The Book of Betrayal

by Melissa McShane

  It was only my imagination, again, that everyone I passed stopped to watch me go. I didn’t look any different from the other women in the atrium, at least I didn’t think I did, and the badge with my name on it wasn’t large enough to be clearly seen from more than a few feet away. Yet I felt more eyes on me than just Malcolm’s as I crossed the atrium to the elevators.

  The first one on the right looked like all the others, except it only had one button, pointing up. Nobody else stood waiting with me for the elevator, which made me feel even more as if I were in a Twilight Zone episode, one with an elevator that opened on Hell or something. People moved past me, and now I knew they were staring, because I could see them out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and smiled pleasantly at an older couple standing next to me. They swiftly turned their attention to their elevator. So I was interesting, but also poison. Given my current standing with the Board, that made sense.

  The door slid open with a quiet whoosh. I stepped inside. Here, there were only two buttons, both embossed with arrows. I pushed the Up button. The doors slid shut, and the elevator made a rapid ascent. I looked at my feet, examining the faded pattern of the carpet. I couldn’t make out whether it was paisley or floral, but in either case it was a tacky turquoise and pink and it made me feel better, like the Board couldn’t possibly have that much power over me if it had such terrible taste. The silence in the air stifled me, and I yawned, hoping to make my ears pop, though that probably wasn’t it. The worst elevator music in the world would have been preferable to the still, unnerving silence.

  The doors slid open on a short hallway with floor to ceiling windows along one of its sides. I looked out over the Willamette, down on the park several stories below. The geese were a moving smudge along the parkway. I spared a thought for the bikers who had to pass them and walked to the end of the hallway, pushed open the door, and cautiously entered.

  The enormous room beyond probably took up half the top floor, but was mostly empty. Pillars stood at regular intervals throughout the room, propping up the relatively low ceiling and making me feel claustrophobic despite the many windows. On the far side of the room, near one bank of those windows, stood an executive table surrounded by low-backed leather chairs. All but one of the chairs were occupied. The nine members of the Board of Neutralities regarded me dispassionately.

  I straightened my spine and walked forward until I stood at the foot of the table. Laverne Stirlaugson, seated at the head, gave me a long, considering look. “Ms. Davies,” she said, “be seated.”

  I took my seat and crossed my hands in my lap. I wasn’t about to be the first to speak. And I really wanted to know how this was going to play out.

  “Ms. Davies,” Stirlaugson said again, “the Board has chosen to hold this hearing here rather than in the Blaze as a consideration to you. We remind you that you are still bound to speak the truth, even if we cannot compel it out of you.”

  “I understand. Thank you.” The Blaze, a magical device for assessing the truthfulness of a speaker, was a white-purple flame that blinded me because I could see through the illusion put on it. The fact that they’d decided not to use it heartened me. They couldn’t be that angry if they were considerate of my needs, right?

  Stirlaugson’s next words dispelled that feeling. “You stand accused of violating the Accords and demonstrating partiality toward the Ambrosite faction in your romantic relationship with Malcolm Campbell. How do you answer this charge?”

  “I admit to violating the Accords. I deny that this makes me partial.”

  A faint susurrus of movement swept across the table. “Ridiculous,” Ragsdale said. “If you violated the Accords, you’re partial. End of story.”

  “With respect, Mr. Ragsdale, I disagree. I’ve demonstrated through my actions in the last sixteen months that I am committed to being nonpartisan. For half that time, I’ve been romantically involved with Malcolm Campbell. I contend personal attachments are not de facto evidence of partiality, and I’m here to ask the Board to amend the Accords to reflect that.”

  Everyone began speaking at once before I’d finished, forcing me to raise my voice. Stirlaugson shouted, “Be still, all of you!” Gradually the room quieted, though Ragsdale looked like he was forcibly restraining himself from speaking. “Ms. Davies, you are on trial,” Stirlaugson said. “You are not in a position to make requests.”

  “My defense hinges on my proving I’m still impartial. If it’s true my love life hasn’t prevented that, then it’s true others can do the same, and the Accords ought to reflect that.”

  “Impossible,” Ragsdale said. “You’re not seriously considering this.”

  “I am,” said Chukwu. “Ms. Davies has earned a great deal of goodwill from us. I say we listen to her defense and make a reasoned decision, not one based on anger and spitefulness.”

  “Ayodele—”

  “I said be still,” Stirlaugson said. “Ms. Davies. Convince us.”

  I took a moment to look each Board member in the eye, gauging where my support lay. Harrison was an old enemy and he looked pleased to see me in this position. Ragsdale, of course, was livid. Chukwu was apparently on my side, though for how long, I couldn’t tell. Chao Min, the elderly Chinese woman, was an enigma, but I knew she would respond to any argument that increased the Board’s power.

  The others, I didn’t know their names, but the redheaded American woman looked intrigued and the white-bearded Frenchman looked cross. I didn’t even know the nationalities of the final two women, just that they were both middle-aged, one was white, one darkly tan, and they looked at me as if waiting for me to get on with it. Right. I’d stared long enough.

  “The Accords were written to keep the peace between the Ambrosite and Nicollien factions,” I began.

  “We’re not interested in a history lesson,” Ragsdale said.

  “I’m just setting the stage, Mr. Ragsdale. My point is that everything in the Accords is intended to serve that purpose. The Wardens who wrote them put a lot of thought into the rules, which is why we have things like Article IV, Section G, subsection 2, paragraph ii—mandatory sanguinis sapiens harvesting must occur on the sixth day of the fourth week of every month. To an outsider, that may look silly, but it was life or death to those Wardens.”

  “Are you mocking us by quoting the Accords?” the redheaded woman said. She was smiling like it was all a great joke, so I didn’t let her throw me.

  “No, ma’am. I’ve just studied the Accords thoroughly for the last eight months, looking for a loophole, and now I know them very well for someone who wasn’t a Warden until just over a year ago.” I swallowed and wished they’d provided water. “The reason I bring up that provision governing sanguinis sapiens harvesting is I looked up why it was there at all. Why such a specific date? And I learned that it was because of their accounting procedures and the fact that February is short. So there’s always a reason for even the pickiest of details.”

  “That does not excuse you. In fact, it rather condemns you,” the Frenchman said.

  “I don’t think so. Would you like to know why there’s a provision in the Accords stating that romantic relationships between a custodian and a faction member are illegal?”

  “It’s irrelevant,” Ragsdale said.

  “Shut up, Timothy, we all know how you feel,” the redhead said. “I’m interested, Ms. Davies. Tell us more.”

  “It’s a longer story than the other, so bear with me. It has to do with a man named Tracy and his wife Glenda. Mr. Tracy was one of your forebears—”

  “We know who Steven Tracy was,” Chukwu said.

  “Oh. I guess that makes sense. Then maybe you know the story. It’s in the Athenaeum and I found it easily. Mr. Tracy was one of the Wardens who wrote the Accords, and Mrs. Tracy was custodian of the Gingher Node. They were both busy people and I guess they didn’t see much of each other. Anyway, there was a Nicollien named Fred Sparks who was a frequent visitor to the Gingher Node, and…well, things went the way
they often do, and Fred and Glenda became lovers. They ran off together, abandoning the node and throwing it into turmoil. Mr. Tracy was angry and humiliated. And when it came time to delineate the relationships between the Neutralities and the factions, he insisted it be written in that no custodian could have a romantic relationship with a faction member.”

  I leaned forward a little in my seat, keeping their attention fixed on me. “See, the thing I never understood was why it doesn’t say we custodians can’t have close friendships with faction members. I’m close to lots of people on both sides, like the Kellers, and yet the Accords aren’t concerned I might display partiality toward them. But if you look at poor Mr. Tracy’s story, it starts to make sense. One man is hurt—badly hurt, and I feel so sorry for him—and he turns around and enshrines that hurt in law. And the rest of us have to suffer for it.”

  The Board was silent. I swallowed again, trying to moisten my mouth. “Another thing,” I said. “My predecessor, Nathaniel Briggs, was killed because he wouldn’t falsify an augury for a close friend. If he’d done it, the Accords would punish him for giving a false augury—that’s Article I, Section C, subsection 4, paragraph i—and it would punish him for being partial. It would not, however, punish him just for having that friendship. And I think that’s right. I think the Accords should give custodians more credit. We take our duties very seriously, ladies and gentlemen, and expecting us not to make friendships, or even romances, across faction lines is expecting us not to be human. Don’t condemn us for the possibility that we might be partial. Only condemn us when we actually are.”

  More silence. I sat back in my chair and gripped the armrests loosely. My palms were dry, for a miracle, and my heart beat a nice steady pace. Chukwu sat forward. “You have been involved with this Malcolm Campbell for eight months,” he said. “How will you prove that you have not been partial?”

  “Malcolm was accused of murdering a high-ranking Nicollien, and the Nicolliens all wanted auguries so they could find him and kill him. I could have refused to give those auguries. I could have lied about them—maybe. I’ve never seriously thought about lying about any augury, and I don’t know what the oracle would do if I did. But I did neither. I performed every augury brought to me during those days, even though it hurt more than I can say. I wanted so badly, every time I walked into the oracle, to see it tell me there was no augury. I did a lot of crying and a lot of shouting. But I also did my duty. Ask the Nicolliens. They’ll tell you.”

  “They already have. At length,” the Frenchman said grouchily. “We have heard much in support of you.” Thank you, Judy. “All irrelevant, of course.”

  “Evidence,” the redheaded woman said. “None of it truly irrelevant.”

  “You think you should be allowed to get away with this, just because of some old story and a handful of auguries?” one of the unknown women said. She had an Australian accent and frizzy, windblown hair that made her look like a goddess of the harvest—a hardscrabble harvest.

  “I don’t know what kind of punishment I deserve, and I’m not going to choose one for myself. I probably should have come before the Board petitioning for the change before I started dating Malcolm. I made mistakes. I was in love and I didn’t want to wait to have the man I wanted. I’m sorry for that. But I don’t regret the decisions I made.”

  “Impenitent,” Ragsdale said, “impertinent, bold, disrespectful—I’m shocked that you feel entitled to ask the Board anything, let alone to overlook your transgression.”

  “I haven’t asked you to overlook it. And if I don’t ask, who will?”

  “Nobody else seems interested in dating a faction member,” said the other unknown woman, whose accent was lightly Hispanic. “This all sounds very self-serving to me.”

  I didn’t have an answer to that. It had always been the problem, that no one had ever challenged this part of the Accords before, and for all I knew I was the only one who ever would. “It’s not,” I said, and hated how weak I sounded.

  “We’re not going to change a seventy-year-old document just so you can have the social life you want,” the Frenchman said. “Are we ready to deliberate?”

  “Does anyone have any more questions?” Stirlaugson said. No one spoke. “Then I do,” she added, and leaned forward in her chair.

  “Ms. Davies,” she said, “how will you respond to the verdict of the Board?”

  I swallowed yet again. Really, the lack of water made me feel more like a criminal than any amount of grilling. “I will abide by your decision,” I said, “because it’s what I swore to do.”

  “Good,” Stirlaugson said. “Wait outside that door until we call.” She pointed at a door on the other side of the room from where I’d entered. I walked slowly across the textured Berber carpet, feeling a flaw in my left heel catch on the nap every other step, and went out the door. Once I shut it behind me, I leaned against it and drew in a deep breath, then let it out again, closing my eyes against the remembered nightmare.

  Eventually, when I’d become lightheaded from all the breathing, I opened my eyes and stood upright. I was in a little reception area with two chairs and a curved desk about armpit-high to me. There was also, thank God, a water dispenser and a stack of those cups that are pointed at the bottom. I snatched one up and filled and drained it three times without stopping. Then I filled it a fourth time and stood sipping and looking out the tiny window that showed only the roof of the building next door, and let my mind go pleasantly blank. It was over. Sure, the Board had yet to decide my fate, but there was nothing more I could do to change their minds.

  A couple of water birds coasted in from the left, where the river was, and landed neatly on a pipe protruding from the roof. Where were they going? What could they hope to find on that barren roof? Were they mated, or just chance-met friends? One of the birds pecked at the back of the other, who didn’t freak out, so probably it was a desired pecking. I wished I could see beyond the roof. Even the geese would be more interesting.

  I sat and stretched out my legs, eased off one of my pumps and scratched the sole of my foot with my toe. I felt so tired. All I wanted now was to go home, take off my suit, and curl up in Malcolm’s arms and fall asleep. Even sex felt like too much work.

  The door scraped open. I hopped to my feet, then staggered a bit trying to get my shoe back on. The redheaded woman peered in at me. “You can come back now,” she said with a smile. I gulped down the rest of my water, dropped the empty cup on my chair, and followed her, my heart once again pounding. It seemed I wasn’t as calm about this as I’d thought.

  The Board watched me closely as I returned behind my guide. I tried to judge the decision by their expressions and gave up; they all looked stern and unfriendly, even Chukwu. Sit, stand, sit, what do I do? Finally, I reached my chair and dropped into it. If this were a real courtroom, they’d ask me to stand, but my legs were shaking badly enough that I wasn’t sure I could stay upright.

  “Ms. Davies,” Stirlaugson said, “the Board has considered your case, and your petition, and has made the following decision. Your reasoning with regard to the Accords is sound, and we acknowledge that there is more to considerations of partiality than simple rules. Given that friendship is not forbidden by the Accords, we choose to amend the law to permit romantic relationships—”

  I let out a squeak. Half the Board members laughed behind their hands.

  “As I said, the Accords will now permit romantic relationships, though we will also be revising the punishments for partiality to reflect this. The Board thanks you for your diligence in bringing this to our attention.”

  “Don’t get so excited,” Ragsdale said. The evil little smile on his face sobered me instantly.

  “This decision is not retroactive. You are still guilty of violating the Accords and must be punished accordingly.” Stirlaugson stood and put her hands palm-down on the table, leaning far forward like a puma poised to launch herself at her prey. “Helena Davies, you are fined one hundred thousand dollars a
nd will be under close scrutiny by the Board for the next twelve months. You will have your actions audited once a month by a Board member—” Her eyes briefly flicked toward Ragsdale, who looked positively blissful. “And any violation of any provision of the Accords will be viewed with extreme displeasure and the fullest prosecution of the law.”

  “And you have to pay that fine yourself. No having your rich boyfriend throw money at it,” the Australian woman said.

  Stirlaugson shook her head slowly as if in warning. “Do not misunderstand me, Ms. Davies. This was not a unanimous decision. Some of us wanted a much harsher punishment. Fail us, and you may yet lose your custodianship.” She leaned back. “You’re dismissed.”

  I gaped at her. “I’m still Abernathy’s custodian.”

  “For now,” Ragsdale said.

  “I expect you to be there this afternoon. I have an important augury to receive,” Stirlaugson said.

  I pushed myself up and had to hold onto the back of the chair. “Thank you,” I said, and strode away as fast as my wobbling legs could carry me.

  Safely outside the elevator, I leaned against the button and closed my eyes again. One hundred thousand dollars. I had a little more than half that saved up, thanks to frugal living and the one percent bonuses from the auguries, which really added up over time. I’d just have to scrimp harder for the next…oh, five or ten years? But it was just money. I was still the custodian. And I was free.

  My excitement grew as the elevator descended, until I was practically bursting with it. I needed to call Judy. And Viv. And Lucia, and the Kellers, and everyone. I’d done the impossible, and I’d survived to tell the tale.

  At first I couldn’t find Malcolm, but the receptionist helpfully pointed me toward a sitting area, where Malcolm waited. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed, looking down at the floor. I trotted over to him and waited for him to look up. The grim despair on his face gradually gave way to hope—well, I was grinning like a maniac and bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Well?” he said.