by T. C. Edge
The sight of the base of the High Tower is most interesting of all, a flood of Savants being sucked in through its doors from the surrounding streets. They plod in such a similar fashion to each other, so few of them seeming to engage in any conversation as they crowd through the doors and disappear inside.
Despite enjoying the little haven of ours in the Court House, I suspect that my time in the High Tower won’t be quite so pleasurable. The thought of being surrounded by so many of these empty vessels doesn’t fill me with much enthusiasm.
We reach the western gate in fairly quick time, and I step out with a final smile from Adryan.
“I’m going to advise the Council of Matrimony that our courtship is going well,” he says before I leave. “If things go to plan, we should be married in no time.”
“Good,” I say. “The sooner, the better.”
Wow, never thought I’d say that…
“OK, take care now, Brie. And if you can, try to get some new shoes,” he adds with a smirk.”
As he drives off, I turn my eyes down to Mrs Carmichael’s old pair of blue flats. They really aren’t in keeping with the dress I’m wearing at all. I guess, if I’m to be given such a prominent position around here, I should at least dress the part.
Making a mental note to recruit Sophie to help me, I work my way towards the western gate and pass through the door. As always, there’s a towering Brute on guard on the other side. With his helmet on, it’s hard to determine whether it’s Magnus or not.
His eyes trace me, and through his visor I can see them rising.
“Well, Brie, it looks as though you had a good evening.”
The lower portion of his face, clearly visible, grows into a cheeky grin.
“I, er, got drunk,” I say, my voice infused with a hint of guilt.
“Drunk. I see. Well, it’s not for me to judge what you get up to. It’s good to know that your courtship is going well, though. You’ll be a fine addition to Inner Haven I’m sure.”
“Thanks, Magnus. You know, you Brutes are all so nice. It’s quite jarring, in a way. I never thought you would be.”
“Because we’re so large, we can’t be kind?” he asks, eyes narrowing.
“No, no…I just thought…”
A laugh booms from his chest.
“I’m only kidding, Brie. It’s a common misconception, really. We Brutes are as affable as anyone, although when the need calls for it, we can be very fierce too. But, there’s no need for it here, is there? So, I like to be cheerful if I can.”
“It’s nice,” I say. “You’re like a huge great ray of sunshine every time I pass through this gate.”
“Pleased to be of service,” he says, nodding humbly.
I move off with a spring in my step, my head already clearing after my overconsumption the previous evening. The painkillers here are clearly capable of seeing to such ailments without much problem.
The sky is a bright blue as I wander down the road, a stupid smile on my face that really has no place there at all. I don’t even know why it’s there, given the recent and upcoming events in my life. But illogical as it is, it refuses to budge as I cruise back towards the academy, heading home.
The nearer I get to Brick Lane, however, the more the smile fades. By the time I pass the threshold to Carmichael’s and enter inside, it’s more or less completely receded.
The first face to greet me is, unsurprisingly, Nate. I wander towards the desk and ask him if there’s any post for me. He tells me no, more reservedly than usual.
Once, that was the norm. Nate has always been so shy, and would barely make eye contact with me should I say ‘hi’ to him as I pass by. Recently, however, he’s emerged from his shell, perhaps owing to his posting here at the front desk.
Yet today, that new spirit appears to have diminished, his energy withdrawn.
“Anything the matter?” I ask him.
He smiles weakly.
“I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night. Bad dreams.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that, Nate…”
“My parents,” he mutters. “I barely remember them. But last night, they were in my dreams. It was clear.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Never,” he says. “It was that woman, I think. I hate her.”
“What woman? Oh, you mean Agent Woolf?”
He nods solemnly.
“She messed with my head,” he grumbles, his little face angrier than I’ve ever seen it. “I hate her,” he repeats, his unbroken voice getting as close as ever to cracking.
“I know what it’s like, Nate,” I say, reaching across to comfort him. “She did it to me as well. Stirring up memories. But that’ll settle, don’t worry.”
“I guess. It was weird. I saw things in my head…when she looked at me.” He frowns and looks up at me. “Do you know where Drum is?”
I recoil, drawing my comforting hand back, his question catching me off guard.
“No. What would make you ask that?”
He shrugs.
“I saw it again, when she was in my head. The way you ran outside after hearing about Drum being in prison. I dunno, I thought maybe you knew where he might be.”
“Um, no I don’t,” I say briskly. “I ran out because I was upset, that’s all. I don’t know anything.”
The smile has well and truly gone from my face now, dragging any good feeling inside me away with it. If Nate’s suspicious of me after being reminded of that memory, then what the hell’s going to happen with Agent Woolf?
And she’ll have seen the same memory in all the other kids who were there as well, the ones who attended Fred and Ziggy’s funeral. They all watched me rush out of the door after we found out what had happened with Drum, after we got that letter from the Department of Corrections.
Who knows what else she dug up during her little session here last night.
“So how are the other kids?” I ask. “Do they hate Agent Woolf too?”
Nate nods, gritting his teeth.
“We all hate her,” he grumbles.
As he speaks, a little beeping sound begins yapping away beyond the door, outside on the street. Nate bursts from his post and opens it up to find a postal drone hovering before him.
On its front, a little electronic interface lights up with our address. Nate presses a button and a slit opens, coughing up an electronic letter. He takes it and the drone immediately zips back into the sky, ready to move off elsewhere.
He dawdles back over, looking at the front of the letter.
“Anything interesting?” I ask.
He shrugs.
“Dunno. It’s for Mrs Carmichael. Are you going to her office?”
“Is she in there?”
“I think she went up after breakfast. She asked if I’d seen you, actually.”
“Right. You want me to take the letter to her?”
He nods, and a tiny hint of a smile returns to his chubby cheeks.
I take the letter and begin moving up the stairs and towards Mrs Carmichael’s room, inspecting it as I go in some vain hope that it might be for me. It doesn’t look like it is. Nothing but a bill of some kind.
I knock on my guardian’s door and am called in. Once upon a time, I’d be in for a serious reprimanding for staying out all night. Today, it registers nothing but a question, asked casually.
“You stayed with Adryan last night?” she asks, her horn-rimmed reading glasses hovering on the end of her lengthy nose.
She raises her eyes from the files on her desk as I step in, placing the letter on the table.
“Yeah. We had a lot to talk about, and it got quite late so I stayed over.”
“Right. And you just talked? Nothing else happened?” she inquires.
I stare at her for a few moments. It’s enough to show my displeasure at the question. To rub it in, however, I feel it requires a terse response.
“No,” I say. “And that’s not your business anyway.”
“Alright, I was only asking. There’s no need to get defensive.”
“I’m not being defensive.”
“Brie, just saying you’re not being defensive in that way is kind of evidence in itself that you are, in fact, being defensive. Don’t you think?”
She’s got me there. It’s too early to argue.
“Fine,” I say, brushing it off. “Anyway, you wanted to see me?”
“Yes. I just wanted to know how it went?”
I pull out a seat from her desk and drop into it. I feel all my energy being quickly stripped by this place. Having to continually update certain people on my progress is beginning to get on my nerves.
“Brenda, didn’t we agree that it was best to not fill you in on everything?” I ask.
“Well, no, not really. If Zander can hide my memories, what’s the problem? I’m here to advise you, Brie…”
“Sure, but you don’t need to know it all. And in any case, I’m sure Zander’s got better things to be doing than coming down here every five minutes to tamper with your memory.”
“Jeez. What’s got into you this morning?”
I let out a long breath. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m being so short with her.
“Nothing. There are just so many balls in the air already. And I’m not a good juggler, Brenda. Let’s just say the evening went well, I feel more confident about things in general, and Adryan is…he’s…”
Mrs Carmichael tilts her head down and widens her eyes in preparation for the punchline.
“Well?” she asks. “He’s…what?”
“He’s…different,” I say finally. “He’s better than I thought he’d be.”
“That’s good then,” she says. “I guess, as long as you can trust him, that’s the main thing.”
“I do, for sure. He’s, erm, he’s helping me with something, actually.”
“What?” she asks quickly.
I backtrack.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“Brie…what is it?”
“Nothing. Honestly, it really doesn’t matter.”
But it does. And now my mind is filling again with my parents’ youthful faces, smiling down at me in their arms.
And as I see the image, a sudden jolt cuts at my heart.
“My clothes,” I whisper, thinking fast. “What did you actually do with my clothes?!”
Mrs Carmichael looks a little confused by my sudden tangent.
“What clothes?”
“The ones, you know, I was wearing outside the city. The horrible toxic ones.”
“Oh, of course. Well, I got rid of them,” she says matter-of-factly. “That poison was never coming out, Brie.”
“Where are they?!”
“They’re gone. I burned them. What’s the problem? I didn’t realise they were so important to you.”
I shut my eyes tight and hang my head forward.
The clothes weren’t important. It was what was in my jacket pocket that meant so much to me.
“My parents’ picture,” I whisper, cranking my jaw open after a brief stretch of silence. “It was in my pocket.”
“Oh…I’m so sorry, Brie. I should have checked.”
“It’s, um, not your fault,” I say, my voice nothing but a shade, cold and empty. “I can’t blame anyone except me. All of this is my fault.”
“No it’s not, don’t talk like that. You’ve been thrust into the middle of all this. None of it is your fault.”
“Well, saving Drum was my idea, wasn’t it? I never had to do that.”
“You did. You had to. You’re a good person. Too good sometimes. Drum is lucky to have a friend like you.”
“Well, I doubt you’ll be able to say that about me once I’ve committed murder.”
“I’ll say it all day long,” she says. “Drum killed a man. Do you think he’s a bad person?”
I shake my head silently.
“Exactly. Doing a bad thing doesn’t make you a bad person. Just like doing something good doesn’t erase the bad. Shades of grey, Brie. The world is far more complicated than that.”
I stay silent, knowing she’s right.
“And anyway, look on the bright side – Zander has another picture, doesn’t he? So, all is not lost.”
I work a weak smile onto my face for her benefit. But really, that’s his picture, not mine. It sounds stupid, but I’ve had that picture next to my bed every day since I can remember. Only recently has it found itself in my pocket. For me, it’s the most important thing I have in the world.
And now it’s gone.
Forever.
63
I don’t linger long in the academy. Half because I don’t want to, and half because I have other things I need to be getting on with.
Escaping to the silence of my room, I attempt to make contact with Zander. Right now, the number one priority on my mind is to train and work to unlock my mental abilities. Until that happens, I’m more or less treading water.
And if I tread water too long, I’ll probably just drown.
Unfortunately, my attempts to speak with Zander fail. It’s not a failing on my part, as far as I can tell. I feel fresh, alert, and mentally agile. When I picture his face and project the words, I do so with a greater confidence than ever before.
And yet I receive no response. Zip. Nada.
I conclude, after ten minutes of trying, that he’s otherwise engaged. Frankly, I don’t entirely know the rules of telepathic communication quite yet. For all I know, he might just be sleeping, his mind otherwise occupied with dreams that serve to drown out my words.
It’s frustrating, but on this occasion, I refuse to let it distract me. Without putting too much thought into it, I change clothes into the more hardy attire I’m used to, pull on a second, even more run-down set of work boots than the others my guardian burned, and set off into the city.
Given how my favourite jacket, too, was part of the cremation, I’m forced to wear the one Titus gave me. It’s a little too large, but still comes with a hood. I consider it a decent alternative.
I slip out without informing Mrs Carmichael of my departure, working my way straight up Brick Lane without a firm picture of what I’m going to do.
I would make for the underlands, but suspect that it’s too dangerous to go down there right now. Returning to the waterfall would be one step too far on the foolhardy scale, as would any of the shelters in the city. I can’t quite know which ones actually have secret doors and passages. And the ones that do might well be being watched. It’s not a risk I can take.
What I do know, however, is that I’d like to practice using my powers. And, as far as I can figure, the only place for that might just be the northern quarter. Fewer people. Fewer Con-Cops. More places to hide.
It sounds like an ideal spot to me.
I can’t deny the prospect of putting myself in a marginal state of danger either. I’ve learned that my abilities tend to manifest faster when I’m under duress, or when I find myself in a situation where I’m forced to utilise them.
Take, for example, how my eyes developed so quickly when down in the pitch black of the underlands. Or how my Dasher abilities started to surge when Zander and I headed off to track down Drum and cut off the convoy.
Perhaps the same will be true among the tight lanes and alleys of the northern quarter, where danger lurks around every corner? Simply being there might help to sharpen my mind and develop my cognitive powers. They’re the ones I need to be working on.
So I head north, setting my mind to the task without questioning it too much. As I move along the Conveyor Line, and approach the southern districts of the northern quarter, I step off with a few niggling doubts that this move might be too reckless.
I shut the doubts down and continue on, moving into the shadows and away from the light. Before too long, I’m finding myself beyond the dank residences of the southern districts, working my way into more deserted streets where only a smattering of life grows in murky corners
.
Above, the sky grows gloomy too, this place appearing to exist under a permanent blanket of dark grey and black cloud. There’s a dampness in the air, as well, that suggests a shower might be on its way.
I shuffle a little deeper under my cloak and drag my hood down a little further. After spending half a morning consumed by the thickest of toxic mists, a little acid rain hardly frightens me anymore. Still, my hands remain a little tender and sore in places, so I’d rather avoid getting them wet if possible.
On the other hand, my new jacket, whilst a little too big, appears to be a major upgrade from a defensive perspective. It’s coated in a fine layer of anti-burn material that will never corrode no matter how much rain it sees. All I need to do is get it adjusted, and I’ll consider it a very fortunate gift from my Brute friend.
As I work my way into the deepest, darkest holes I can find, the rain begins to drip, tapping on my back as I thrust my hands in my pockets. What people there are here quickly shoot off under cover, following the rats and the cats into nooks and crannies.
From the shadows, creepy eyes stare out as I stick to the centre of the street, my jacket most likely a very attractive lure for the more dangerous residents of this pit. Here, where the Disposables live, fighting for scraps and territory among this forgotten part of the city.
But that’s just the aim. I want to lure them, I want to attract them. I wander along, acting like a lost girl, nervous and afraid and completely alone. Bait on a line, ready to be bitten.
Come on, bite me…
The rain continues to drip. I test its potency by pulling a dainty looking hand from its pouch, and hold it under the light shower. The water does little more than fiz on my skin, child’s play compared with the thick poison beyond the boundary wall.
But I needed to test it. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too much of a deterrent, holding the local thieves and killers back from their work.
Oh, I want them to work. I want them to come at me.
Come on…I’m right here…come and get me…
I continue on, still acting the part. My peripheral vision, hidden under the shadow of my cowl, keeps a lookout, seeing all the way to my left and right and even some way behind me. My muscles charged and primed to act should they need to. Every part of me coiled like a spring.