by T. C. Edge
A shudder runs through me. I can only imagine what such punishments will entail. Truly, I don’t want to know the details.
My pleas can’t help but rush off my tongue.
“No, you can’t! You’ll get Agent Woolf back, I promise you. Surely she’s worth more to you than merely punishing one of your own? It’s not like you get any joy from it, after all.”
“No joy, but some measure of satisfaction,” Cromwell educates me. “And justice, Brie, needs to be done. That is the society we have built here.”
“But what about logic,” comes my rushing voice. “Logically, it’s better to have a useful asset like Agent Woolf back in your ranks, is it not? I mean, she’s a Mind-Manipulator, and a powerful one at that. There aren’t many, are there?”
I watch his eyes carefully. I feel like I’m winning him over.
“And…if you kill Adryan, my brother will just kill Romelia,” I continue, seeing an opening. “What’s the logic in losing them both?”
He seems to consider my words for a moment. I gauge that simply by his lack of immediate response, more than any change in his expression. To his side, Burns watches closely, his face easier to read as those muted emotions and expressions play out. By the looks of things, he believes the idea to have some merit.
But he doesn’t speak.
“Say I decided to negotiate,” says Cromwell slowly. “How would I communicate with Lady Orlando to discuss this swap? In your current state, your telepathic link with your brother has been severed. Oh yes, Brie, I’m well aware of that…”
“Well…take me off these drugs. Then I can communicate with him.”
A small smile hovers on Cromwell’s face before fading.
“I think not, Brie. You will remain drugged.”
I didn’t expect that to work. But another idea flows into my head.
“The communicator,” I say suddenly. “The device Adryan used to speak with Lady Orlando. It’s unlocked only by a special code, which only Adryan knows. You could extract it, and then talk to her that way.”
I watch on with hopeful eyes. If I can just save Adryan before I die, then at least that’s something. I’ll be able to go to my grave with less regret.
“That may work, Artemis,” says Burns, speaking for the first time. “I can extract the code immediately for you if you wish. The investigative team have Mr Shaw’s personal belongings in evidence. I can have the communicator brought up here for you.”
Another few moments of silence are drawn into the room, a silence that Cromwell appears to relish. He may not feel joy, but there’s a sense that he obtains some pleasure from his influence and power. That this isn’t just about making sure his people thrive. That he does, in fact, want to create a legacy of his own as well.
Or maybe that’s just me, projecting onto him how such a man would usually behave. Truly, he’s complicated, and unlike Woolf, who has a devious streak, his intentions do at least run in line with his world, his upbringing, his people.
As Adryan once told me, Cromwell and the Consortium are not evil people per se. They are merely doing what they consider to be right, and while that leads to evil things, terrible things, it isn’t necessarily something they take any gratification from.
I wonder, had I been born a Savant, would I be looking at the world in the same way as him? Or would I have been like Adryan, turning away from his people?
He only did that because of what happened to his first wife, his emotions unlocked by that terrible event. Would I have been that same rare breed, or would I merely have nodded along and gotten on with the life, and duty, I was assigned?
I’ll never know, of course, but it remains something that serves to dampen my hatred. Despite the terrible things people do, they often do it all in the name of something they truly believe in. And with someone like Cromwell, his own conditioning and programming as a Savant has led him down this path.
Maybe he, like me, like any of us, never really had a choice.
But, on the other hand, he’s willing to murder tens of thousands of people to serve his own ends. And he’s truly of the belief that humans, in their original, Unenhanced, form, have no purpose other than to serve the higher beings in the new world. And when that purpose begins to wane, they’ll gradually be bred out of existence until only the Enhanced remain.
That is something that cannot be tolerated. However much he believes it to be right, it isn’t. It’s wrong, and I can only pray that, one day, my brother, or someone else, proves exactly that.
Yet, right here and right now, he holds the cards. The only one I have to play is my place among the Nameless, and my ability to negotiate the release of Agent Woolf.
So, eventually, he concedes, and a small smile of hope hovers onto my lips.
“OK,” he says, turning to Burns. “Gather the communicator, and extract the code. And in the meantime,” he adds, looking back at me, “I will consider your proposal.”
He turns and moves to the door, and Burns follows behind.
“When will you be back?” I ask desperately.
Cromwell stops, and swivels. His eyes land on mine.
“Soon,” he says, his answer typically ambiguous.
And with that, both men disappear.
I’m left, once more, with nothing but my thoughts for company. Outside, it remains light, the clouds away over the distant mountains continuing to press their way towards the city.
I suppose that I at least get to enjoy this view; a final tease, perhaps, before my fate is sealed.
They could, if they wished, make sure that the wall turned solid again, blocking off the view, and blocking off the light. They could keep me in this small, silent dungeon, stewing in the darkness.
Yet, they don’t.
One might consider it a small mercy to be allowed to look upon the city, upon the mountains and woods beyond, and the grand spectacle. But, perhaps its intended to be the opposite: a punishment, to look out at the world that I couldn’t save.
Or maybe, sitting here with nothing to do but think, I’m coming to all sorts of conclusions that they haven’t even considered. Do they really care about me? Do they really care about torturing me, giving me this final tease before snatching it all away?
Who knows? And in the end, it doesn’t really matter.
So I sit, and I look out, and do nothing else as the clouds march on, and the light gradually begins to fade. Without my Hawk-eyes, I just stare at the blurry details, at the forms of buildings and the lights that give shape to the streets. At the towering mountains away off in the distance, and the muddied greens of the woods at their base.
I sit and stare for hours until the clouds have come and gone, and the sky has turned black, dotted with bright stars. The celestial glow of the moon shines down, and the world below burns with artificial light as the advertising boards of the western quarter give off their multi-coloured haze.
And soon, as the night grows late, the boards begin to shut down as the people sleep, and the entire city starts to go dark, joining the perpetually blackened streets of the north. And above, a fresh gathering of clouds come, obscuring the moonlight and starlight as the entire world gets swamped in a shroud of gloom.
But there remains one light.
One single, tiny glow, so far away that it can barely be seen. And somehow, I muster the tiniest shred of power that remains inside me, and manage to look forward just a little, my eyes spreading towards the distant mountains away to the northwest.
And there, I see it – the glow, flickering so faintly, coming from the dark depths of the mountain passes.
A glow of orange. A glow of fire.
And watching, I recall the rumours of the mountain dwellers that I’ve heard so many times since I was a kid. Rumours that Tess never believed, and that I always wished were true.
Now, perhaps, I have some confirmation. Fire, lit within some lofty cave, sending forth its signal. A signal that calls to my very heart, sends a new wave of sadness through me that
I’ll never be able to venture beyond this city, trek up there and see it all for myself.
That yearning for freedom, for adventure, will never be quenched. And with my dying breaths, it will remain in me, leaving me with so much regret.
Then, a fresh swamp of cloud breezes over on the wind, and the light is hidden once more. And with it, I let myself fall into a terrible, uncomfortable sleep. A sleep filled with demons and memory.
A sleep that might just be my last.
116
The hours have begun to take their toll. My back aches with a deep throb of pain, locked tight in that chair. My wrists are sore, bound to the arms, and my ankles the same, bound to the legs.
I want to stand and stretch, to use the bathroom. I need some relief from this silent room, awaiting my summons and sentencing.
And still, on my lap, my parents watch me, berating me with the grief hidden behind their eyes. I want to shake it off but can’t. I no longer get any comfort from seeing them.
Now, I just can’t bear it.
I begin to shout out as the morning light dawns, bringing the city to life beyond the window. There’s a trickle of rain, a grey mist hanging in the air. A miserable pattern of weather to match my mood.
I shout out several times, louder and louder with every renewal of my voice. But no one comes to me. No one is on guard. No one is watching.
In the end, I give up, my own voice ringing in my ears, and suffer another hour of waiting before I hear the sound of footsteps once more.
And Director Cromwell appears.
His presence brings a surge to my voice. I beg to be released, to be able to use the bathroom, to stretch my legs, if only for a couple of minutes.
He stands, detached from my pleas, and I wonder if he’ll just ignore me. But then, moving from the room, he returns a few moments later with a Stalker at his side.
I’m released, my wrists and ankles unbound, and led out of the room and down a corridor to a bathroom. I stretch with each step, purging the stiffness from my limbs, before relieving myself and being marched straight back to the cell.
Weary and weak as I am, I try nothing, make no attempt to escape. I’ve been broken, both physically and mentally, the drugs making me nothing but a normal girl, incapable of doing anything against the Stalker who presses me quickly on down the corridor.
Returning to my prison, where Cromwell awaits, I look upon the chair with trepidation, before being bound back to its limbs. And with the brief few moments of respite over, I find myself back where I started, with Cromwell’s icy blue eyes bearing down on me.
“I apologise, Brie, for not considering your physical needs. I will station a guard outside the door in future, to ensure you can use the bathroom whenever you have to.”
He nods to the guard, who exits the room.
I don’t say thank you. I just sit in misery and discomfort.
“Right, now onto business,” continues the Director. “I have with me the communication device that your husband used to commune with the Nameless. I also have the code to unlock it, extracted by Commander Burns yesterday evening. I have considered your proposal at some length, and will agree to it. If the Nameless give Romelia back to me, I will present them with Mr Shaw.”
My eyes creep up from my lap, now finally rid of the picture that had been tormenting me, discarded to the floor as I was led to the bathroom. They meet Cromwell’s eyes with a question.
“You will?”
He nods.
“As you say, it’s logical to do so. If Mr Shaw has such disdain for his own people, then it’s with the Nameless that he belongs. Their ranks, after all, are filled with such people. Romelia, however, is a loyal and admirable Savant, and belongs here in the High Tower.”
“So, have you…hurt him?”
Cromwell glares at me for a moment.
“He has suffered no permanent damage.”
“What! What does that mean?! I want to see him…I need to…”
“You will NOT see him,” comes Cromwell’s deep and resonant voice, cutting through mine. “Don’t push your luck, Brie. You will find it runs out very quickly.”
I drop my chin. He’s right. This is more than I can have hoped for, and really, I can’t have expected Adryan to be completely untouched.
“OK. What do you need from me?” I ask.
“You will speak with Lady Orlando. And pray she answers. I am short on patience right now. Other things demand my attention.”
Other things. Like plotting a course into the underlands and hunting down my friends. Those things.
He withdraws the communication device from his suit pocket, and begins tapping in the code. I watch nervously, wondering if there’s a trace on it. If any connection with Lady Orlando will somehow signal her whereabouts.
There’s nothing I can do about that, though. I’m sure, seeing as they must know Adryan’s been taken by now, they’ll have the necessary security in place to prevent any trace from taking hold. Or, to be ultra safe, she might just ignore the call entirely.
The twelve digits are input, Cromwell’s old fingers clicking on the buttons. I watch as the small screen on the little rectangular box glows to life, and Cromwell continues to tap in instructions onto the touchscreen.
Burns must have had that unearthed from Adryan’s head as well, the specific process required to make contact with Lady Orlando’s signal.
Then, having completed the protocol, Cromwell steps towards me as the sound of static begins to crack. For a few moments, that’s all that happens. Just static, an unpleasant sound that makes me want to block my ears.
And then, suddenly, the static fades, leaving behind nothing but silence. And in that silence, the lightest of breathing can be heard.
I look at Cromwell, and he nods to me, pressing the device a little closer to my lips.
And from my lips, I whisper: “Hello? Lady Orlando…are you there?”
My heart clatters within my chest. Since she set me on this journey, a journey to my death, I haven’t spoken with her once. All I’ve gotten are her orders, passed through Zander or Adryan, the woman refusing to meet with me even when I spent those nights down in the underlands with my brother.
And now, under such terrible circumstances, we’re set to speak again.
She doesn’t reply at first, and I wonder if she’s really there. I say her name again, and then give mine.
“Lady Orlando, it’s Brie. Brie Melrose,” I say, using my real name, not the name taken from Adryan, a name that was only given to him when he himself was stolen from his parents.
But then again, I suppose the name Melrose isn’t my ‘real’ name either. It was merely one applied by Mrs Carmichael when she took me in.
I wait again for the response, and slowly, quietly, it comes.
“Brie,” cracks her voice, familiar and yet barely known to me. But I know it’s her. “You’re not with Adryan, are you? Who are you with?”
I dart my eyes up to Cromwell. He nods.
“I’m with Director Cromwell,” I say.
There’s silence on the line.
And then she whispers again, a tepid fury to her voice: “Artemis…”
I look once more at Cromwell, see a crinkle flow across his visage at hearing her say his name. He goes so far as to turn his eyes quickly to the window, spreading over the northern quarter, before returning.
“Are you safe, Brie?” asks Lady Orlando. “Have you been mistreated?”
I think of my treatment. Being locked to this chair, given no food, and barely a gulp of water. Really, it’s more neglect than anything else.
“I’m OK,” I answer. “Are you? Is Zander?”
She takes another moment to answer. Knowing that Cromwell is listening, she chooses her words carefully. I wonder, in fact, why he admitted his presence. I suppose he probably thought that she’d smell a rat, one way or another, and wouldn’t be so foolish as to give me any information that might prove incriminating for her cause.
&nbs
p; And, in any case, even if I was alone, Burns would only come and extract the details of the conversation anyway, learning of any secrets passed down the line.
“We’re fine,” is all she says.
I try to read her voice, her words so sparse. There’s tension there, but she’s still fairly calm. I wonder if the underground city has been attacked yet. And if not, why? They know of the route there now. Unless it’s been blocked off, or they’ve all relocated, I’d have expected the Nameless to already be involved in all-out war.
“Why are you calling, Brie?” she asks me.
I don’t delay like she does. Immediately, I say: “Adryan. The Director is willing to negotiate his release.”
“And why would he do that. Why…Artemis?” she asks, addressing him directly.
I turn my eyes to Cromwell again. He lifts the communicator to his mouth.
“Because, Cornelia, I would like my agent back,” he says.
A frown hovers over my eyes.
Cornelia? That’s her first name…
He knows her first name…
Again, Lady Orlando doesn’t speak for some time. Nor does Cromwell, waiting patiently for her next words.
“So you want to do a exchange?” she asks finally. “Adryan for Agent Woolf?”
“Yes, Cornelia, that is what I want.”
The tension down the line is palpable. I can feel it for myself, even though nothing seems to show on Cromwell’s face. But there’s an odd energy that comes from him, some ancient feeling or memory. My immediate thought is that these two share history.
That they know each other well.
And with that thought comes another: Lady Orlando is a Savant…
I’m drawn from my thoughts and suspicions by the continuation of their tense exchange. My mind returns to the only hope that remains in me – getting my husband to safety.
Yet, from the other end of the line, from somewhere out beyond the boundary wall, I hear a coldness imbue Lady Orlando’s voice.
“How can I possibly trust you, Artemis?” she says. “For all I know, this is just another of your devious plans, another of your terrible traps…”
