by Jay Posey
Without raising his head, Janner’s eyes shifted sideways to Gaz. He still had that smirk on his face. And Wren still felt the anger, the need to defend Mama. But everything seemed frozen inside him. Frustration built. He discovered he had no idea how to express what he wanted to say. No way to correct or punish.
“If the governor would be so kind,” Gaz said, “we’ve got a patrol to maintain.”
Wren searched one last time for something. Anything. And came up empty. He nodded his head and even though he tried hard not to, he ended up dropping his gaze to the ground.
“Morning, then,” Gaz said. Wren watched the two pairs of feet swivel and walk away. And just a few moments later he heard Janner mutter, “Little brat.”
It shouldn’t have seemed like such a big deal, but in that moment Wren felt like he’d lost something important. He was supposed to be the Governor. Supposed to be in charge. But even his own guard didn’t respect him. And why should they? He was just a stupid little boy, playing at being king. Tears rose up, and he hated himself all the more for crying.
Wren dug his palms into his eyes for a few moments, tried to push the tears away. It didn’t matter, really. It didn’t matter whether people respected him or even liked him. There was still work to do, and it was his job – his duty – to do it. At least until someone else came along.
He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, and his nose on his sleeve, and made his way to the main gate. Up ahead he could hear raised voices, not quite loud enough to make out the words but enough to get the gist of the tone. Painter and Luck were already there, taking abuse from one of the guardsmen.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I told you already, nobody’s coming in or out today,” the guard snapped. “And if you don’t quit buzzing around here, I’ll have to juice you both.” He waved his stunrod back and forth for emphasis.
“It’s OK,” Wren called. “I asked them to come.”
The guard turned and saw Wren. It was Lane, one of the guards who’d been on duty when the attack happened, and one of the nicer people in the guard. If he was still posted, that must’ve meant they’d called everyone in. It also explained why Lane wasn’t his usual cheerful self.
“Governor,” Lane said. “No one told me anything about these two.”
“I know, Lane. But it’s alright.”
“Does your mother–” Lane caught himself. “Did you clear it?”
“Yeah, it’s OK,” Wren replied. “You’re not going to get in trouble.”
“Well, do me a favor and tell that to Connor, huh?”
Wren smiled. “I will.”
“Alright,” Lane said. He authorized the gate unlock, opened it, and nodded to Luck and Painter as they entered. “Sorry for giving you boys a hard time, but orders are orders. And it’s been a long night.”
“Hey, it’s your job,” Luck said with a shrug and his quick smile. “We won’t break anything while we’re here, promise.”
Lane said, “Yeah, see to it you don’t. Best to keep a low profile today.” Lane closed the gate behind them and relocked it.
“Thanks, Lane,” Wren said.
“Yep.”
Wren led the two away from the gate. “You guys want to go back over to the side yard?”
“Actually,” Luck said. “You mind if we go in? Sun’s starting to get to me.”
“Um, I guess so. We should probably go around the side though.”
“Yeah, what’s going on with all that? People seem pretty buttoned up today.”
Wren shrugged.
“Old people stuff?” Luck asked.
“Yeah,” Wren answered. He adjusted course and took his companions away from the main entrance, around the eastern edge of the building. They passed the two guards on patrol again, who gave them a quick once-over. Wren kept his head down. He asked, “How’re you guys doing?”
“Can’t complain,” Luck said.
“You can al-al-always complain,” Painter said.
“Well, yeah, I mean, I’ve gotta hang out with you, so that’s like the worst,” Luck replied. He swatted Painter on the arm. “And for some reason I’m having trouble with the ladies lately.”
“Not just l-l-l,” Painter said, the “L” sticking in his mouth. He shook his head once, quickly. “Lately.”
The three walked to a short set of stairs leading down to one of the main building’s lesser used entrances, and Wren tried the door. Locked.
“See what I mean?” Luck said. “Buttoned up.”
“Just a sec,” Wren said. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he really didn’t feel like going back around to the front. And these days, it hardly took him a second. He stretched out through the digital, and in the next moment the lock chirped and he pulled the door open. “Don’t tell my mom.”
They entered a hallway, one level below the main floor of the building. It was cool, and quiet, and minimally lit. It always seemed to Wren that the place had been built to hold far more people than were allowed in it now.
They found a room off the hall with some plush chairs and made themselves at home. Luck flopped into a chair in the middle of the room and threw his feet onto a low table. Wren sat across from him, perched forward in his chair so his feet could still touch the floor. Painter didn’t sit, but instead walked slowly about the room, looking around aimlessly.
“How about you, Painter?” Wren asked. “How’s everything with you?”
Painter shrugged. “Alright, I g-guess.”
“Just alright?” Luck said. “I wish my life was as alright as yours. Any time you wanna trade jobs, P, you just let me know.”
“Mister Sun is real n-n-n-nice. But you know what it’s like.”
“I’m sure I don’t,” Luck said.
Painter frowned a little and went quiet. There was an awkward silence, and Wren wasn’t sure why, or how to fix it. Painter and Luck were both good friends, but they were also a good bit older than Wren, and he was never sure exactly how to behave around them.
“So, what’s up with you, Wren?” Luck said. “Err, I mean, Mister Governor, sir.” He took his feet off the table and bowed forward when he said it, before flopping back again.
“I don’t know. Just the usual, I guess.”
“Just the usual, Painter,” Luck said, looking over at Painter who was now examining some fixture near one corner of the room. He turned back to Wren. “So, that’s like what? Running the city, keeping the guard in check, bringing people back from the dead… you know, just the usual.” Luck said it with a smile and his kind of teasing affection. “Speaking of which, how come you don’t have to be in that meeting, anyway?”
“My mom said I could skip it,” Wren answered. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be important.”
“Aren’t they all immm-imm… -portant?” Painter said from across the room.
Wren shrugged. “I’m sure the Council thinks so. But most of the time they just talk a lot and hardly ever do anything. I don’t know how important something can be if all you ever do is talk about it.”
“That’s one of the reasons you make a good governor, Wren,” Luck said. “You’re a man of action.”
Wren felt embarrassed at the description, but he could tell Luck actually meant it. “I’d like to be,” Wren said. “One day.”
“No reason to wait,” said Luck.
Painter finally wandered over and took a seat next to Luck. He seemed restless, more on edge than usual. Like he had somewhere else to be, and was running late. One of his legs bounced with nervous energy.
“Have you heard from your sister?” Wren asked Painter.
Painter’s attention snapped to Wren, and after a moment he shook his head. “Not since the fuh, fuh, the first time.”
Painter had a younger sister named Snow. Wren had never met or even seen her, but from what he could gather, she and Painter had been very close before he had been taken. After his Awakening, he’d sought her out, expecting a happy reunion. It hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped.
/> “I’m sure she’ll come around, man,” Luck said. “Just needs time to adjust. We all do.”
Painter shrugged and shook his head again. “Wouldn’t think it’d tuh-take that long.”
“Yeah. But every day we’ve got’s a gift as far as I’m concerned. You can’t let the regulars get you down.”
“Easy to sss – to say.”
“Have you guys been having trouble?” Wren asked. “In the city, I mean.”
Luck glanced over at Painter. Painter just looked at the floor.
“Just the usual,” Luck said, with his quick grin again.
“What happened?” said Wren.
“Nothing really. Just, you know, like I said. Everybody needs time to adjust. Maybe some quarters more than others.”
“It isn’t fair,” Painter said. “We’re citizens just as muh-muh-much as anyone.”
“Yeah,” Luck answered. “But you gotta admit, we’re not just people anymore.”
“We’re better.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. Different, for sure.”
Wren felt overwhelmingly selfish. Yes, he’d had a frightening night, but it hadn’t been the first time he’d been exposed to danger. He hadn’t been harmed, not really. And here his friends were, facing threats every day for something out of their control. They’d done nothing to deserve being taken by the Weir. And they’d never asked to be brought back by Wren. Twice victims. There might not be anything Wren could really do to make it right for Painter and Luck and others like them, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t try.
“Hey, I’m sorry to do this guys,” Wren said, getting up out of his chair. “But I’ve got a meeting to go to.”
“How’d somebody get inside the perimeter?” Arom asked. “Then inside the compound? His hall? His room?” He stomped around the room in a rage. “Do you all realize how many separate, total failures had to happen for some stranger to end up even in the same building as him?”
The Council had already gathered, having been briefed when they were summoned. It was unusual to bring them all together on such short notice. No one was happy about it. But certainly the circumstances warranted it. Cass stood at the door, silent and thus far unnoticed, watching them through her heavy veil. Aron, the oldest member of the governing body, thundered with a passion more characteristic of a man thirty years younger.
“Aron, please–” said Connor, holding up a calming hand, trying to soothe the older man. A mistake, Cass knew. His tone would inflame, instead.
“Don’t ‘Aron, please’ me, boy,” Aron said, whirling to face Connor. His finger darted out so quickly that Connor actually flinched from across the table. “This is exactly what I’ve been warning you all about. The disorder, the lack of discipline, the… the… the chaos out there has finally spilled over these high walls and infected the very heart of our city.”
Already Cass could sense a shift in the Council. Something was different. Off. And in a flash, her instincts confirmed her fear; someone in this room wanted her son dead. But who? And why? Or was she just being paranoid?
She thought of Three and his uncanny knack for reading subtle signs in people’s expressions, movements, breathing. What would he have seen? What would he have said? Trust your instincts. She would have to intervene soon or else the morning would be lost. But not yet.
“I told you,” Aron continued. “I warned you when you opened them gates to those people, I warned you they was gonna bring nothin’ but disease and decline. And you did it anyway.”
Hondo had his head back on his chair, eyes closed. Aloof, impatient with anything he considered petty or irrelevant. Vye was next to him, staring down at the table in front of her, ignoring the conflict. If the argument got too heated, she would wilt and refuse to take sides, regardless of what she believed.
“The damage was already done,” Connor answered. Civilian overseer of the entire guard. Not as skilled a diplomat as he believed, but level-headed. “You know it better than anyone. Those people were submissive only because they knew Governor Underdown would continue to protect them even outside the wall.”
“If not for Underdown’s tyranny,” Rae added, “those people would’ve been our friends. Our neighbors. Our allies.” She was middle-aged and fiery, ever the champion of the less-fortunate.
North watched with quick eyes and utter stillness. Cass was a little surprised he hadn’t noticed her yet.
“Underdown may’ve been a tyrant,” Aron countered, “but at least he brought order.”
“Through fear and deception!” Rae retorted.
“Underdown is dead,” said a voice, and a chilled silence immediately fell over the group. Cass realized it was she that had spoken.
“Lady Cass…” Aron said with a slight bow, and the hint of a tremble in his voice. From the adrenaline, not from fear. Never from fear when it came to Aron.
Cass was uncertain what point she had intended to make by reminding them of Underdown’s death. And she could not afford to seem uncertain. Not in this room. Not now. So, without another word, she strode from the door to a seat near the head of the table, but did not sit. Instead, she placed her hands on the table and leaned over it, addressing them in a low and well-controlled voice, hoping it would command the group’s respect, or at very least their attention.
“Last night someone tried to murder my son in his bed. I called you here to discuss solutions, and I see no value in revisiting year-old decisions in light of the difficulties that already lie before us.” She looked to Aron first, and then slowly to each member of the council in turn. “If any of you wish to discuss the matter further, you may do so with me later. Privately. Are we agreed?”
“Of course, ma’am,” said Connor, half-rising out of his chair. The others nodded their assent, Aron last of all.
Cass lifted her hand to indicate her veil.
“Take it off,” Aron said with a dismissive wave. He threw himself heavily into a chair at the table. “I can’t stand you hidin’ behind that infernal curtain.” His gruff words might’ve seemed like rudeness or disdain, but Cass knew better, and she took it as a good sign. It was more like a father’s thin impatience about a cherished daughter’s scandalous outfit; and Aron was only polite when he had an angle.
Cass raised the veil and took a seat, but not without noticing how quickly Rae averted her eyes. More than a year had passed since Cass’s return, and still some could not bear to look at her directly. Some. Many.
“I apologize for bringing you all here on such short notice,” she said. Hondo laid his head back on his chair again, closed his eyes as if to emphasize the point. “But I felt, given the circumstances…”
“Where’s Wren?” Rae asked.
“He won’t be attending today.”
“Is he alright?” North asked, his voice like distant thunder. Built like a mountain, he spoke rarely, listened deeply – and most often heard what went unsaid. A good man.
“A knock on the head, a bruised ankle. We’re grateful it was nothing more.”
“We’re lucky it wasn’t more,” Aron said. “And if he isn’t holed up somewhere under lock and key, you’re all a heap dumber than I thought.”
“I’m not going to imprison my son for someone else’s crime, Aron.”
“That boy, Cass, you know I love him like my own, I do, but that boy is more than just your son.”
“Where would you put him?” said Rae. “If he isn’t safe in his own room, where in Morningside could he possibly go?”
Cass defused the beginnings of another squabble by activating the table surface. The marble texturing melted away and was replaced by a number of images of Wren’s attacker. “Anyone recognize this girl?”
Hondo raised his head off his chair with an audible sigh, opened his eyes to look.
Vye’s hand went to her mouth, but not from recognition. Her compassion was well known. Tears welled in her eyes. “She’s so young.”
There was a brief silence as everyone scanned the pictu
res.
“An outsider, no question,” Aron said. A quick evaluation; maybe too quick.
“We don’t know that,” Rae responded. Possibly just to antagonize Aron.
“It’s obvious. Look at her. Clothes, dirt, all skin and bones.”
“Because Morningside’s never had poor inside the wall, Aron?” Rae asked, anger evident in her voice.
“Rae.” Connor stepped in. “Let’s not make it a class thing, OK? You have to admit, she doesn’t look like a citizen.” Rae sharply looked back at the images in front of her without response.
“Probably lost her family to an attack or something,” Aron said. “Maybe had it out for Underdown, and once we brought ’em all inside, she waited for a chance and decided to get some revenge on Wren.”
“Could be,” Vye said cautiously. “I guess it’s possible.”
“Stretching. Outsider, I buy,” Hondo added. “But personal vendetta? Pulled this off on her own? I don’t see that.”
“I have to agree,” said Connor. “Whatever her motives, she’s got all the marks of someone who grew up beyond the wall.” Beyond the wall. A phrase Connor probably considered more diplomatic, but still managed to make sound demeaning. Another way to say outsider. Second-class. Other. Like Cass.
“Or someone went to a great deal of trouble to make it seem like she came from the outside,” North said, and Cass watched his words ripple through the Council. Aron and Hondo exchanged a quick glance; Rae clenched her jaw; Vye just sat there looking at the pictures of the girl and shaking her head. Connor stayed very still. For a long moment, they sat in silence, the implications sinking in.
“How did she…?” Vye asked, unable to bring herself to say it.
“She killed herself,” Cass said. She tossed the handle of the girl’s knife on the table. Hondo picked it up, examined it, held it up for the others to see.
“It’s a popper.”
“A what?” Vye said.
“Shatter-blade,” Aron explained. “Got a little charge in there, makes the blade explode in a million pieces and turns your insides to soup. Nasty business. Find ’em on outsiders all the time.” He added the last bit as if it was proof positive his assumptions were right. Awfully convinced.