll be needed again.”

  “I am not going until my work is done.”

  Ladybird sighed and said to Tom, “Knock her out.”

  “What?” Tom asked, mirroring Betty's surprise at hearing the command.

  “We don't have time to argue, Tom, let's—”

  The door wriggled, a loud noise in a quiet yet tense debate.

  Tom and Ladybird scantly had time to duck before the door yanked open and Slim stood there. For a stunned, frantic instant, Betty didn't know what to say or do. What was he doing? Had they been too loud, had the General heard voices in the room and sent Slim to investigate?

  Then Betty remembere
d, and understood why it was that Slim was before her, his hair askew, his cheeks sallow, and with the overwhelming air of a man who had been disturbed from slumber and was very cross about it.

  “Oh, they sent you to tell me why they took me off the air. Why was it, James?”

  He regarded her with contempt, and Betty thought she saw him sway ever so slightly, and that there was a bulge of a flask outlined through his chest pocket, but she couldn't be sure, and she didn't want to get close enough to smell his breath.

  “You know what happened. If we can't trust you to follow orders, then you are a liability,” said Slim.

  “It was your decision to pull me off,” Betty said.

  “You're talking for them. You don't want Hannah to get hurt.”

  “Slim, I don't know who is in which units. Or if he's even on that field.”

  Slim laughed bitterly. “You didn't deny it, though. You'd rather his attentions than mine.”

  “And what if I do?”

  Slim swore and gripped the door frame. “He wasn't supposed to—he was meant to watch over you, not take you from me.”

  Betty huffed at Slim, bit her tongue, and said slowly, “He didn't take you away from me.”

  Slim's eyes bulged like a puffer fish inflating its belly. Betty had no idea how to interpret that reaction, so she pressed on. “Slim, I left.”

  “That was before, I know, I said I was sorry, this time it'll all be different, this time..”

  She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “There is no this time, Slim. I can't. I just can't. I considered it. But it's just not possible.”

  He shut his eyes. “So...you used me.”

  She felt guilty about it now, but it wasn't the time to indulge in such feelings. “I suppose I did, yes. But I used Clarkin, too.”

  He made a strangling noise in his throat and stared at the floor. “You have more of your father in you than I thought.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to decide if this was a good thing or if it was even true. She had no idea, on either account. “I am half him, and he did raise me. I make a conscience effort to not follow in his steps, but... he did influence me. It's impossible for him not to have done so.”

  Slim nodded, swallowed, and said, “You know, we were all decapitarias together, in the last round.”

  “What?”

  “Didn't you think it was strange the way I would appear and disappear discordant to the rest of the troops?”

  She'd thought it was because he held some sort of management position over the others. “What do you mean by 'we'? You...you know Clarkin? Actually know him well, not merely as an acquaintance?”

  Slim nodded, took out a cigar, and lit it. Betty let him, his hands were shaking. “Hannah and I were rivals of sorts. Charles was there, too, but he sort of stayed out of the majority of the decisions. He was our back up guy. Talked to Tom a lot.”

  “Tom? The same Tom who disappeared a while ago?” She thought it was better not to mention that it would be the same Tom who was hiding somewhere overhearing their conversation.

  “Yes. He was our teacher, partner to Charles. Hannah and I were friends and enemies. We fought amongst ourselves constantly, but there could never be a man who I was more certain would be there to watch my back or save my ass at the last second.” He took a long drag and blew it out. “Guess I should have realized that he'd take you if I let my guard slip even slightly.”

  “I am not a thing to be taken, Decapitaria Legrand. I am a person in my own right capable of making decisions.”

  “Oh yes I saw a fine example of your decision making just a few minutes ago.”

  Betty wanted to slap him but she didn't, just clenched her jaw so tight that her teeth ground together. She said, voice a growl, “Get out. Now.”

  Slim winced, nodded, looked as though he was going to apologize, then didn't.

  Before he could leave, shadows cut across the slants of moonlight shining onto the floor and wall, and Betty and Slim both spun to see one crow after the other skip off the window sill and land on the floor, shaking out their cloaks even as they changed from crow to human.

  The effect was a whirling, swooshing ballet of feathers and dreadlocks and billowy fabric which swayed in the air. Had Betty not known the menace behind their arrival, she would have been delighted by the display, as though she were viewing her own private performance. As it may be the last dramatis she would see, Betty decided to take delight in it anyway. Slim, however, laid hands on her shoulders and loomed protectively over her as the last of the crows settled in.

  The crows formed their circle, neat and quiet, and Slim seemed to swell up as he edged in front of Betty so she had to stand on tip toe to see over his shoulder. Off in their hiding places, Tom and Ladybird remained stock still and silent, at least for now. The man directly in front of Betty folded his hands and drew everyone's attention.

  The judge, for lack of a more applicable term, took in an audible breath and said in a wheezy, thin voice, “Betty Cratchet. This murder is convened because you stand accused of breaching The Law of the Things That Never Were.”

  A cold shiver ran down Betty’s spine and she resisted the urge to look to Tom for reassurance; no doubt he wasn't meant to be here and his assistance may have the opposite effect.

  Slim went all stiff, and Betty poked her head to the side of him to ask, “Pardon if I am interrupting at a poor time, but I don't know the proceedings and I have a question. This law, you speak as if I should know which law it is I've broken? Can you tell me, seeing how this is a legal court and not a lynch mob, I have a right to understand the charges against me and to argue my case, do I not?”

  “Betty,” said Slim in warning, but the judge opened his palm in a kindly manner and none of the jury members made a stir.

  “We have one law and one law alone which all Never Weres must submit to; any further laws are enforced by individual societies. The law which we enforce and uphold is that of High Treason, to commit acts which endanger or damage all Never Weres. At times, as in your case, we are allowed to extend this law to humans whose actions have direct influence on the well-being of all Never Weres.”

  “You dare to charge this against Betty! She who has helped you more than any one human in history—” Slim said.

  “Which is why we are stopping her now, before she can speak the words the General wishes her to speak which will turn her from hero to villain,” said the judge calmly.

  “Why don't you charge the General with this treason?” Betty asked, genuinely curious as this seemed a far more logical solution than charging her.

  “We cannot have authority over high ranking government and military officials.”

  Slim shook a fist at the floor. “So you are coming after Betty instead. Good grief, if you can't have her condemn the troops, then let her go. If she doesn't finish the talks, she can't betray you.”

  “But running is not only cowardice, it is to neglect her duty and in doing so she leaves us in the hands of those who would kill our troops without thought. She is responsible.”

  The jury jerked their heads to the side. Betty thought that Tom had moved and drawn their attention, but instead the door opened and bright hall light filled the room, the shadows of two men made giant by a trick of perspective. The judge looked to the two new men with a steady gaze at odds with his aged voice, and said, “General Bernard Cratchet and Mr. Gresley. Welcome to the murder of Miss Betty Cratchet.”

  “I told you I heard the murder was on the move,” said Mr. Gresley around chewing tobacco.

  “Yes,” said her father, “and you were right again. So, then. Betty is accused of breaking The Law? Have you no better methods of getting to me? Another electric pyro, perhaps?”

  The judge did not seem surprised nor offended to be thus addressed. “General Cratchet, the murder has one purpose and one alone. If you take issue with Never Weres, you must bring it to the attention of the individual societies.”

  The General laughed in a
harsh, strangled kind of way. “I know your rights and limitations. I helped to set them, if you will remember.”

  “A terrible time that was,” said Mr. Gresley. “I thought we were going to suffer another water-barrel blockade during our discussions on murder limitations.”

  The General smiled. “The old days. Nothing's been the same since that fallout.”

  At this the judge's eyes sparkled, or it was a winking star reflecting in his face. “If you miss those days, by all means ease off your pressure on Area 51 to enforce their safety measures.”

  The General dismissed the idea with a wave. “A time like that is good once only, and far advanced in retrospect. Now what's the damning evidence you have against Betty?”

  The judge paused, then motioned to one of the crows. “Please ask our witness to attend.”

  The crow scurried to do his bidding, heading into the hall, much to Betty's astonishment. She'd anticipated his using the window again. The General and the judge watched each other, not saying a word, while Mr. Gresley chewed and waited. He held up a jar and spat the tobacco in it. Betty couldn't find where Tom and Ladybird had gone, and wondered if they'd deserted her. Mr. Gresley bit off a fresh chunk of tobacco and made smacking noises as he savored the new morsel like an adolescent chewing bubble gum.

  Then the crow returned, and in his wake stood none other than Olivia. Betty looked at her, confused, and then remembered the letter that Olivia had said was from Clarkin. A quick glance around the room confirmed Betty's suspicions that there was about to be an outburst of various reactions, all of which would be unintelligible by the volume of voices and range of people present. Accepting that the commotion would be impossible to understand, Betty ignored the rest as best she could and cracked open the letter to read it.

  Thus involved in her letter, Betty missed the verbal jousting between Slim and Olivia, Mr. Gresley's desultory commentary about female kind, the General's explosion about loyalty, Olivia’s deliverance of evidence which was shouted this way and that between the words of the aforementioned gentlemen, then the contesting argument from Ladybird whose sudden, almost magical, appearance in the makeshift courtroom was startling to her observers but nowhere near as startling as the appearance of Tom who was still naked but for Betty's sweater which remained tied about his waist like an apron and who was ridiculed on all sides for having failed to remember his standard-issue avian cloak.