The Sinner King: Book of Fire

by D. R. Crislip

  "Are you lost dear?" asked an elderly female voice from behind. Rebecca quickly snapped around in order to see who was speaking to her. The woman looked ancient, at least a hundred and seventy. Her eyes were saggy and her hair was crinkly white. She was small and hunched slightly and was wearing what appeared to be a very warm looking snow suit.

  "I'm . . . I'm not lost," Rebecca forced out, "I'm just trying to figure out where I want to go. I've never been to the Southern Point before."

  "Oh?" said the woman with some intrigue. "Well then, is this trip for business or for pleasure? Because I must say that if this trip is for pleasure then you must take my advice on what to see."

  Rebecca looked around uneasily in order to see who was watching before saying: "I guess you can say that it's for pleasure."

  The woman laughed and gave a small but joyful smile. "Wonderful. You'll find that the Southern Point is full of colorful cultures that date all the way back to the First Time. So many families have traveled here over the years and each one has brought with them a little piece of what they called home. And may I ask what sector you're from?"

  "22," Rebecca blurted out in a lie. "I'm from Sector 22."

  "Oh! Isn't that something! My companion was from Sector 22. When we were wed we were moved to Sector 4 before coming here fifty years ago. There are many other wonderful families here from Sector 22. They actually have an entire sub-community established here. Would you like me to take you there? I simply love visiting those folks whenever the opportunity presents itself."

  Rebecca didn't know if the coincidence was a blessing or a curse. She looked around again and saw two MSF agents stopping a young woman around her age. They appeared to be scanning her wrist for identification. Rebecca then saw another younger woman walking with a man and they went right past an MSF agent without any questions. They're looking for single females, she realized.

  The elderly woman began to look a little disappointed by Rebecca's silence. "Well if you don't have the time to accompany an old woman then I guess we'll part ways."

  "No Ma'am," Rebecca said quickly, "my apologies. I would love to see this Sector 22 community."

  "Oh, well then, wonderful! I truly do think you will find it quite pleasurable and the people very welcoming. There are many different rooms for rent and spectacular views of the ocean." She then hobbled away from the stairs and toward what looked like an exit. "Come with me dear, and away we go."

  Rebecca smiled nervously and quickly caught up with the woman. They walked past the two MSF agents questioning the single girl and headed for a doorway that was being surveyed by another agent. He made eye contact with Rebecca but then looked at the old woman who had locked her arm around Rebecca's and dismissed them. The agent looked toward another potential target. The two women reached the doorway and passed through, which led to the snowy white outdoors.

  Rebecca was hit instantly by the wind and began to shiver. The elderly woman took notice and said: "My dear girl, you sure didn't prepare yourself for the Southern Point climate."

  "No, I guess not," Rebecca said through clenched teeth.

  "Well then, let's make haste and flag us one of those fancy little shortcars I hear so much about."

  Rebecca nodded and said: "You've never ridden in one?"

  "I prefer the rail," the elder woman said. "I guess you can say I'm more of a traditionalist."

  Rebecca forced a smile despite her quivering jaw. "Thank you, by the way," she said earnestly. "My name is Rebecca."

  The woman patted Rebecca's arm with her free hand and said: "My name is Darla and you're welcome."

  Rebecca then saw what appeared to be an empty shortcar pushing through the built up snow. She waved her free hand and the shortcar slowed to a stop. The back passenger doors opened and the two women climbed inside. Rebecca felt the heat turn on instantly as they sat down.

  "Welcome to Trinity Town and Travel Taxi Service, otherwise known as the 4Ts," the robotic driver said. "Where can I escort you on this fine white day?"

  "To Burling's Burrow," Darla answered.

  "To Burling's Burrow we shall go!" the robot said with fake enthusiasm. The shortcar began to roll forward, crunching and pushing through the accumulated snow covering the ground. Rebecca blew warm breath into her hands and continued to tremble. She looked out the window and saw bits and pieces of the craggy rock surface puncture out of the snow and carved into by the Southern Point road structure. Beyond that was nothing but a white abyss for as far as the eye could see. As they picked up speed, the robot gave them a brief summary of the weather for the remainder of the week, as well as the specials going on at the local restaurants surrounding Burling's Burrow. They passed very small buildings, standing low to the ground, and there appeared to be no one walking around.

  "So this is really your first time in a shortcar?" Rebecca asked as she felt her face begin to warm up.

  "Hard to believe, I know," Darla said with a smile, "but I guess there's always room for a first."

  The two women continued to make small talk all the way to the Burling's Burrow. It was mainly Darla who did the talking, she kept going on and on about the growing sub-community of Sector 22 immigrants. Rebecca humored her with smiles and laughter despite the fact that she had no idea what the woman was talking about. Rebecca was just relieved to have made it past the MSF agents without being stopped. For that, she was very thankful.

  After a short while, they arrived at the Burling's Burrow, which was a small tavern. The robot driver announced the fair and Darla voluntarily paid it. "Consider it a welcoming gift," she said.

  Rebecca wanted to protest but knew it was for the better. She couldn't pay the fair even though she wanted to. "I can't thank you enough for your hospitality," she said.

  "This is your first visit," Darla said. "We Southern Pointers have only one shot at making a good first impression."

  "And you're doing a good job at that," Rebecca told her.

  The two women left the cab and walked over to the pathway lining the front entrance of the neighboring storefronts. The place was incredibly plain looking. All of the buildings were cube shaped with barely a distinguishable feature, making it tough to tell a business from a home. "Are all of these buildings businesses?"

  "A mixture of businesses and homes," Darla answered. "Because of the climate, the dear ol' architects did little to give any character to our little community. I think they thought no one would move down here, so they put very little into the design. But boy were they wrong," she chuckled.

  Darla led Rebecca toward one of the buildings that had a small sign above its front door that read: Burling's Burrow—a fine place for a fine drink. As thirsty as Rebecca was, she felt reluctant to go inside with Darla. The woman had already been kinder to her than she could ever repay.

  "Aren't you coming inside, dear?" Darla asked as Rebecca halted on the pathway.

  "You've been so kind to me," Rebecca said, "but I feel as if I have taken too much of your hospitality and should like to leave some for others who are more deserving."

  "More deserving?" Darla said with surprised confusion. "What do you mean by such a ridiculous statement?"

  Rebecca began to shiver again as the cold wind kicked up around her. She didn't know how to explain everything.

  "Look at you, you're about to freeze to death out here. Let's go before you turn into an icicle. I don't want to hear any more about deserving or not deserving."

  Rebecca realized it was futile to argue further and decided to go with the elderly woman inside the tavern.

  The place was dimly lit and smelled of barbeque. There were patrons sporadically sitting at small two seat tables and there was a thin smoke cloud coming from the kitchen. Rebecca's mouth began to instantly water with each breath she took. It had been half a day since she last ate and the food in her bag was already becoming unwelcoming. But as hungry as she was, Rebecca was feeling more pressing matters. "Can you please point me to the restroom?"

  After re
turning and feeling a hundred times better, Rebecca found Darla seated at one of the two tops by the ordering counter. "What can I order you to drink?" Darla asked.

  "Just water," Rebecca responded.

  "Just water? Why don't you have something with a little more substance? You're on vacation and I'm buying."

  Rebecca was not at all comfortable with Darla spending any more money on her. "Water is more than fine, thank you."

  "Oh," Darla said suddenly, "let me guess, you're a member of the Ministry."

  Rebecca found the question to be odd since just about everyone she knew was a member of the Ministry. "And you're not?"

  Darla laughed slightly and shook her head. "No dear, you'll find that many of us Southern Pointers aren't members. As a matter of fact, if they refer to themselves as a Southern Pointer than it's likely they have no affiliation with the Ministry. It's kind of our code, if you catch my drift."

  Rebecca understood now. There were many members of The Collective who were not also members of the Ministry. Depending on what sector one was in: the Ministry had a larger population of members over others. Sector 27, Rebecca's sector, had a high concentration of Ministry positions. Almost everyone living in Sector 27 was a member. But the Southern Point was a different matter. The only real Ministry members living down there were MSF agents. Because of that, as Rebecca now remembered, Ministry members were not very popular. She then decided to deflect Darla's question by saying: "I want water because I'm dehydrated. That's all. The dry air down here has taken its toll on me."

  Darla smiled and nodded. "Fair enough." She then ordered Rebecca one glass of water while she ordered a half glass of rum. After their drinks arrived, Darla asked: "Are you running from something?"

  Rebecca was caught completely off guard. "Excuse me?"

  "I'm sorry to startle you with the question, but I have to ask: are you running from something? As you can imagine, we get all sorts of fugitives running for one reason or another. And quite frankly dear, you look more like one than you probably realize."

  Rebecca didn't know how to respond. Darla was dead on with her observation. "I didn't realize fugitives had a look."

  Darla laughed and said: "Look in the mirror, honey, and you'll see exactly what a fugitive looks like."

  After a moment of silence, Darla explained: "Let's start with your lack of cold temperature dress. You came down here wearing an outfit one would be caught wearing in the desert."

  Rebecca looked at her workout clothes and then back to Darla.

  "Secondly, you claim you're from Sector 22, however, everything I've mentioned about the area and the people seemed almost foreign to you, which tells me you're not familiar with any of it."

  Rebecca wanted to argue but nothing came out.

  "Third and last, you look as if you've been run over by a railway. You're clothes are dirty, your hair is a bit of a mess, and your skin is looking rather pale. You look as if you haven't had a solid meal or drink for about a day or two."

  Rebecca grew extremely nervous by Darla's observations. Can everyone tell? In which case, she was in for a whole heap of trouble.

  "Relax," Darla said while placing a cold thin hand onto Rebecca's, "I'm not going to tell anyone. I've already told you, we aren't members down here, nor do we care for their influence. All we want to do is live our lives the way we want. My time is ending and I'm trying to make the most of it, therefore, I have no interest in turning pretty young ladies into the MSF."

  Again, Rebecca didn't know how to react. She didn't know if she should continue the charade and act as if the elderly woman was off her rocker or if she should come somewhat clean and ask for help. She decided on the latter. "You've been so kind to me," Rebecca said. "Had it not been for you back at the railway station I don't know if I would have made it out."

  "You wouldn't have," Darla said flatly. "That's why I stopped and started talking with you. I could tell something wasn't right. And had the MSF caught you in there, they would have fed you to their HOUNDS until they got everything they needed."

  Rebecca shivered again but not from the cold; Darla's mentioning of the HOUNDS sent chills down her spine. "I really should be leaving. I don't want to burden you any further nor do I want to jeopardize your position for my own sake."

  "At least have something to eat before you go," Darla insisted. "Don't worry about the money; I have more than I have time to spend. Order whatever you want and take some more with you."

  Rebecca couldn't thank her enough but kept her order minimal and had a small piece of chicken with a side of vegetables. Darla gave up on trying to force-feed the woman and settled into her drink. Once they were finished, Rebecca announced it was time for her to depart. She also asked Darla if she knew of a man named Rawling.

  "Can't say I do," Darla said. "There are so many people living here, though, who could possibly know them all?"

  Rebecca agreed and thanked her once more.

  "If I were you," Darla said before Rebecca could leave the table, "I would try going about five blocks further south. The man you're looking for might be somewhere down there, if you catch my drift."

  Rebecca nodded and smiled. "Thank you."

  *******

  Outside the temperature seemed to have dropped further. Rebecca felt her skin tighten as soon as the wind smashed through. Five blocks, she thought. It sounded daunting. She was already beginning to tremble again. But what else was there to do? Rebecca had no alternative but to push on. She crossed the pathway and began to walk south along the storefronts. Each block appeared to be about a half-mile long so she knew she was in for a long haul. There were several shortcars that passed her along the way. Rebecca looked longingly at them. One of the things she needed to be conscious about was keeping an eye out for MSF agents lurking around. As Darla pointed out, Rebecca looked like a fish out of water down there. She needed warmer clothes for more than the obvious reason.

  The five-block hike south had proved to be tougher than predicted. It took Rebecca approximately an hour in the blistering cold wind to make the walk. Her legs were aching almost as bad as the day she was attacked by the Stalker, and the little food she ate at the tavern was already burned up from the constant trembling. By the time she counted the fifth block, her ability to withstand the cold was over. She needed a place to hang out for a while. Rebecca peered through her tear filled eyes and saw what looked like the perfect spot: a pastry store.

  She pushed in through the front door of the building and was instantly hit with the wafting smell of battered goods. The place was very bright and had glass cases all throughout. Inside each case were pastries of every different make. Delectable treats that would make any person's stomach ache for at least one bite.

  Rebecca looked around for the store manager but saw none. She then walked around and glanced into each case. Everything was so tempting. She looked for someone—anyone—but there was nobody. As odd as it struck her, Rebecca didn't let it affect her too much. She had set both of her bags onto the ground and gave her arms a stretch. The store was very warm and quite cozy. She realized she could hang out there all night if the store manager, whoever it was, allowed it.

  In the case in front of her, Rebecca saw a chocolate torte. She hadn't had one of those in probably seven years. It was very thick but not overly large in size. Her eyes watered at the sight and she instantly began to question whether or not the manager would notice if she took a bite. I can't just take a bite, Rebecca told herself. If I'm going to taste it I would need to eat the whole thing. She knew it was an awful risk to take, but her hunger and desperation had almost completely taken over her decision-making abilities. Just one torte won't hurt anyone.

  Rebecca walked behind the glass case and slid open the door. Inside was cooler than the outside. She moved her hand over the chocolate torte and gently lifted it out of its place. Rebecca slipped her arm out and began to engulf the pastry. Its sweet rich flavoring was almost too much for her to handle. She ate the entire thing in le
ss than ten seconds. After she was finished, Rebecca went back to her bags and hoisted them up onto her shoulders. As the straps began to settle back into the grooves mashed into her skin, a strong overpowering force grabbed both arms.

  "What do you think you're doing, thief?!" The man spun her around to face him with great power. He was at least a foot taller than her and as wide as a railway.

  Rebecca cried out with fear and her bags slipped onto the ground.

  "ANSWER ME!" he yelled again. The anger and fire in his eyes almost made Rebecca pass out.

  "I'm sorry," she stammered through trembles. "I . . . I was cold and hungry . . . I needed a place to"—but before she could explain further, Rebecca noticed that the man's narrow angry eyes moved away from her and toward her bags on the floor. Her travel bag was spilled open, exposing her Ministry uniform.

  "Well, well, well," the man said with startling pleasure, "what do we have here? A member of the Ministry is stealing tortes from my shop. Oh how sweet this is." His lips curled into a frightening smile. Then, with unparalleled strength, the man jerked Rebecca forward and toward an open door she hadn't noticed earlier.

  "What are you doing?!" she shouted with fear.

  Unmoved by her emotion, he said: "Thieves deserve to have their hands cut off. But thieves that belong to the Ministry—well—they get something a little more special."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Rebecca felt utterly powerless against the man's brute strength. He dragged her through the doorway that led into a storage closet. Her arms were bent behind her back. The man quickly tied her hands with some rope pulled from a cluttered shelf and then slammed her onto a stool. She sat there in total fear as he went back to the door and locked it shut. "You made a big mistake robbing me, little girl," the man said with ferocity.

  "I only did it because I was starving!" cried Rebecca. "Please! I'll pay you for the food!"