by Kerstin Hall
Rhyanon said nothing, and my nerve faltered.
“I probably misunderstood.”
She breathed out heavily. “I know what you’re trying to ask. But I’m not sure how to answer you.”
Her voice was surprisingly gentle. My mouth went dry.
“So it could have—” I swallowed. “Someone might have wanted to martyr my mother?”
“It’s happened before.”
“Does it happen often?”
My mother in the kitchen, telling me that it was no accident. My mother burning with rage, then gone. The quietness of her house. I felt suffocated.
Rhyanon spread her hands. “It’s possible, but I don’t know. I’m sorry, Elfreda.”
“No, it’s … I don’t suppose it changes anything now anyway.” I gripped my hands together in my lap, trying to gather myself. Later. I could deal with it all later. I should not have asked in the first place. “The woman I overheard at the party said that someone intended to destroy the Sisterhood. She said that they ‘need the seat, and there’s an easy way to vacate it.’”
Something shifted behind Rhyanon’s eyes: a strong feeling stifled.
“Saskia,” she murmured.
“What?”
She shook her head, and the emotion disappeared. “Commander General Saskia Asan. They were probably referring to her seat.”
“You’re saying that this extends to the Council?” My mind reeled. I held up my hands. “Wait, do they think we’re the ones trying to destroy the Sisterhood?”
Rhyanon gave me a hard look.
“Are we trying to destroy the Sisterhood?”
“Not exactly, but would you have a problem if the answer was yes?”
Of all the heretical, insane things I could have suspected of Rhyanon, this possibility had never occurred to me.
“Not exactly,” I said faintly.
She smiled, amused.
“I thought as much,” she said. “I’ll warn Commander Asan, and we’ll take further precautions to protect her mother.”
“This is—what are we doing? Who else is involved?” My head was still spinning. “What—”
“You are safer not knowing,” she interrupted.
“That’s not—”
“If anything happens to me, trust Enforcement. That’s all the information you need.”
No, you are safer if I don’t know enough to sell you out. But I bit my tongue. Rhyanon seemed unperturbed by my scowl.
“Do you have anything else?” she asked.
Oh, nothing on the scale of destroying the Order, no.
I shook myself. “Possibly. I looked into Verje’s renovations.”
“And?”
“She’s dug a pit inside her barn, and has sent away all her estate’s regular staff. The farm was badly neglected.”
Rhyanon looked mystified. “A pit inside her barn?”
“Yeah. And there was a lot of metal sheeting stacked outside. Whatever she’s doing, it seems unfinished.”
She chewed on her lip. “How odd.”
“That was my reaction.” I stood up and straightened my robes. “Anyway, that’s all I had to tell you. But one more thing, before I go.”
“Yes?”
“Call off Osan.”
Rhyanon gave a little shake of her head. “And there I thought he would be subtle. I’ll talk to him. And good work, Elfreda. This was valuable.”
Jaylen watched me through a gap in the curtains as I left the house. When I waved, she vanished. I shoved my hands into my pockets. Children were not my forte. I walked out into the warm evening, mosquitoes droning in the heavy air.
Destroying the Sisterhood?
If they had really sent my mother to the Martyrium before her time, maybe that wasn’t the worst idea.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE AIR INSIDE the hothouse was humid. I sank my gloved hands into the tray of dark, loose compost and delved around until I found a grub. The fat white creature squirmed in the sunlight filtering through the glass windows overhead.
Probably ripe enough. I tossed it into the box for processing.
Aside from the earthworms which the Sisterhood distributed to farmers throughout Aytrium, the Vilitir Wormery was also home to sixteen other species of insect. Easy to breed, easy to feed was our project’s unofficial slogan; the bugs weren’t fussy, and we put the city’s refuse to good use. In the last six months, the Department of Food Management had expanded operations threefold in anticipation of food shortages, and I had learned a lot about the versatility of insect ingredients. For example, the tiris beetle—the object of my present search—could be ground up in the larval stages to form a sweetish grey paste. We salted the pulp and stored it in glass jars, as a kind of meat spread. Well, bug spread. It didn’t taste that bad on bread.
Zenza, my supervisor, was collecting locusts in the next room. Those had yet to win me over. Too many legs. I harvested enough grubs to fill my container, sealed it, and stacked it neatly on top of the other seven boxes.
“Sleep well,” I said, and pulled the shade cloth back over the trays.
Next week, we would be visiting the fish breeding tanks outside Halowith. The week after was the mushroom tunnels in Berai. Reverend Somme’s new greenhouses were nearing completion, and on top of everything else, we still had all the regular paperwork to file. Progress reports and evaluations for Somme, forecasts and projections for Civil Obligations, applications for increased water supply from Water and Sanitation. To my profound discomfort, the last now needed to be addressed to Reverend Belia Verje. Olwen Kisme had been martyred yesterday.
I tucked my gloves into my belt and carried my grub boxes to the wagon. Zenza emerged from the locust room as I set down the last one.
“Ah, you’re done,” she said. “How are they?”
“Healthy, but we might want to keep the soil a little wetter.”
“I’ll put in a request for additional spraying.” She picked a stray locust leg out of her curls. “The spurwings have spawned very well. Creepy little bastards.”
“They aren’t my favourites.”
She passed two of her boxes up to me. “It’s the red eyes. And the legs. And the weird noises they make when you grab them by the thorax.”
Her boxes buzzed ominously. I set them down beside mine, careful to keep the lid sealed. If the locusts got loose, they could decimate our remaining crops. Zenza climbed onto the wagon beside me, and the driver flicked his reins, encouraging the mules forward.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been even quieter than usual.”
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“Any plans for Moon Tide?”
“I thought I could work through some of our outstanding grant applications.”
She favoured me with a look that was part disgust, part admiration. “On your day off? Really?”
“Nothing better to do.”
“That’s … kind of sad.”
“Do you have plans?”
By the time we reached the city, I possessed a comprehensive understanding of my supervisor’s love life and menu plans for the holiday, as well as an update on her opinion of everyone else in the department. I nodded at appropriate points in the conversation, and made various sounds of approval or concern. This was the foundation of my relationship with Zenza; she talked, I listened. We got along well enough. I think she liked me, even if she thought I was a little odd.
The driver brought our wagon to a stop behind a queue of people at the Upper East gate.
“Here for Moon Tide, presumably,” said Zenza. “I hope the inspections don’t take too long.”
Judging by the sour expressions on most of the farmers’ faces, I suspected we would be waiting for a while. Not that I minded; the breeze was warm and soft, and it felt good to be out of Ceyrun. I stood and stretched my legs. Ever since my conversation with Rhyanon, I had found the city oppressive. The Martyrium loomed large over everything, and my thoughts spiralled endlessly back toward my mother. Who
she might have offended, what she might have done. Outside, at least I felt like I could breathe.
A murmuration of starlings swooped through the air above us. They flowed like silk toward the city wall, a ribbon caught in the wind. Then they smashed into the ramparts.
“Hmm?” Zenza glanced at me.
The birds did not fall. They dotted the top of the wall like darts thrown into a board. Thin steaks of blood rolled down from their tiny crushed skulls.
“It’s nothing,” I said, and sat down. “Won’t you be late meeting Faye for dinner?”
“Probably.”
“Then let me take the boxes to the warehouse.”
She smiled. “It’s kind of you to offer, but that’s not necessary.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No, look.” She pointed at the queue. “We’re moving now anyway. But maybe you could drop the paperwork back at the office afterwards?”
“Sure.”
The starlings’ bodies turned silver as we passed under them, gleaming, profane bundles of broken wings and splayed feathers. I kept my eyes on the road ahead. I had to keep my composure in Zenza’s company.
Inside the walls, the throng thinned as the travellers dispersed. Three men in overalls were setting up for a fire-dancing show on Bell Square, laying out sand-coloured rugs. One of them caught my eye and waved. I didn’t recognise him, but I nodded in return. He grinned.
The warehouses were only two blocks from Food Management’s headquarters in Major East. Our driver skillfully navigated the busy roads and took a shortcut through the outskirts of the Crin District, where the streets grew quieter. Shouts and laughter drifted over the rooftops from the direction of Pearl Boulevard.
“I’m amazed that the Council didn’t call off the festivities,” said Zenza under her breath. “In two months, the Reverends will be eating spurwings with the rest of us.”
I snorted. “At least Reverend Somme will get to say that she told them so.”
“Over here, Sister?” the driver asked.
“Thanks, that will do nicely.”
The wagon stopped and Zenza jumped down. I handed her two boxes. The warehouse was an ugly, square building. No windows on the ground floor, rough-plastered walls, and a deep basement filled with a variety of preserved produce. The best that could be said about the place was that it was secure and dry.
Zenza wedged the boxes on her hip and unlocked the reinforced warehouse door. I lit the interior lamp, revealing a short, low-roofed corridor. We took the stairs down to the basement, where rows upon rows of sterilized glass jars waited to be filled. I left the lamp with Zenza and fetched more of our boxes. Other Acolytes had the unenviable task of processing the insects; we just had to deliver them here.
I brought down the last boxes, and Zenza shook the locusts into their holding tank.
“You’re sure you don’t mind dropping off the reports?” she asked.
“I’m sure.”
She grinned. “I owe you one.”
It really wasn’t a big deal. I had planned to head to the dormitories afterwards, and our office was only a little out of my way. I waved goodbye to the driver as I left the warehouse. If my visions were flaring up again, I was better off on my own.
I climbed up the narrow, weed-choked stairs to Herts Street. A man dozed inside his soup kiosk, his pot of vegetables simmering gently as he snored. Dogs barked in the distance. The buildings in this district were largely residential, the people who lived here older and less affluent than the merchants of the western quadrants. Small potted plants nestled inside private window boxes: herbs and vines of tomatoes and wilted geraniums. Bird nests and feathers choked the rusted old gutters.
Finn’s grandparents had lived four blocks south of here. Back then, the contrast between their house and the rest of the street had been striking. Clean. Nothing out of place. Nothing growing. It had always smelled of lye. An iron trellis ran up the back wall of the building. I had climbed it once, in the middle of the night, but that had been a long time ago now. Millie might have taken it down.
Chester Street curved steeply upwards toward Minor West. Halfway along it, I stopped and turned around.
“I thought I told you not to follow me, Osan,” I said.
The sign for a bookshop swayed in the breeze, but everything else was still. A shiver ran down my spine. I had been so sure that I had heard footsteps.
“Osan?”
The offices were only a block away. I swallowed and hurried onwards. With everyone celebrating Moon Tide, the district felt unusually quiet.
There again.
I glanced over my shoulder, quick enough to catch the movement of a shadow at the end of the street. I reached for my lace. It could just be a stupid kid or a stray animal, but the way they were trailing me—out of sight, cautious, from a distance—felt too deliberate. Predatory.
“I know you’re there,” I called. My voice did not sound as confident as I would have liked.
No one answered.
“Fine,” I said, and kept walking. The thread of lace burned inside me.
You are a Sister, I told myself. No one can hurt you.
I walked a little quicker.
Except other Sisters.
The Food Management Offices lay ahead of me. The wide steps leading to the main doors were swallowed in shadow; the lanterns at the end of the road had not been lit tonight.
That could not be an accident. In my head, my mother repeated, not an accident, not an accident, not an accident.
Ahead, I caught sight of movement in the darkness. My heart stuttered, and I froze.
“El?”
I almost slammed my lace into Finn’s chest. I changed the rope’s course at the last moment, and the force hit the wall with a crunch.
“Whoa!” He raised his hands. “It’s just me.”
I clenched my fists. That had been close; that had been far too close. I would have probably broken his ribs.
“Sorry,” I said tightly.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I hurried toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to catch you after work,” he replied, and looked a bit sheepish. “I said I’d make it up to you? For the bean cakes?”
I breathed out. “Right, of course.”
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain right now.” I steered him toward the security of the offices. If I was being followed, I didn’t want my pursuer to see Finn. Osan’s warning about putting my friends at risk rang all too clearly in my mind.
“Are you in trouble?”
“It’s probably nothing.” I unlocked the glass door. My hands were clumsy; I fumbled and dropped the keys. Finn touched my arm, concerned.
“El, you’re shaking,” he said.
I ushered him inside and closed the door behind us. Through the pane, the street was dark; the lamps cast isolated rings of light on the cobbles at the far end of the road. I locked the door from the inside.
“I’ve got to file a report and then we can leave through the back.” I pushed my hair away from my face and forced a smile. “Hi. Sorry about all of this. Moon Tide blessings upon you.”
“Is there someone out there?” He craned his neck to see around me.
“I don’t know.” I blocked the entrance. “But it doesn’t matter now.”
“Of course it matters. I could take a look around, see if—”
“No. Absolutely not.” I took his arm and pulled him deeper into the room. “I’m probably only imagining things anyway.”
“You don’t believe that. Something’s really bothering you.” He allowed himself to be dragged along. “And you don’t want to involve me, so … You think another Sister was following you?”
“I don’t think anything.” That was exactly what I thought.
“I can take care of myself, you know.”
“Yes, of course,” I said distractedly, and stopped at the base of the stairs. “Wai
t here.”
He muttered something I didn’t catch.
“What?”
“I said, ‘Happy Moon Tide to you too.’ Go file your report.”
I hesitated.
“I’m okay, El.” His face was half in shadow. “Really. I hate seeing you scared, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologise for. Go on. I’ll wait.”
I hurried upstairs. The offices were eerie at night; all the empty rooms and locked doors, the usually bustling corridors silent. I slid Zenza’s papers beneath Reverend Somme’s door, then crossed over to my own office. There was a new stack of memos in my inbox, yellow slips from the accounting division, nothing urgent.
I shrugged off my work robes and stuffed them under my desk. Beneath, I wore ordinary civilian clothes. Without the uniform, people would not immediately recognise me as a Sister. I returned to Finn.
“Everything under control?” He straightened.
I nodded. “Thanks for coming to meet me.”
“No problem. So, about making it up to you—will you let me buy you a drink?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that a good idea? People might … well. I don’t know. It is Moon Tide, after all.”
“If you don’t want to, it’s fine,” he said gently.
“No, I do. Of course I want to. You know that’s not the problem.” I was flustered. “I’m just worried about what people will think.”
“Let them think what they like, El. Besides, no one’s going to recognise you. No one important, anyway.”
I wavered.
“You have to take a break sometimes,” he coaxed. “Have fun. Live a little. Like you said, it’s Moon Tide.”
I sighed. “You sure about this?”
“Of course.”
“Then at least let me buy.” I rubbed the side of my neck. “As an apology for the terrible food last time.”
Finn grinned. “I guess I can live with that.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WE LEFT FOOD Management through the back entrance onto Grove Street, and crossed over the Stonelay Bridge to loop around the edge of the district. Only after we reached the line of dark, shining greenhouses did I allow myself to relax. Finn was right; I needed a break. My visions had probably been getting worse for a reason.