I shoot an appealing look at my ardent protector, watching as Enoch’s green eyes soften ever so slightly. In any other circumstance, I’d kill to have him look at me that way.
Ugh. It’s so not the time to fantasize about my foster brother.
Finally, Enoch nods once, dropping his railroad spike but keeping his blade out. The huge man collects his weapons, then turns and walks away. He pulls from his pocket a small device, clicks it on and watches a glowing screen for a few moments. A power pack, but different. From my angle behind him, I can only see the moving dots that must indicate guards. Or perhaps us. I make a mental note to ask him later.
We walk for several minutes, Achilles striding purposefully into the dim gloom underneath Deck 2, following the old railway line. His dagger is once again at his side; in one hand he holds the little screen, and in the other he holds the grim silver sword. The combination of walking and exhaustion begins to lull me into a daze, and I catch my hands clenching repeatedly into fists at my sides, one palm periodically rubbing across the other as though looking for something that’s been lost. I remember the burning heat that swept across them as I watched the guard raise her baton, and wonder why they are not doing the same now, when the stakes feel nearly as high.
Yet somehow, I trust Achilles. Enoch would probably kill me himself if I said that out loud, but it’s true. For now all I can do is wait to see whether or not I’ll turn out to be wrong about him. Nervously, I adjust my grip on the knife.
“This looks about right.” Our makeshift guide stops abruptly in a small clearing. The levels overhead have tumbled, creating a little shelter surrounded by rocks, bricks and metal, in which stunted trees bask in the light of the fading sun.
Bending down, Achilles begins pulling up huge old railroad ties, piling them up to one side of the clearing. After a bit, he judges the pile large enough, pouring something onto it from a small bottle. My eyes widen as I realize it is kerosene, prohibitively expensive here in the City. He strikes a small piece of flint against his sword, and the wood catches fire immediately, illuminating his face for the first time. He continues to work as we watch, and though he seems to pose no threat at all, Enoch bends slowly, almost as if in afterthought, to heave another railroad spike into his free hand. An enemy with two weapons is more dangerous than an enemy with one, Papa’s voice rings through my head.
Achilles seems not to notice. By now he has constructed a shaky-looking apparatus of metal and sticks, over which he places a thick cut of meat, already cooked. My stomach growls.
“Smells nice, eh?” he says genially, watching me with a crooked grin. The fire highlights kind eyes and a wide nose that looks as though it’s been broken several times. “Venison. It’ll be warm in a bit.”
The sizzling scents make my mouth water. We don’t get meat very often, and I wonder where Achilles came by such a large portion. I’ve never seen its likes in the food dispensaries. A few people have hunting licenses, wealthy thrillseekers who are allowed to venture beyond the walls to chase down game, but not many. Perhaps he’s one of them. Another of many questions I’m dying to ask.
He said your name. I compress my lips, burning with curiosity. He knows who you are. He might know Papa.
I busy myself instead with rewrapping Enoch’s pinkie, strapping it tightly to his ring finger. Then I wet a cloth with water from one of the canteens, handing it to him. As he cleans the scratches on my neck and cheek, I try to focus on other things, but it’s hard to think at the moment. When he’s done, he pulls a small pot of lard from his pack and smooths it onto the wound. It’s all we have, but it’s usually effective.
“Feel better?” he murmurs.
I nod, turning my face away to hide my blush. “Want an apple, Pip?” I ask, clearing my throat. The little boy takes it, but I can tell he only has eyes for the meat.
“Done,” Achilles announces after a few minutes, removing the haunch with a practiced hand. Pip tugs me forward, desperate to join the meal, but I hesitate. Accepting food from strangers goes against everything I’ve been taught or instinctually feel. It is not only against the law to share rations, it could be dangerous. Yet tonight an unquenchable recklessness seizes me.
“Feel free to join me,” Achilles says gently, a last-ditch effort at politeness.
“We don’t – ” Enoch begins.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, interrupting him and seating myself. Achilles hands me a dripping cut of meat, then calmly hands a smaller portion to Pip. In return I toss him a few apples. Enoch is still standing, and the feeling in my stomach mutates from fluttery to irritated. I hate the thought of alienating the only person who might give us answers.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Achilles says after a few minutes, once more proffering a generous portion.
Finally, Enoch sits. “Hope they can’t see the fire,” he says darkly, accepting a piece of meat. I wonder who “they” is, considering that Enoch has had his eye on the power pack’s small screen this whole time. There are no guards nearby, and this far into the center of the City, its insides deserted and rotten, there’s nobody else either. Still, I suppose one of us should be careful.
“I doubt they can.” I feel strangely safe in this small, ruined amphitheater. And on the lowest level, almost eighty square miles, the chances of being located by firelight are slim to none.
Achilles does not comment, and neither does Pip, who is lost in the bonanza of food. I glance down at him, warmed to see the curative powers of a simple, good dinner. He seems comforted, too, by the blazing fire, a novelty that even I’ve only experienced a few times before. We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I use the time to surreptitiously monitor our benefactor. He seems at ease, friendly and serene. His weapons lay discarded on the ground a few feet away, as though to reaffirm his good intent.
“Aaahhh,” he sighs eventually, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning against a chunk of concrete. The soles of his shoes are worn, a piece of gravel lodged in one, a small hole in another. Retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes his hands in a surprisingly fastidious fashion, cleaning under each trimmed nail. He then looks up, swiveling back and forth between our faces expectantly. “Well, I suppose you want to know what I’m doing here.”
“Why don’t you just tell us what you know about us?” Enoch says immediately. Oddly, the words make me want to smile. Poor Enoch. I realize sadly that in telling him to go with me, protect me, Papa’s given him an even harder job than I have.
“Elijah Barrigan is well known to many, where I come from. As are his children.”
“And why is that?”
“Because your father is not originally from this City. He is part of an organization – as am I, as was Song Legerdemain – that believes in protecting human life and human freedoms. Ideals that our Nation said goodbye to a long time ago.”
Enoch stares at him, but I pick uncomfortably at a thread in my jacket. The second mention of my mother, of the name I never knew we shared, is jarring. Even more so is the idea of Papa being from somewhere else, when even the richest and most important officials are so rarely allowed to relocate.
“So you’re not from here either?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Do I look like it?”
I take in the long beard, full of intricate knots; the supple, if old, boots with their miles-long laces. “I guess not. But then where do you live?”
“Outside.”
“Where?” I try to imagine how far away he’s come from. Only the biggest Cities survived the wars, and all the old maps have been destroyed. Their number and location is classified Party information, meant to keep field workers from finding their way anywhere else; even Collectors don’t have access to it, though now I’m wondering if Papa did.
“If you come with me, I’ll show you.”
“Come – come with you?” Too late, I realize my tone has betrayed my interest. Enoch looks at me as if to say, What are you doing? Pip takes my hand, probably wondering if
I mean to leave without him. I give him a reassuring smile. “What’s out there? What’s Outside?”
“A City whose government is elected by its people, for one thing,” the big man answers seriously. “For another, safety. For people who need a haven, who want out.”
“And why would you want us?”
“To keep you safe, Naiya. You’re more important than you could possibly realize.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say, a hint of sourness creeping into my voice. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to be safe just yet. We have unfinished business.”
“I know you do, but that doesn’t mean you have to finish it right now. Why not let things cool down a little? Wait for the Party to … move on.” Give them time to forget about your father and his troublesome children, stop looking, give you up for dead just like him. My heart stutters at the thought and I have to swallow hard. I look down hastily, fiddling with Pip’s hair, neatly rolled into small dreadlocks. In the space of a minute he has fallen asleep, his breathing even, his head pillowed in my lap.
Enoch looks at Achilles mulishly, putting a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “We were given a mission. If you know anything about my father, you would know he wouldn’t want us to abandon it, even for a little while.”
“Well, yes,” the big man answers slowly, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “That’s the thing. I did know Elijah. I know he had the tendency to be quite … zealous.” His large legs uncross as he finally rises and goes to retrieve his small knife, then returns to his seat and uses it to pick a piece of meat from his teeth. I’m momentarily distracted, unable to tell if I find that fascinating or barbaric. He, unfortunately, seems distracted not at all, and continues to grope about in his large mouth as his eyes bore into us.
“What does that mean?” Enoch removes his hand from my shoulder, sitting up straighter.
“It means that some of us have been trying to remove Naiya for some time. I believe your mission is important. Extremely important, in fact. But I believe that protecting her is more so.” He leans back, and resumes mining for bits of gristle. For a few moments only the sound of him spitting breaks the silence.
“Protecting me from what?” I ask finally, softly.
Achilles considers me for a long moment, as though he doesn’t want to tell me any more than he already has. “The reports coming out of this City are pretty grim,” he says finally. “Even worse than other places, which is saying something. But you must have noticed. Too many executions, especially considering the already worrisome decrease in births. People disappearing. So many children simply … gone.”
I nod slowly, Amy’s face hovering before me. “The Hollow?”
“Yes,” Achilles says bleakly. “Them too.”
“Are they beyond the walls?”
“Not yet. But they will be soon. This City’s scientists,” he says, sneering as though they do not deserve the epithet, “are quite advanced. Another reason that we’ve wanted to get you out – all of you, really – for a long time. Take you somewhere away from all that. But your father disagreed.”
“Disagreed how?”
“He thought that raising you here, teaching you your profession, was the best way to fulfill the mission you’re now on. Truth be told, it is a very old mission. Very old indeed.”
“My mother … ”
“Yes, it was hers before yours. And before her, her father’s. You might say it’s in your blood. Elijah Barrigan certainly thought so. But some of us believe you’d be better off elsewhere, letting someone else do the legwork. Or at least, like I said, taking a break.”
“If you’re so worried about her, why don’t you stay and help?” Enoch asks. “You obviously know a lot more about this than you’re telling us.”
“I’d like to,” Achilles says earnestly. “But I can’t stay inside the City any longer than I already have. Officially my government doesn’t even know I’m here, and won’t help me if I get caught. Even the Politeia has its politics.” His lips quirk in a lopsided smile.
“Yeah, the name really gives it away,” Enoch says acidly. “But you still haven’t told us why Naiya should go with you.”
“You’d learn more about it if you’d come,” Achilles repeats. “Here I can’t risk telling you anything else. I’m taking a big enough chance as it is.”
Enoch looks at me to gauge my reaction. I can tell his desire to protect me is warring with his urge to reject everything Achilles stands for: change, mystery, acceptance of the fact that Papa is gone. Of the fact that we may never see Amy again. He settles on suspicion, his default these days.
“If we refuse, what’s to stop you from just taking Naiya while we’re sleeping? You found us easily enough before,” Enoch points out, deepening his voice to keep the shake out of it.
“I would never force a Legerdemain to do something she didn’t want to do,” Achilles says solemnly. He looks Enoch right in the eye, then bites into an apple.
“So how did you get into the City?” I ask, changing the subject. If everything this man is saying is true, I can think of several people who’d die to get their hands on him.
“River.”
“Why haven’t they come for you yet?”
Achilles shrugs. “Nobody knows I’m here.”
“How did you manage that?” Enoch says cynically.
“No tracker.”
“What? That’s not possible.”
But instead of answering, Achilles merely turns, lifting his mass of hair to reveal a long, jagged, and ugly scar that starts at the base of his hairline and disappears into his collar. “Believe it, boy.”
Could it be? A tracker removed? Though I could stare for hours, and have a strange urge to touch the scar, I say nothing. Achilles lets down his hair, turning around and fixing each of us with a piercing hawk’s eye.
“Come with me,” he says.
Enoch and I exchange another look. I think of the book we’d found only hours ago, of the tiny letters – PP. The letters almost certainly stand for the Painter’s Palace, which means our trail is far from dead. And then there’s Amy.
“Not all missions are meant to be fulfilled,” Achilles insists softly, clearly reading our thoughts. “Not all of them can be. If you come, you could protect that little boy,” he adds persuasively. “We can help him.”
“Help him?” I breathe, looking down at Pip. In the dim evening light, his Mark is almost invisible. “Turn him back?”
Achilles moves his shoulders noncommittally. “We can try,” is all he says.
This, more than anything, gives me pause. Where before I’d simply been waiting the big man out, hoping to glean everything I could before sending him on his way, I’m now truly torn. The chance of a real life for Pip is almost too good to be true. But the wound from losing Papa is so recent; I can’t bear to discard his final request on top of it.
“Not yet,” I whisper. “We can’t go yet.”
Enoch stares at me for a long time, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine, as though searching for an answer I haven’t given. Then he shrugs, turning back to Achilles.
“There you have it,” is all he says.
“All right.” The big man stands. “I’m headed out, kids. Enjoy the fire, enjoy the food.”
“Seriously?” I stare wide-eyed at the huge piece of meat remaining.
“Sure,” he smiles. “I can get more.”
“Thank you, Achilles.” I pause. “I believe you, you know.”
He smiles, pulling something from his pocket. “I know you do. And I want to help you if I can. My people and I have other business outside the walls for a few days, so if you want to get in touch with me, use this.” He tosses me a miniature metal case spun with wires. In the corner revolves a set of gears, next to them a small speaker. A communication device of some sort.
“Thank you,” I repeat.
“You’re welcome. We’re waiting for you, Naiya Legerdemain,” he adds, before disappearing into the shadows.
<
br /> In his place he leaves oppressive silence, though inside my head all is chaos. I don’t want to admit it, but the strange visit makes me question Papa. He obviously knew more than he’d let on, yet he hadn’t shared it with me. We didn’t have much time, true. But then, why hadn’t he said anything before? Was it because he didn’t know, or simply because he thought I didn’t need to? The thoughts are troubling. My hands ball into fists, and my jaw tightens slightly.
Papa. You should have told me.
Then I remember something entirely different.
“Shoot,” I exclaim. “I forgot to ask Achilles about our signals.”
“What do you mean?” Enoch asks slowly, as though waking from a daze.
“When he was looking at his power pack, it seemed like there were a lot of signals on his screen. I wanted to ask him if we were showing up.”
“Well,” he says slowly, “Achilles doesn’t have a signal.”
“I know, I meant us. I wanted to know if we just kept getting lucky, or if maybe our packs are, I don’t know, defective or something.”
“Huh.”
“It just would have been nice to confirm it, even if we can’t explain it. Now we’ll never know.” I lapse into silence, too worn out to feel the sting of this loss on top of all the others. We watch the flames flicker for a while before climbing into our bedrolls, exhausted utterly by the combination of rich food and strange thoughts. Though I want to draw Enoch out, hear what he thinks, I’m oddly reticent to discuss any of it. I feel like I’ve missed a chance, and it burns, almost as much as the feeling that Papa has let me down.
“I’ll take first watch,” Enoch says dully, and I nod, though I don’t expect to sleep even a wink. Nevertheless, I cuddle down in the blankets and close my eyes.
The next second brings morning. It is gray and dark within our little shelter, still early.
“You should have woken me sooner,” I say groggily, sitting up and pulling my boots back on over my dirty canvas pants. I’d give anything for a change of socks.
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