by Ellen Larson
The Steward bowed. “The Prioress instructed that the door be unlocked.”
“How thoughtful of her,” said Merit. She glanced at Eric. “If that’s okay with you?”
“How can I object when I am outnumbered three to one.” Eric turned and led the others toward the portico.
Merit watched them till they were inside, then turned and headed down the brick walkway that hugged the southern facade of the Priory. At the corner she paused to get her bearings; though the buildings were the same, it had been a long time since she had been there, and the trees and ornamental hedges were unfamiliar. She identified the rose garden, which she remembered as a wilderness of yellow and pink, and headed across it. There were no blossoms at that time of year, but the canes had been pruned and mulched.
The door to the greenhouse was indeed unlocked. Coincidence or had Lena second-guessed her? Merit’s feet echoed hollowly on the wooden planks as she walked between the rows of raised beds filled with lettuce and tomato seedlings. Halfway down the aisle she turned left, heading through a wooden gate and into a graveled yard. On the right she found what she was looking for: a green door, the back entrance to the Conservatory cloister. She passed through it and into the covered arcade that ran around the open space in the middle.
Nothing had changed. A square garden, full of flowering shrubs and herbs, surrounded on all sides by a low wall. In the center, overhung by pink and white blossoms, was the pool she had seen from the roof the day before. A pair of curved stone benches stood on squat legs beneath the plum trees.
She stepped out from under the arcade and into the warm sun. The feel of the bricks beneath her feet was just as she remembered; the sunlight shone on the green rooftops as if she had never been away. She sat on a bench and drew a deep breath. All was quiet, all was peace. Lastly, she let her eyes fall upon the statue by the pool: a marble statue of a young girl, her studious face bent over the book she held in one hand.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
* * *
Nineteen years earlier
“Look out! Lena’s coming!”
“Oh balls.” Merit’s gaze darted around the sunny cloister. “Get rid of it—here!” She lifted the cover of her book bag, making room for the bottle.
“Act natural,” hissed a chubby girl, acting anything but.
“ ‘Do you think a naughty girl who breaks the rules will be selected?’ ” quipped Merit, mimicking Lena’s voice and mannerisms with killing accuracy.
The girls broke into giddy laughter.
Lena’s slight figure moved slowly along the shadowy arcade. She gathered up her long skirt before stepping carefully down into the garden. Her pale face and the dark circles under her eyes told of both illness and determination. She looked—and acted—much older than her eighteen years.
“Felicitations, Prospectives,” said Lena. “You look unusually bright and jolly today. What’s so funny?”
“Merit,” said the first girl nervously. “She’s always lots of fun.”
“Yes, she is.” Lena smiled sweetly, displaying a pair of charming dimples. “She brings the gift of her bright spirit wherever she goes.” She looked at them each in turn, at their empty hands and closed book bags. “Why aren’t you girls studying?” She pointed to the statue to indicate their expected behavior.
“We will be in a minute,” said Merit. “I was just showing the girls something.” She pulled off the ring she wore, a little bead of black stone set in a silver band, and handed it to Lena.
“This is so clever.” Lena turned the ring in her fingers. “Did you make it?”
“Yep,” said Merit. “The Prioress gave me the stone. It’s an opal. Like the one they give you if you’re selected, only smaller and not as pure.”
“The opal is the symbol of fidelity. And there is nothing more important for a Prospective than to be faithful to the ways we are taught to honor. You do lovely work.”
“Thanks.” Merit’s heart filled with pride—and something else, something that pricked her conscience. She was ashamed of her easy deceit in the face of Lena’s praise. “Why don’t you take it, since you like it. With respect.”
“I couldn’t,” said Lena.
“I want you to. I can make another. I’m spending Saturday with the Prioress.” She had passed all her exams first try that term, and the Prioress had promised her a day of crafting.
“You’re very fortunate the Prioress chose you to be her apprentice. Other girls would have given a great deal for that opportunity. But I suppose you needed the help more than they.” She handed the ring back to Merit.
“Are you sure?” asked Merit.
“I don’t wear decorative adornments. Besides, I told you I couldn’t take it. I meant I couldn’t accept any gift given in hypocrisy.”
Merit looked at her in uneasy surprise. “What do you mean?”
Lena’s blue eyes bored into hers. “Do you think that girls who sneak away to have a party when they’re supposed to be studying are displaying fidelity?”
“We didn’t do anything wrong!” cried one of the girls.
“And telling lies too,” said Lena. “What do you think will happen if I tell?”
“Tell what?” asked Merit nonchalantly, but her heart pounded in her chest.
“I know what you were doing,” said Lena. “I can smell the beer on your breath.”
The girls stood in gape-mouthed silence. Merit felt her face grow hot.
“Please, Lena!” said the chubby girl. “Please don’t tell! It’s just a little fun, to celebrate the solstice. We didn’t do any harm.”
“You broke the rules, you lied to me, and now you want me to lie for you?” Lena’s eyes were full of reproach. “This just gets worse and worse, doesn’t it?”
“Nobody asked you to lie,” said Merit boldly. “Tell anybody anything you like. We don’t care.”
“Merit, no! Please, Lena,” begged the girls. “We’re sorry. Really we are.”
“Merit isn’t sorry,” mourned Lena. “Merit thinks she can do whatever she likes, because the Prioress shows a special interest in her.”
“That’s not what I meant at all!” Merit met Lena’s gaze defiantly. It didn’t matter that she was in the wrong; it didn’t matter what punishment she faced. She would not be bullied. Then she looked at the frightened faces of her friends and her defiance crumbled. She could not let them down. “All right. I agree.”
“What do you say?” asked Lena.
“I’m sorry!”
“Good.” Lena’s face glowed with triumph. “I guess I don’t have to say anything, after all. Enjoy your ring, Merit. I prefer to wait for the real thing. Benedicte, Prospectives.” She smiled prettily and, gathering her skirt again, stepped up out of the garden.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
* * *
Sunday, 16 April 3324, 11:55 a.m.
The sound of someone coming down the western stairs and entering the arcade. How painful that she would still recognize his footstep. That it should make her blood stir.
Eric strode into the sunshine. “There you are.”
She realized she was clutching the black pendant in her hand. She slipped it back into her shirt. “Here I am.”
He walked to the edge of the pool and peered into its green depths. “Goldfish. And plum blossoms. Just like you said.” He stooped to smell the flowers. “So not everything beautiful in Okucha was destroyed.”
Warning bells went off in her head, for his tone had changed since their morning encounter. Perhaps the hallowed dignity of the cloister had affected him too. She steeled herself against such thoughts. “Oku City is in ruins; not a tree left standing on the Boulevard of Phoenix, and yet the Priory grounds in all their magnificence are untouched.” She looked at the statue of the Prospective. “If there were any justice in the world, this place would be in ruins, too.”
He touched the drooping boughs. “Perhaps these are the fruits of compromise.”
“I’d rather starve.”
&nbs
p; He turned his shield toward her. “You know you’re not alone.”
“I wish I were,” she said, and instantly regretted it. Too much. She wanted to keep him at a distance, but she didn’t want to provoke another confrontation. She kept talking, hoping he would overlook her quip. “Lena always liked to hear herself talk. I hope we can keep this interview short.”
The shield stared at her for a moment, then turned away. “I intend to,” he said. “I don’t have time for delays. And I’ve already had my fill of the Prioress’s prescience.”
Merit nodded, relieved. Apparently he, too, had determined to maintain a civil speaking distance. “So you noticed those little messages she’s been sending via the Steward.”
“They’re hard to miss. What do you make of them?”
“I think they’re just what you’d expect to hear from someone who knows exactly what you’re going to do ten minutes before you do it. It’s a good trick.” Merit unbuttoned her jacket. The air in the cloister was still, and it was hot sitting in the noon sun. Soon spring would give way to summer, and it would be hot every day.
“So you don’t believe this nonsense about seeing the future.”
“No,” she admitted. “I think either Lena or Ben Lazar is playing a game.”
“I agree. But there’s not enough data to know which of them it is. Or it might be both.” He walked to the statue and made as if to observe its artistic merits. “What’s this about her having a history of health problems?”
“It’s true. More or less. ‘Health problems’ is a Retrospector euphemism for attunement failure. I don’t know the details, but I was told there would be ongoing complications, such that she would need long-term care.”
“I see. At Byzantion, she said she’d suffered a lot as a child. I mean, not to me she didn’t say it, but in her address to the troops.”
“She must have seen every physician in Oku City by the time she was fifteen. Later she spent several summers at a clinic in Rasaka, if you call that suffering. They thought the country air and lack of stress might help. The Conservatory faculty was wild to get her through—she was the brightest Prospective any of them had ever seen—but in the end there was nothing they could do, and she had to drop out in her final year. And what the hell were you doing at Byzantion? I would have bet real money you’d have spent the war in a mailroom as far from the front as possible.”
“You think you’re the only one who’s changed?” He pointed at the gold pin on his collar, shaped like a hawk in flight. “Elite Forces. Four years.”
She opened her mouth wide. “An egghead like you? With a field unit?”
“I downplayed my background.”
“But you can’t downplay your nature,” she scoffed. “A garden snail has more fighting skills than you.”
“Tch.” The sunlight flashed off his shield as he turned to look at the cupola on the east wing. “See that?”
Merit looked up, covering her eyes with a hand. A large black bird sat on the weather vane. “It’s a crow.” She turned to him.
Eric’s arm was outstretched; in his hand a plasma gun.
“No!” She threw herself at him bodily, but too late. There was a soft whoosh and a loud ping an instant before she made contact.
The force of her tackle sent Eric flying sideways into a bed of rosemary. Merit fell heavily onto the bench, cracking her chin. Hauling herself up, she searched the blue sky above the Priory. The crow was gone. Her heart pounded and her mind filled with anger and fear.
Eric rose, brushing his uniform. “It’s over there. To the south.”
She turned and saw the crow, wings pumping enthusiastically, headed toward the safety of the Wood. “You’re lucky you missed,” she said. “You have no right to kill an innocent creature.”
“I didn’t miss.” He snapped the plasma gun into its holster.
She looked again at the cupola. The weather vane was spinning in the still air, the green hand flashing in the sun. As the seconds passed it slowed, and her heart rate slowed with it. She swallowed—and tasted blood. She put a hand to her mouth and leaned forward.
“You’re bleeding,” said Eric, springing to her side. “Let me see.”
“Keep off. No. I mean it! Bit my inside lip is all.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand; it came away covered with blood.
Eric’s hands flew from pocket to pocket. “Where the hell is my handkerchief?” He unbuttoned his jacket to check the inside pockets.
“Felicitations, Select.”
Merit turned. A slight figure clothed in white stood in the shadow of the arcade, hands clasped before her waist. Beside her stood an Authority sentry carrying a tray on which sat glasses, a pitcher of water, and a bowl.
Eric sprang forward. “Give me that!” he said, and grabbed the tray from the sentry’s hands. Setting it on the bench, he poured water over one end of a linen serviette and tried to apply it to Merit’s face.
Merit snatched it from him and shooed him away. Laying the serviette against her chin, she rose unsteadily to her feet.
“Sit down!” commanded Eric.
“Would you please!” Merit glared at him, then turned to the white figure and sketched a slight bow. “Your presence honors me.”
Eric turned and stared at the woman on the step of the arcade. She wore a white shield shaped like two hearts conjoined beneath a lotus crest that covered her face from forehead to just above the lips. A filmy veil extended from the bottom of the shield to her breast. About her shoulders she wore a silver stole, the Oku symbol of high office.
“Prioress,” he said. “My apologies. I didn’t realize—”
“The shield was your first clue,” said Merit. She took the serviette away from her mouth a moment and eyed the bloodstain.
“Felicitations, Agent Torre.” The Prioress bowed gracefully. “I believe some ice would dull the pain?”
Eric sprang into action, gathering half a dozen ice cubes from the bowl on the tray and wrapping them in another serviette. He handed the pack to Merit, then turned back to the woman in white.
“Your arrival is quite fortuitous,” he said.
“So it seems. I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this interview, despite the evidence to the contrary.”
“Thank you for meeting with us. We understand that this is an extremely difficult time for you.”
The Prioress paused as if contemplating his words, then nodded her head. “These past two days have been quite stressful.” She glanced at the sentry, then stepped down into the garden.
Merit watched with a critical eye as Lena walked to the bench on the far side of the pool. Given the shield that hid her face, the cowl that covered her hair, and a mature voice rather lower than she remembered, Lena ought to have been unrecognizable. But the walk, stoop-shouldered, slow to the point of halting, and the distinctive mannerisms that Merit had once found so easy to mimic, were unmistakable.
The Prioress took her time arranging the long silver stole. When she was settled, she folded her hands in her lap and turned her white shield toward Merit, then Eric, and back again. “Won’t you sit?”
They did so.
Merit crossed her legs.
The silence lengthened.
“Don’t you want to begin the interview?” asked the Prioress.
Eric turned to Merit. “I guess I should handle it?”
“Good idea,” Merit mumbled from behind the ice pack.
He nodded and pulled a notebook from his breast pocket. “I’ll start with a series of questions about what happened Friday night. It’s a standard series—asked at every crime scene.”
“Yes, I know,” she said kindly.
“Of course,” he said.
Merit watched him from behind the cover of the ice pack. The back of his neck had turned bright red, a sure sign that he was confused and annoyed about it. This was going to be good.
“First, can you tell me, in simple words, what you did and what you saw between eight and e
leven o’clock Friday night.”
Instead of responding, the Prioress leaned forward. Her hands disappeared under the veil, and then—explosion. The Prioress sneezed. “Excuse me,” she croaked.
“You’re sick,” said Eric.
“Yes. They told you—didn’t they?” She pulled a dainty hankie from a pocket in her robe and raised it beneath her veil.
“Yes,” said Eric. “But I—Never mind. Let me get you some water. I don’t want to rush you. We have plenty of time.”
Merit shot him a dirty look, then watched with a scowl as he poured the Prioress a glass of water.
“Thank you.” Sniff. “It is a little hard to concentrate. I’m not feeling clearheaded at the moment, by any understanding of the word.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh, which turned into a quite horrifying cough. She took a sip of water.
Her fingers were studded with rings, Merit noticed. Nor had the day been so difficult that she hadn’t been able to apply a fresh coat of red varnish to her nails.
The Prioress put the glass on the bench beside her. Again she looked at them each in turn. “This is harder than I thought. Quite difficult to ignore what is going to happen and focus on the now. Never mind. I shall persevere.”
And so she did, telling her tale slowly, in a froggy voice that fell to a whisper more than once. Eric took notes, but in the end, the story did not add anything of substance to the report he had read in the Caseroom the previous day. After the general questions came the sequence questions, strictly yes or no. The Prioress answered without hesitation and without unnecessary explanation, stopping only for an occasional sip of water.
“Were there any plasma weapons on the premises?” asked Eric.
The Prioress shook her head and sniffed. “They were not allowed in the Priory. Except, of course, for the outdoor sentries. But they didn’t come inside. Until it happened. Now they’re everywhere.” She glanced at the figure standing in the shadows of the arcade.
“Do you know if the General had any enemies, or if anyone wished him harm?” Eric glanced at Merit. “Lately.”