by L-J Baker
“Um. Yes, sir, I am.”
He showed her his mobile. The screen display identified him as a Senior Officer of the Special Investigations Bureau. Rye’s life felt like it began draining out of her toes.
“I’m Senior Special Officer Evening,” he said. “This is Special Officer Peach.”
Rye glanced at the sylph’s mobile. The sylph then pressed a couple of buttons.
“We’ll be making a recording of this conversation, ma’am,” Evening said.
Rye looked between them. Implacable. Professional. She guessed what was coming before Evening spoke.
“Would you prefer to be called Rye Woods,” he said, “or Righteous?”
Rye had difficulty swallowing.
“You are the fairy female, Righteous, who is the bonded servant of the Vengeance Valley temple in southern Fairyland,” Evening said, “and who left Fairyland eleven and a half years ago without a travel permit, are you not, ma’am?”
“Um,” Rye said.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t catch your answer,” Evening said.
“What… what is this about?” Rye said.
“The government of Fairyland, through their ambassador, has filed a request for repatriation of one Righteous and her sister, Holy Word. Who are both Fairyland nationals.”
Rye’s gaze jerked up to him. They’d got Holly, too.
“The information we have about you and your younger sister, known, I believe, as Holly Woods, fits that supplied by the Fairyland authorities,” Evening said. “Do you have any comment, ma’am?”
“I… I want to be a refugee,” Rye said. “Both of us. Me and my sister. Refugees.”
“Your residence status is the subject of this investigation, ma’am,” he said. “Now that the doctor has given clearance, we’ll be moving you to a more suitable facility while we conduct our enquiries.”
The nurse who helped Rye dress bristled disapproval of Rye’s removal from the infirmary. Special Officer Peach looked utterly impervious. When the nurse finished with the lace on Rye’s shoe, Peach stepped forward and snapped a handcuff around Rye’s left wrist. It joined to the Special Officer’s right wrist.
Outside the infirmary room, Senior Special Officer Evening waited with a policeman. The latter found himself curtly dismissed. Patients, visitors, and infirmary staff stared as Rye and her escort made their way out to a waiting carpet.
Rye’s broken wing made it uncomfortable to sit in the back of the carpet. She stared out the windows, but had little idea where they were going. The carpet finally slowed and halted at a guarded gate. A security fence and a dense tangled hedge of thorny blackberry surrounded a squat totara tree stump.
A blue-uniformed imp opened a thick door in the base of the stump. Rye took a last look at the sky before Peach tugged her inside.
They made her strip and searched her before giving her a loose, bright yellow overall. It had inmate printed across front and back in large black letters. Rye struggled to get it on. Peach stood impassively watching.
They took her fingerprints, inventoried her possessions, and made her sign a lot of forms left-handed.
“Is my sister here?” Rye asked. “Holly Woods. Did they bring her here, too?”
The guard shrugged and scooped her papers into a file. “I can’t disclose information about any other inmates.”
“She’s my sister. My kid sister. I’m the only family she has.”
“All in order?” Evening said.
The guard nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Peach and Evening departed without another word. The female imp and a half-goblin female guard herded Rye toward a barred door. They escorted her down a grim, empty corridor. She had to stand a certain distance from the next barred door before the guard unlocked it.
“What is this place?” Rye asked.
“They didn’t tell you?” the guard said. “Scrub Street Detention Centre. Through here.”
Rye turned into another corridor. This one contained many doors that all looked the same with hand pad locks and dark picture screens. The female guard activated one of the doors and swung it open. Rye paused in the doorway. She faced a tiny room with a cot, a stool, a toilet that projected from the back wall, and a tiny table. No window.
“In you go,” the guard said.
“How long am I going to be here?” Rye asked.
“I can’t tell you that.”
Rye glanced around at all the other doors. “I’ve got to know about my sister. Is she here? Holly Woods. She’s just a kid.”
“A kid? She won’t be here if she’s a juvenile. In you go.”
Rye shuffled forward. The door clanged shut behind her. She heard the whir of a lock being activated.
Rye slumped on the cot. Detention centre. Prison. Next stop Fairyland.
Rye dozed fitfully. She roused every time she rolled over and pressed her broken wing against the cot or the wall. Her thoughts were as uncomfortable as her sleep.
She had never had much in the way of possessions to lose. What really mattered was Holly. And Flora. Now that she would never see Flora again, Rye realised that some part of her had never given up hope that they would get back together. Perhaps after Holly had grown up and moved beyond Rye’s care. Perhaps one day Rye might have been able to offer Flora something. Not much, probably, but something. If only love could have been measured in a tangible way, maybe then Rye could’ve proved herself. Surely no one could love Flora more than she did?
Did Flora ever think about her? Would she ever learn that Rye had been sent back? Would she feel anything?
The morning after Rye had cooked Flora’s dinner for her posh arty friends had probably been one of Rye’s happiest. She and Flora had to be careful not to betray themselves with Holly around, but having the two women she loved together like that had been magic. Holly and Flora did have a lot in common. Holly had never spoken of Flora except with admiration, respect, and enthusiasm. Flora liked Holly, too. Rye could hardly ask for more from relations between her sister and her lover. If only it could always have been like that.
She had once read that the only things you regret are the things you don’t do. She hadn’t agreed, until now.
Rye did so very deeply regret not overcoming her fears and getting Holly’s immigration sorted out properly. She would have given anything for the chance to tell the kid how proud she was of her, and how much she loved her. And how sorry she was that, in the end, she had failed her.
Rye wished she could wind back time to that art gallery. Instead of thinking about throwing herself at Flora’s feet, she would’ve done it for real. Begged Flora to let them see each other. How trivial all her worries and fretting seemed now. They had loved each other. Surely they could have worked it out?
Rye would regret to her last breath that her final glimpse of Flora had been that second time, in the gallery, when Flora walked away.
Chapter Twenty
The door beeped. Rye waited for the breakfast tray to appear. Instead, she heard the whir of the lock. The door swung outward. A blue-uniformed pixie woman beckoned to Rye.
“Out you come, Woods.”
Rye wandered out into the corridor. Voices and people and a large space were momentarily strange and threatening. Another female guard waited on the other side of the door.
“This way,” the guard said.
Rye followed. The other guard walked behind. They took her through several barred doorways and along corridors that all looked the same except for the number of doors in them. At one point, Rye glimpsed a room in which several women in bright yellow inmate overalls moved and talked. The guards marched her past. Finally, the guard opened a door with a window set in the upper part.
Rye stepped into a medium-sized room with a table in the middle. Two men stood near the table. A paunchy middle-aged limoniad, with black streaks in the typical earth brown hair of a meadow nymph, wore an expensive-looking suit. The other man was a young sylph, who also wore an expensive suit rather than the loose, flowing clothes g
enerally favoured by his species. More government agents come to question her. High-powered ones by the look of them. Rye’s heart, which she didn’t think could sink any further, dropped at the same time the female guard thunked the door shut behind her. The back of the guard’s head was clearly visible through the barred window.
“Ms. Woods?” the limoniad said.
“Um. Yeah.”
“Won’t you join us? And take a seat?”
Rye didn’t have a choice. She wandered to the table. Before she sat, the nymph offered his hand. It did not contain his mobile showing his credentials. Rye awkwardly shook his hand with her left. His skin was smooth, his nails immaculately manicured, and he wore three chunky gold rings.
“My name is Basil Summerbank,” he said. “This is my associate, Ash Vervain. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Woods.”
“Um. Yeah.”
When they had all seated themselves, Mr. Summerbank retrieved a gold pen from inside his jacket. Rye noticed the thin pile of papers on the table in front of him. Young Mr. Vervain sat poised to make notes on a thick pad of blue paper.
“My associate and I are attorneys,” Mr. Summerbank said. “If you choose to accept our services, Ms. Woods, we shall represent you for as long as you require.”
“You’re lawyers? You’re on my side?”
“Yes. If you’d like. If not, we can arrange for the representative of your choice to attend you.”
Rye had to look away for a moment. Caught unawares, the rush of relief threatened to spill out of her as tears.
“Ms. Woods? Are you feeling unwell?”
“Um. No. I’m fine. Thanks.” Rye ran her good hand across her face. “Um. I didn’t expect that you’d be – Yeah. I’d really like some help. But… um, I don’t have much money. To pay you.”
“We have been engaged on your behalf by Ms. Flora Withe.”
He said more, but Rye wasn’t really listening. Flora hadn’t forgotten her. Flora had absolutely no reason to do this, yet she’d thrown Rye a lifeline. The only one Rye was likely to get.
“Ms. Woods? If you’re not feeling well enough to continue, we can return later,” Mr. Summerbank said. “Have you been seen by an apothecary or doctor since you left the infirmary?”
Rye tried to pull herself back together. “Um. No. I haven’t seen anyone. Except you. You’re the first.”
“Uh huh.” Mr. Summerbank made a note with his gold pen. “I think we can arrange to get you checked up. Now, Ms. Woods, are you aware of the proceedings being moved against you?”
“Um. That agent guy said that Fairyland wants us extradited. Me and Holly.”
“Yes. A formal request for repatriation has –”
“Mr. Summerbank, where is Holly? What’s happening to her? No one will tell me anything. Holly is my sister. My kid sister. She’s a minor. Sixteen years old. Look, can you help her? Instead of me. She has to stay here. They can’t send her back. You’ve got to do something. Please.”
“Miss Holly Woods is also subject to a repatriation request.” Mr. Summerbank pulled a sheet of paper from his pile and slid it across to Rye. “She’s a very pleasant young woman. Vervain here has initiated the process of filing an application for refugee status for her.”
Rye glanced incredulously between the two men and the form in front of her. “Already? You’ve talked to her?”
“Yes. I interviewed Miss Woods a few days ago, in the company of Ms. Withe.”
Rye stared at him. “She’s okay?”
“I think it’s fair to say that your sister is not unaffected by the current state of affairs. But you need not concern yourself unduly, Ms. Woods. Holly’s case looks very strong. She has some excellent references from her school. There is every indication she will be a valuable and law-abiding citizen.”
Rye ran a hand through her hair. She couldn’t quite believe she was hearing so much good news.
“Her brush with the police won’t have any detrimental impact on her case,” Mr. Summerbank said.
Rye scowled as Mr. Summerbank told her about Holly being drunk in a carpet full of kids drinking booze and smoking dreamweed. Rye wanted to give the kid a shake. If she ever got her hands on her again – “Perhaps you’d like to read that through,” Mr. Summerbank said. “If you agree with the application, we’ll need your signature as Holly’s legal guardian.”
“Oh. Right.” Rye bent her frown down on the paper. “This will get her citizenship?”
“If approved, yes.”
Mr. Summerbank offered Rye his pen. She had never held a gold one before. She felt awkward trying to write her name with her left hand. The resulting scrawl looked like the handiwork of an illiterate child.
“We’ll get that lodged immediately,” he said.
“How long will it take? Until she’s safe?”
“That’s hard to say. We’ll file for priority consideration in light of the repatriation request.”
Rye nodded. “She has a good chance, you say?”
“That would be my assessment. There is another option that we have in Holly’s case.”
“Yeah?”
“I was asked to broach this matter with you by Ms. Withe. She has made the offer to adopt Holly, if other avenues fail, and only with your approval.”
Rye felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. “Adopt her?”
“Adoption by a citizen would confer that status on Holly.”
Rye ran a hand over her face. Flora adopt Holly? Sign over the responsibility for Holly to someone else? It would be the ultimate acknowledgement that Rye hadn’t been good enough to look after her. Holly had raved over the idea of being adopted by Flora and enjoying the lifestyle that Flora’s money could buy. Flora could give her everything Rye could not, even safety. That hurt.
“Ms. Withe was most adamant that this would be a last resort and only with your complete agreement,” he said. “As I can’t see any possible reason why such an application, with your consent, would fail, this guarantees that, one way or another, Holly will evade extradition.”
Rye tugged at her hair as she frowned at the scarred table top. Holly would be safe. That was the crucial fact here. For once, Rye had to forget her pride. There was too much at stake. This wasn’t Flora trying to take the kid from her. This was Flora making sure Holly would have the chance that Rye had worked so hard for: a life free to do what Holly wanted. This wasn’t Flora slapping Rye in the face with a thick wad of money, it was a stunningly generous offer.
“She… she would do that?” Rye said. “For Holly?”
“I have known Ms. Withe and her family for a very long time,” Mr. Summerbank said. “Her offer is sincere.”
Rye frowned down at her lap and tried to blink back tears. She wasn’t wholly successful. She roughly wiped her eyes. It was as if a grinding weight had been lifted. Holly would be safe.
“Ms. Woods?”
Rye sniffed. “Um. Yeah. Look, I… I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe she’s doing this. Yes. Of course, I’ll sign anything I have to for Holls.”
“I have the requisite paperwork here. It will be used only if it proves necessary. But it would probably be best if we had it all ready to go should we need to. Are you comfortable with that?”
“Yes. What do I have to sign?”
Rye felt a strange jolt when she saw Flora’s handwriting on the form. Rye was never going to be able to repay her for this.
“Where is Holly now?” Rye asked. “Not in somewhere like this?”
“She’s staying with Ms. Withe. After your arrest and removal to the infirmary, Holly called Ms. Withe from the police station. Vervain here attended Ms. Withe on that occasion. The police agreed to allow Holly to be released into Ms. Withe’s custody. When the repatriation papers were filed against Holly, Ms. Withe stood as Holly’s guarantor and posted the necessary bond to keep Holly from being sent to a juvenile detention facility for the duration of the proceedings.”
Rye scowled down at her lap. T
ears dripped from behind her fingers to spot her yellow overalls. During that blank period, she had left Holly in police custody. She had let her down even more badly than she had imagined. Rye had shattered her life and Holly’s. Flora had picked up the pieces. Rye didn’t think she could feel her failure any more keenly.
“Ms. Woods?” Mr. Vervain set a packet of tissues on the table near Rye.
She sniffed and grabbed a tissue. “Thanks.”
“Perhaps now we should turn to your case, Ms. Woods,” Mr. Summerbank said.
Rye blew her nose and listened numbly as Mr. Summerbank detailed the charges against her.
“However, these are not our highest priority,” he said. “The government, Ms. Woods, is staying those actions against you pending the result of the repatriation request.”
“What does that mean?” Rye asked.
“It means that those charges won’t be pressed in the event that the courts grant the Fairyland government’s request for repatriation,” Mr. Summerbank said. “Our government has chosen not to hinder that action by instituting criminal proceedings against you which might result in a delay to a possible extradition. So, we need to concentrate our efforts initially in defending the repatriation request. I assume, Ms. Woods, that that is the course of action you would like us to pursue?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to go back. I’ll… I’ll do time in jail here. But I don’t want to go back to Fairyland. Please.”
Mr. Summerbank nodded and consulted one of his papers.
“I have the formal request here,” he said, “and you’re welcome to read it. But I can reduce the basis of their application down to three points. One, you are a citizen of Fairyland who has never received permission to travel beyond the borders of that country. Nor have you ever received naturalisation or other permission to legally reside elsewhere. Is any or all of that correct, Ms. Woods?”
Rye frowned down at her lap. “Yeah. It’s all true.”
“Have you ever applied for residence or citizenship?” Mr. Vervain asked.
“No.”
“Is there any reason that you didn’t?” Mr. Summerbank asked.
“Um.” Rye ran her hand through her hair. “I didn’t think I would get it. And I didn’t think Holly would need it. I thought she’d become a citizen when she got her wings and became an adult.”